the election was almost a month ago and I still can’t sleep

Just over two weeks ago, I was interviewed for an article on Mic.com about post-election anxiety. The journalist was looking to highlight the experiences of Black queer folks, and Kalaya’an Mendoza pointed her in my direction. 

Preparing for the interview forced me to come back to the now. So much of my work over the past several months has been either in preparation for or in recovery from a tragedy. There is little time to acknowledge the magnitude of sorrow, because there is always more on the way. 

While talking to the journalist, there were several times that I had to clamp down on my lungs to keep from sobbing over the phone. Grief is funny like that. Sits like gunpowder just underneath my skin, the right question a match... 

In so many areas of my life, it is a constant battle to remember that my reality exists, even if I am constantly pressured to forget it. No, Robyn, your boss isn't racist. No, Robyn, that organization isn't using you as the token Black person. No, Robyn, your dad isn't ignoring your activism because it makes him uncomfortable. No, Robyn, you aren't supposed to remember. 

How can I stay grounded in what is true, when what is true is a rotating coffin display? How can I stay in what is real, if what is real is sitting by my phone, waiting for That Call? 

I don't know. And I am drowning in the grief of it all. How on earth did my ancestors choose to stay in this fight?

Right now, all I have are the smallest pockets in between tragedies where my smile is tugged out of hiding. As I type this, I am sprawled out next to my best friend of eight years, in their room in our shared apartment, after four years of having to live apart. Here, at least, my heartbeat doesn't stagger through the minutes. Here, at least, there's a steadiness to the battlefield. 

In a few minutes, I will leave their room for mine, and wait for That Call, until my eyes drift closed.  During the night, the echoes of epitaphs will sweat through my pores. Tomorrow, someone will tell me that it isn't real.