On Pride and Failure

When I came home from a 72-hour stint in the hospital following a string of anxiety attacks and depressive episodes, those close to me asked if I wanted to take a break from school. It was the spring of 2015 and, although it had officially ended, I hadn't yet finished the semester. I was also struggling to find a new place to live and was running out of time before I had to be out of my apartment. By all accounts, my answer to their question should have been yes. I had just (well, almost) finished my fourth year of college and I wasn’t graduating, but I felt close. I was almost there. Now was no time for breaks.

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Self-preservation in the Fight for Our Communities

I recently restarted this blog after abandoning it a year ago. I took a break, not entirely by choice, but it was needed. The blog has been given a facelift; it's on a new platform, and its focus has shifted slightly. That’s kind of my story, too.

In doing the research for this post, reading the stories of occupiers of Wall Street and activist Johnetta Elzie’s accounts of Ferguson, I was reminded of how I felt looking at pictures and watching live footage from those events. I thought about how I how it must have felt to live through that brutality. Elzie and other Ferguson activists told AlterNet they’re still dealing with the trauma of those events months later, and psychologists suggest they will for years.

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