“Why do you keep fighting?”

Because…

I don’t know—the answer to this question makes me almost as exhausted as the number of times I’ve actually had to respond to it.

I’m just so goddamn tired.

Having to live every day as if it’s another war I didn’t sign up for really sucks the life out of an individual. Looking over my shoulders has become as natural as breathing.

I spend my life wondering if there will ever be a moment of peace—a moment when I don’t have to feel like this. Being on edge isn’t exciting, it’s draining. Why should I have to be in a constant state of worry over whether someone will be okay with a person who looks like me entering the room they believe to be theirs?

I was never taught to be ashamed of my skin, but I don’t think I ever got a crash course in loving it either.

Almost no one is looking out for someone like me.

Someone brown, someone queer, someone proud.

I’m not someone who people fight for. I’m what they fight against for some unknown reason. Or if you ask me, there’s usually some deep-seated personal issue, but since we were all taught to disguise our emotions and bury our feelings deep down inside, it comes out in other, more harmful ways.

The human experience is just so weird.

I’m treated as if something is wrong with me because of the ways I differ from them. The scariest thing they can think of is someone who takes pride in these differences:

– Someone who is content with not looking like everyone else.

– Someone who doesn’t act the same way as others.

– Someone who isn’t attracted to the people they should be based on whatever we’re claiming the “norm” is at the current moment.

People like me are considered dangerous because we simply don’t fall into place. We step out of line and we make ourselves heard. We honestly have the potential to tear down the very system that gave them this power—the power of control.

For them, control is this age-old ability to create a system where they are the ones who benefit, and where we are forced to stay in the boxes they made for us. We should never ask any questions or even try to exist outside of our constraints.

Being proud of your skin is an act of rebellion.

Not sure who I first heard this from. I’m pretty sure it was in college—but that’s part of the frustration. I didn’t learn how powerful my skin could be until I was already an adult.

I had to grow up being shown that people with darker skin were monsters on TV. This kind of exposure led me to believe that I was nothing more than an ugly, disgusting beast. I felt like I was the problem in any situation and always wondered if my peers viewed me similarly.

My group of friends was a mixed bag. In high school, there was a handful of us who identified as people of color, with white folks filling in the bulk of the group. None of that really seemed to matter to them. Race rarely came up and I can’t tell you if that’s a good or bad thing.

I don’t know if I was uncomfortable discussing it, but it did feel like being queer and black was two strikes against me. To be fair, my friends also didn’t know what to do with me since I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I was the friend most likely to stick up for others and speak my mind. The rebellious one, if you will.

This made me curious about something. I wanted to see how Google defines the word “rebellion.” This is what I got:

‘Rebellion – an act of violent or open resistance to an established government or ruler.’

It’s strange to think that simply finding pride in my appearance as a minority is perceived as being dangerous. I can’t quite remember if that quote I heard in college about my rebellious skin was meant to be positive or critical.

My skin is a weapon. A tool of mass destruction. Or, at least, that’s how it’s viewed through the tattered, fucked up lens of the world. Strike a match against my skin and watch the earth set ablaze in the aftermath of my simple existence.

People with my skin tone or darker are portrayed violently in all types of media. That’s why I still wonder to this day if my rebellious skin is supposed to be a positive thing.

It’s been a constant battle. I thought I was finally in a good place. I thought I found the right ways to love my appearance. I thought I had done all of the work I needed to finally accept myself. 

Then one comment comes along and fucks it all up.

The time it’s been since I originally accepted my skin is shorter than the time I spent thinking I needed to dislike it. When I finally did, it felt like I was revolting.

When I think of a revolution, my mind is overcome with images of protests, elections, and social media campaigns, but that’s only scratching the surface.

Everyone says we’re living in a more progressive time, but if you turn on the news, look online, or leave your house, it’s easy to see that this just isn’t the case.

That’s why I’m so proud of creators like Issa Rae, Donald Glover, and Lena Waithe for feeling free to express their blackness or queerness in television and film because that in itself is an act of rebellion.

Our stories were never at the forefront of the conversation and it’s revolutionary that we are seeing more and more of them. Furthermore, we are receiving accolades and our shows are getting renewals despite not fitting into the straight, white mold. 

Yet, they still try and bring us down.

The worst part of this all is that some things won’t change in our lifetime. The straight, white man is at the top of every company and they are unwilling to relinquish their power, unwilling to stop the pain, unwilling to be better.

I’ve had to make myself comfortable with this extremely uncomfortable fact.

Even if it seems impossible, I’ve never been one to quit. I believe I’m meant to change lives, to help others. Whether it’s through my writing, my actions, or my relationships. Better days are meant to come. It’s a fact. I’ll do whatever it takes to create a better, more accepting world for future generations. This is why I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in forever. Rest is something I don’t seem to have access to, and I’ve accepted that now.

So, I’ll let you ask your simple, yet stupid question again.

“Why do you keep fighting?”

…because I have to.