I’ve Run Out of Ways to Process Black Trauma

Lately I’ve just been shutting down…

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Guilty on all three counts.

I should be ecstatic. I should feel vindicated. At the very least, I ought to be relieved that yet another murderer won’t be walking free among us.

I feel a whole lot of nothing. A small victory has been won, but it feels like a single drop pulled from an ocean.

George Floyd was the last Black person I saw die. I realized last year that I cannot watch anymore. I’ve never thought of myself as a person suffering from trauma, but what Black person isn’t? I get heart palpitations every time I drive past a police cruiser. There’s an idea that repeated exposure to violence desensitizes people to its imagery. I don’t think that’s true for this. Not for me. Not when it comes to Black death. It never becomes easier to look at or process or grieve. I’ve had to turn away, and turning away has made me very quiet.

I’ve never thought of myself as a person suffering from trauma, but what Black person isn’t? I get heart palpitations every time I drive past a police cruiser.

I’m not very active on social media these days. Twitter is never really in my line of sight…