Journal #1

When I was a kid, I never finished a journal. In fact, I never passed the first few pages. In my mind, my feelings I needed to express were invalid. I didn’t deserve to express myself, because I didn’t deserve to have feelings. And I didn’t deserve to have feelings, because I was worthless.

In my first semester of graduate school, I decided to give myself permission to express my feelings through words and drawings in a journal. I just moved to the City, and my girlfriend bought me my a small, thin journal with cartoon-like doodles of New York City. I completed it at the end of the school year.

I started my second journal this past Summer. The first page reads, “#allsummer16.” It captured my slowly growing rage towards White Supremacy. I was pissed. I couldn’t function or live in a world where Black and Brown people are being systemically murdered every single fucking day around the world. How could I remain silent when lives are on the line? How can I remain silent when my life is on the line? I raged out during my entire childhood. Hell, I still kinda do it now. But in this instance, I realized that wasn’t the answer.

<Insert #decolonizethisplace.>

I finished the last page of my #allsummer16 yesterday. I talked about my 2nd to last appointment with my psychiatrist on Tuesday. Our conversation reminded me of bell hook’s “politics of accountability.” My healing starts with me applying a politics of accountability both towards my external and internal liberation. I think it’s quite fitting that #allsummer16 ends that way.

This page is my first entry in my new journal called #staypetty. I decided to use its first page to kick off this blog. I’ve been trying to start this blog for a while, but anxiety and depression have really gotten in the way of that. But here I am screaming, “fuck you” to all that negative shit as I plan for my future and keep doing dope shit.

I deserve to express myself. I deserve to have feelings.

am worthy.