I don’t know where I would want to go because I know that no matter where I go, the demons that cling to me will never let go. No matter where I go, I will never not feel the burning sting of racism. I could pick any place in the world but nowhere could possibly be good enough to make the pain go away. No matter where I go, the night terrors will still come. You want me to transport somewhere, fine, I will transport to my world. In my world, time stops. In my world, the demons can’t roam free. In my world, I’m not worthless. In my world, I don’t need sarcasm or humor to cope with the pain. My world is a bubble that I take care of so that it never pops. But even so, all bubbles pop. All bubbles dissipate. Nothing I can do, nowhere I can go. But if I have to pick, then I pick the world in my head. My only safe space. The only place where my heritage, my gender, or my sexuality doesn’t find a way to inflict any pain on me. The only place where I’m safe from the people in the real world.
I’m tired. I’m depressed. I want to never move again. I know that as soon as that bell rings, I have to go right back to another desk. That’s all this place is. Constant moving around. Transferring from chair to chair. For what, so half of us can make it with privilege, and the other half must rely on determination, smarts, and prayer? School is supposed to set us up for the real world. I’m tired of it. I come here every day and I know that no matter how much I work I will still be a minority. I’m depressed. I lug around a heavy bag from floor to floor, door to door, just to have to get up in a couple of hours. I spend five days here every week. And my weekend is only two days?