I am tired.
I will probably be tired tomorrow.
I have not slept well for days.
I probably won’t sleep well tonight or tomorrow night.
I have anxiety.
I will most likely have anxiety tomorrow.
When I lie down at the end of each day, I lie down next to a loving, intelligent black man who loves me and would lay his life down for his family.
On the other side of our wall lies another black man. He’s a young man but I know this young man loves his family as well and looks to us for direction. But you know what? I don’t have answers for the young black man who looks like the man I sleep next to as well as me at the same time.
I can’t honestly tell him everything is going to be all right. That scares me. I should be able to protect him. I should be able to protect him from the potential hurt or harm that this ugly and evil country can spew.
I am tired.
I am beyond tired.
I’m in a virtual tired/I’ve had enough of this coma.
My brain can’t take much more, but I can’t quit. I have to stay strong for my family, especially the black men in my house. I have to be strong for them. I have to be strong WITH THEM.
I start praying and am at a loss for words.
God, help me.
God, help my family.
God, help our black men.
God, help our black sons.
God, help our black daughters.
God, help the racists.
God, help the racists who don’t see us as people.
God, help the unfazed.
God, help America.
You know what, God?
I want to but I CAN’T BREATHE.
George Floyd didn’t have to die.
George Floyd should be alive.