I have always dealt with the heavy harness of depression.
Té V. Smith, This coat of many colors that wears me thin. This consuming fire-this intolerably dangerous silencing truth, that the black community refuses to acknowledge and treat. Perhaps we believe that it will withdraw from this strange strength we’ve been forced to carry and come to mislabel as cultural pride. Perhaps we fear that by owning the existence of depression, we will somehow ground the glory of our surviving God. We are perishing. I perish, sometimes, a few times a month (via tevsmith)
Thoughts?