Bitter Fountains Run Deep

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There is something to this trend of black children wanting to leave the world that needs them, and they have every right to be in. There is something to this vehement sense of hopelessness, depression, anxiety and apathy. There is something to this sense of isolation and pain.

This sense of apathetic isolation is not foreign to me or to a select free I have been graced to call friend. That sense of not being enough, less than or simply not there. That sense of believing the world would or could be a better place without you…without me.

The first time I felt that way in was 10. But y’know–black girls don’t get depression.

Liars! Yes. We. Do.

It is stigmas like these which makes little black girls cry when no one can see them…

I hadn’t gone as far as making a plan, but I knew I didn’t want to be called a nerd anymore. Or made to be bullied because of the clothes I wore. I didn’t want to feel like just being me was wrong. I didn’t want to feel like I was wrong. So thinking if I wasn’t in the world…it would be better. And I would be better because I wouldn’t hurt anymore…

The dirty secret about strong black women is that they once were little girls–who are human and subject to hurts and sadness. The world tells us we are incapable of such things which makes every pain worse.

I found writing to dig me out of emotional barren place I found myself in. Seeing what was wrong with me was healing–from that healing I can leave a map.

However, when I think of what might have been, had I not been able to harness this, I would not know such light could come…

These feelings are real. The pain is real. The availability of help is real…and so is the hopelessness. So is the hopelessness…

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