Healing is a Luxury and a Necessity: Pain, Race, and Grace
TW: Self Harm
Here I am, sitting on this porch, computer in hand, watching the world move around me. The neighbor beside me has a dog that watches him smoke a blunt and I am not mad that the breeze is blowing towards me. The breeze is forgiving, breaking the heat and swirling around my face. I am one house in a long row going to my left and an alley that breaks me up from the house of my smoking neighbor. I watch the mosquitoes take my blood and half-heartedly try to kill them before I decide they are not worth my time and I cannot see any more death right now. Just having finished a pint of strawberry ice cream, I am looking forward to the donuts I bought too. After twelve days not eating dessert these treats will be my reward after a hard football training. I’m glad I am not wearing jeans because my stomach is ballooning after not only the ice cream but the large burger I inhaled before that. Today is a good day. I have deemed it as such.
I open my laptop, turn on voice-to-text and start speaking. To my surprise and delight, the hand I had clutched around my throat so tightly has loosened. My words flow freely- dam broken and about time too. I write of pain and loss and self and discovery. I write for myself for the first time in what feels like forever. And it is good.
