Post by Deleted on May 26, 2015 23:38:42 GMT 8
Extreme race trigger. Extreme religion trigger.
Contains References to suicide and death by violence.
If you cant handle it, stop reading immediately.
For the record, I am interracially married. (Star, don't read this dear it'll take you out.)
To: (A close friend)
Subject: analogy.
This is potentially incendiary as a trigger for you. This is so you understand us.
Imagine you were born you, in your race, your culture, your self image, as a black woman of faith.
Imagine that the world said you were a freak, because of your race.
Imagine that they pointed their fingers at you and laughed every day, and called you the worst of the racist slurs, every day, and everyone laughed when they did it.
Imagine that you learned that if you were your race, you would not go to heaven, because you were evil.
Imagine you painted yourself white. Act like you are white.
You were accepted at church, they liked you. But sometimes you had to take the paint off, once in a while, to see yourself. And when you did, you hated yourself.
You see yourself in your eyes, and you still cannot deny your race, its always there in your eyes.
You want the paint to be real, but it isn’t. Until you wear it so long, you cant take it off.
Imagine that you get married, to someone that sees only the paint you wear. Your mask.
Imagine that you see your brothers and sisters, as they starve and die. As they take their own lives, or are killed by those who find out that they are not painted white, or worse, that it was paint.
As they call them freaks, deny them their medical coverage, turn their backs, and snicker.
As they bar them from the church and from the God that made them their genetics. Not even letting them use the bathroom.
Imagine them dying around you, three quarters of them, in a river of blood rising to your knees.
Then one day, you just cant put the paint on any more.
You take it off. They throw you out of your church, refuse to pay for your medicine, they throw you out of your job, your spouse leaves.
You are on the street, you find a knife, ready to make a contribution to the river of blood, mingling your own into it. Or taking a gun, and murdering the one you are, and could not escape.
Imagine someone saw it, and said wait, they can help.
Imagine you began pulling people out of the river of blood, and giving them hope. Telling them that its ok and good to be their race.
Gloria, that is me. I took off my paint.
I am a transsexual. I just couldn’t keep painting myself white anymore.
And God looks down, and is furious with them, and grateful to me for pulling His children from a river of blood, for trying to give them hope.
I kept my job and my marriage. Very few of us are so lucky.
Would you rather I told you I was painted white? Or that I was born transgendered?
God Bless, my friend.
Trinity.
