It's very difficult- to continuously remind people of the cost of antiblackness. It's important work, but it means surrounding yourself with all of the bodies, the statistics, the innocents, the victims and those who could not survive, the anger and the pain.
I was watching a video essay on antiblackness and the speaker said something that really stuck with me. Racism is inherently traumatic, and those who feel its effects are inherently traumatized.
The reason you see so many Black people with their guard constantly up, that stoic and far-away look in their eyes, having high walls and a hard time trusting anyone enough to let them in? It's because those of us like that have been traumatized by our very existence as black people within a world that hates us for daring to survive long enough to get here.
I cannot look at these numbers, these statistics, without thinking of my family. I just had an appointment to request sterilization. I listed off my family history- cervical cancer, uterine cancer, ovarian cancer, prostate cancer, breast cancer, preeclampsia, diabetes, emergency c-sections.
My sister died twice during what was supposed to be a routine procedure this year, she then spent 9 days in a medically induced coma while I panicked at my partner about the strong possibility that at any moment I would receive a "she's gone" text from my mom.
My other sister's (black) husband nearly died during an emergency open heart surgery and was given less than a 30% chance to survive last year. He did, though his world has dramatically changed as a result.
My nephew who is extremely white passing but has two black parents cut his leg open during gym class and needed stitches. He developed an infection and needed surgery to flush and then place a drain. They kept that boy waiting for approximately 20 hours of no food or pain control, sitting in the hospital bed becoming increasingly distressed, as they delayed his surgery again and again.
I just had surgery last week and was labeled combative upon waking up- something I have no memory of and nothing mentioned in my file. It's certainly possible, but I do remember waking up very disoriented and in a significant amount of pain with severe nausea, and it makes me wonder what I could have done in such a vulnerable and distressed state that would have necessitated a combative label and not compassion and relief.
I think of my surgeon prior to surgery telling me that the pain I was reporting didn't make sense when compared to my relatively okay but still technically in surgical range lab results. Only to look at the medical notes and see things like "numerous adhesions" and "bilious spillage" and "strong evidence of current inflammation".
Being black means fighting for your life- sometimes very much literally- every single day. It means fighting for respect, fighting for fair treatment, fighting for the ability to be seen as human.
I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being brave. Why can't I just be me? Why do I just have to survive? Why can't I actually live?
