This is not a pity party. It is a reality. I am emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. My body is numb. As I finally sit in my home, I replay the past week. My mind, my heart was all over the place. I could not calm the storm within and without. I have seen the hearts and minds of people; some who have embraced me, some who have crushed my spirit. I have shed more tears, felt pain, and agony.

I have been persecuted for being an angry Black woman because I care about the injustice and murders of Black people. Instead of just a wee bit of empathy or concern, all I get is one justification after another justification. I hear people more concerned about looting and property damage than cold-blooded murders. I have read articles blaming the Left or there are no racial issues in America. I have had white women drilling me with questions they don’t want to hear answers to or questions not relating to the actual problem. Really? I get it that you may never understand, but my God, have some compassion. You want to do something, stop supporting the intuitions, organizations promoting it; acknowledge it.

Within several weeks a Black female was murdered in her sleep, a young Black man killed jogging, and another man murdered, caught on video. My God, when does it stop? When will you just acknowledge it, some white cops are murdering Black men? Racism is alive and rampant. Stop distracting to some other situations or events. Deal with the issue in your face, Floyd was murdered by a white police who is standing there aloof, no feeling whatsoever, with his foot on his neck like he is a piece of trash.

So, I am the bad guy because I react, I speak out. I think in my heart, each one of the persons murdered could have been my family. And I felt as though those killed were my family because that is how close to home it is. We don’t know if we get lost driving, make a wrong turn, wind up in a neighborhood where the laws are so biased, you might be shot. It is a reality every day for a Black person. I have seen inhumanity at it’s very worst. What hurts more is that people you have called friends just turn the other cheek. They don’t support you or even try to understand what you’re going through, much less think it is a problem.

I am breathing for George Floyd; exhaling to get this stench out of my system. I am home with a new realization. Things have not changed, though I tried to believe it. I tried to play the game, but no more. I am at home. I will rest. I will pray for God to give me what I need to move on with the right spirit, though it hurts like hell. I will never be the same.