Thread by @pixelatedlenses, I can't stop thinking about the past two weeks, and just about [...]

I can& #39;t stop thinking about the past two weeks, and just about today and about every person who& #39;s been named, and the countless others who have been murdered that we don& #39;t know about.

I just can& #39;t, so I& #39;m gonna get it out.

I am a rather privileged person: I was raised to speak in a certain way, have multiple degrees including a master& #39;s, and can speak another language that I learned, at first, just because. I& #39;ve never known hunger: I& #39;ve always had treats.

I can fit /really well/ into white spaces: I code switch with ease, can talk the academic talk, and because I& #39;m naturally quite quiet, I can easily disappear in a room.

But that& #39;s not enough, is it?

My degrees aren& #39;t on my skin: someone who means harm to mean won& #39;t see the good I try to do in my eyes. Someone who could end my life won& #39;t stop to think about my history.

Someone could hurt me. Someone could steal away my time.

And the thing is, none of that pomp and privilege of mine even matters: I could have /none/ of that and I& #39;d still have a life worth living.

My existence would still matter.

I& #39;d still be important.

I& #39;d still have worth.

One of my biggest fears is that my loved ones will get that call: that I& #39;m gone, that I& #39;ve been taken from the world, that my life has been ended due to racial violence. L

That my blackness was exactly what someone needed to disregard my right to exist.

I hope that my mother, my family members, my friends, my precious partner never, ever receive that call. I hope that they never have to grieve me in such a horrific way.

I hope that no one ever has to move through all this ever again.

But as optimistic as I am, I& #39;m also not ignorant: this has been happening since 1619. This is part of bigger injustice that has had earth-shattering ramifications.

Yet even knowing all that, my heart aches.

When I was in college, I used to think I was safe: I didn& #39;t fear the police at all.

2012 hadn& #39;t happened yet: I was just a fat Black history major in a small college you& #39;re.

I was soft spoken, well-spoken: I was going to be okay.

That would protect me... Right?

Then I moved 15 minutes from Ferguson a few days after the murder of a child named Michael Brown (and he was a child: 18 is just a child who can smoke and join the military) and the divide I& #39;d always perilously straddled seemed to open up to devour me.

It& #39;s not that I wasn& #39;t aware: I& #39;d been called a n*gg*r before. I& #39;d been called a fat Black b*tch before. I& #39;d endured being likened to a primate, sounds and all. I& #39;d been told I was too dark.

But I really thought I& #39;d be okay.

I thought I& #39;d always be safe.

I& #39;ll never forget the day I was driving home from my work-study on I-70 in 2014. I turned to take the ramp and near slammed into traffic.

There was a protest up ahead.

I was still in my first semester: tensions were high. At that time, I was so alone, and I was so scared.

I& #39;ll always remember my blood going cold, my heart racing. I was scared.

I& #39;ll always remember whispering: "Please don& #39;t let me see someone get murdered. Please don& #39;t let me see someone fall from the bridge."

I was five minutes from home: I wanted to scream.

I sat in traffic for an uncountable amount of minutes, and then suddenly, I was in my apartment, snapped back into my body.

I had homework to do, dinner to eat, a shower to take. I think I called my mom. I probably cried.

But I was so gloriously /alive/.

I said it earlier: I love being Black. I love my entire existence. I love my skin, my history, my heritage, and my hair.

And I& #39;m not not going to stop loving myself: I can& #39;t let hate stop me. If I do, I& #39;ll never do another thing in my life ever again.

But it& #39;s hard when things like this happen: it& #39;s just hard.

I don& #39;t have anything profound to say here: it& #39;s just hard and it really, really hurts.

And like... That& #39;s the tea sis: it hurts.

I& #39;m thankful that I have a support system that stands for justice. I& #39;m thankful for everyone I& #39;ve met in here who refuses to look away from injustice, whether or not it& #39;s on their backyard.

I& #39;m thankful for my partner who stands with me, who lifts me up. Who loves me and my Blackness. Who has made me feel so black and beautiful that I don& #39;t have words sometimes.

I& #39;m thankful for my black family who has never made my dark skin feel bad. I& #39;m thankful for being and to grow up in a black church, for bag able to have Black mentors.

I& #39;m thankful I can pay all that forward.

I& #39;m going to continue on.

I& #39;m going to continue to shine.

I might get scared sometimes, and I& #39;ll most definitely cry again this weekend, but I& #39;m not going to stop.

I& #39;m Black and I& #39;m proud.

Someone needs to see me continuing on: someone needs to see that Black is beautiful and magic and worthwhile, especially when there so much pain.

I don& #39;t know who will see me: but I want whoever it is to know they& #39;re seen.

And someone needs to see you whether you& #39;re Black or an ally.. Someone today needs to know that we& #39;re all fighting for justice, that we& #39;re all trying to unite and create a world that is caring and fair.

(And in so many ways, we are: actively, day by day.)

I& #39;m not really sure how to end this thread: all I can say is that things will change. I don& #39;t know when, but I have to hope: I refuse to live in a world where hope doesn& #39;t have a seat at the table.

I suppose all I can say is thank you for reading till the end.

I know this isn& #39;t everyone& #39;s cup of tea, but tough toenails: I& #39;m tired of being quiet.

I& #39;m Black, I& #39;m angry, I& #39;m sad, but I& #39;m not giving up.

And that& #39;s what it is y& #39;all.

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