She felt the chill from the wall on her back as she remained on the dusty floor. With hands still gripping tightly to her cellphone, she could barely see the screen through her tears.

Quietly sobbing, physically hurting, this is the first time she can say she’s ever hurt this deeply. This wasn’t the sadness she was used to in her battles with depression. This was a deep and intense numbing. She could barely feel, but the heaviness of emotions weighed her down.

Why me? she thought to herself as the quiet sobbing began to grow louder.

Why not you? she imagined her father responding in the way he often did when she pitied herself.

Thoughts of her father aren’t comforting. They’re oftentimes direct push backs against her mind attempting to erase a man she’s lost years ago. Her first real loss. She should be accustomed to it by now, but it gets harder each time…

The sobbing gets louder, the room becomes blurrier, the pain more intense…

In all the times she’s thought about taking her own life, she’s now confronted with the very real finality of it. Was it cowardice or strength?

He didn’t just leave her. He left them all behind. With a bullet to the head, he silenced his demons in Search for peace…

And as the sobbing grows louder and more intense, as the tears fall heavier threatening to flood the room, she’s come to terms with a lover leaving her behind to find the same peace that was foreign to her.

Dear Zion Trevor,

I remember the night you were born. It was chaos before the calm. Then after 3 pushes you were here… in a sack. And the nurses and the midwife called you a blessing. You were labeled my gift. You were named my heaven on Earth, my Zion.

I remember thinking it would be smooth sailing. Pretty naive of me. Very “new mom” of me. You were so calm on my chest and relaxed in my arms and I called myself lucky… and then night fell. You screamed for 20 minutes straight and maybe for the first time I didn’t have the answer.

And almost three years later, the first day of your life has been the foreshadowing of my life as your mother. It’s been smooth sailing and rough waters. I’ve navigated to ensure our survival. And there’s more seas ahead. I seldom complain. I can’t complain. Because it’s all out of love. A deep love. The type of love I’ve never experienced let alone could imagine existed.

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”

-Zora Neale Hurston

I often see the question asked of Black women, “Are you Black first or a woman first?” It’s a silly question, but a heavy one. And then I ponder, why is it that only Black women are asked this question in particular. Why is it that Black women are expected to choose?

But the answer is more than obvious. Oftentimes glaring. All women are white and all Blacks are men. And that is the scope in which our worldviews are formed. That is the scope in which our intraracial relationships are formed.

This is especially evident when we discuss domestic violence.

I took on the task of tracking Intraracial DV situations that led to deaths. I did it for no other reason than the extreme pushback that this is a major issue within our community. Not only is it major, but the conversations surrounding it are intentionally stifled for the sake of “unity”.

I remember the exact day I started tracking these murders. It was April 11, 2017. That was the day a Black man walked into his estranged wife’s job and killed her (and then himself).

What prompted me to even research was the continuous use of the word “isolated”, from both Black men and Black women when some Black women pointed to the severity of the issue. Now we have discussed DV time and time again, but when we specify and distinguish it within OUR community, the reactions to that reality is STRONG. And you are swiftly reminded that in the Black community only men *should* be victims.

This year, from January to today, there are almost 40 cases of Black women murdered by their Black husbands/ Boyfriends. That number doesn’t include the parents and children who lost their lives for simply being there or attempting to protect. This does not include the unborn children that were being carried.

I expected pushback. Pointing out a silenced issue intraracially while existing in a white supremacy that makes Black men a target would garner pushback. And I deliberately did it in an abrupt way as a direct stance against "isolated". I’d be a fool to not have known that. What I did not expect was this wasn’t simply denial.

In Tracking these deaths, Black men have literally blamed me for their future deaths at the hands of the state. Yes, that’s right. Black men told me that I am AS responsible as the police for the murders of Black men because I am tracking the growing number of Intraracial domestic violence deaths. I was even called Dylann Roof.

I lost someone this week… unexpectedly. Someone who was always quietly in my corner even though they were drowning in darkness. The loss brought that darkness to light. And even though I knew, my own darkness cloaked me. But now I can’t do anything but think…

What does it mean to be there for someone?

I said I lost someone, but this week I’m certain I lost many. By happenstance.

“A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double.” -Toni Morrison

I care very deeply about establishing bonds between Black Women. I value sisterhood. But in hindsight, desperate needs became the superficial foundation for a facade we called friendship… or even worse, sisterhood.

What is sisterhood suppose to be?

I lost someone this week and it’s been hard to sleep. It’s been hard to do much. And dealing with it reminds me that I not only lost one, but many in the process.

All loses aren’t the same. But in my darkest hours I feel them all deeply.