Lost, how else could he possibly explain what he had been
for the entirety of his almost fifty-one year old life? He felt like a fucking alien in a world that
was supposed to be a place where he was birthed, a place where he had factually
lived for all of his life. So, why in
the hell did this world feel so foreign to him and why did he feel so foreign
to it?
Uncomfortable wasn’t even a good adjective to use for how he
felt constantly. And he wouldn’t even
get started speaking about the depression that he felt every day of those over
fifty years of this life which was forcefully and abhorrently injected into his soul, a depression
which had never gotten lighter; no, quite the adverse, it was weighing him the
fuck down to the point of breathlessness.
He couldn’t fucking breath properly any longer. Panic attacks, palpitations, mania…
So, as you can
plainly see, he was tired; real tired. The
one question that constantly went back and forth within his mind was, “Do I
belong here?” Because it sure didn’t
feel like it. The fuck no! And that led to the next question, “And if I
do belong here, then what is my fucking purpose because my Black ass is tired
of being so fucking depressively lost!”
(…to be continued…)
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