healthmedicinet

Philando Castile was murdered before I could regain my emotional composure. Until Mr. Castile’s murder, I had managed to absorb the biting injustice associated with the murders of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Jordan Davis, Sandra Bland, John Crawford, Freddie Gray, LaQuan McDonald, and Tamir Rice. Mr. Castile’s murder was my tipping point. I realized that I was overly saturated with sorrow and no longer had the capacity to absorb another senseless murder. I have always been conscious of myself first as a Negro, Black, and then African American person living in the United States. But, for the first time in my life I felt completely unsafe and helpless in the only country that I have called home. It was as if my children and I had become unwilling participants in a real life Hunger Games without the tools needed to protect ourselves from being killed. That is such a powerless and vulnerable space in which to live. At that point, I could feel my depression simmering just beneath the surface of my skin. Without thinking I started towards my rabbit hole called depression all while knowing that the safety and security I desperately craved could not be found there. By last Thursday afternoon, I was nearly at the end of myself. To protect my mental health, I unplugged from social media and started binge watching old episodes of the West Wing. I asked my friends to message me if another African American man was killed.