Worth a Read Too

As a first-generation Black American, I’ve always had a strange relationship with this country. Neither one of my parents were born here - my mother was born and raised in Jamaica, and my father, the Bahamas - and yet they chose to come here, of all the places in the world. I would not exist if it was not for America, and I grew up hearing about how great this country was. A wonderful melting pot for folks of all races, colors, and creeds. My time in the Boy Scouts of America only increased my sense of patriotism. By the time I achieved the rank of Eagle Scout, I was fully Americanized, with no hint of an island accent and a great love for my home country. As I studied history, my relationship with this country became complicated, and the more I learned about what had been omitted in my high school history lessons, the more I grew conflicted, disgusted, and appalled. Not only at America’s actions across the world as an imperial hegemonic power, but in particular, at the country’s treat

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels   If you’re reading this, I’m assuming you once weren’t coping well with the coronavirus epidemic.   I get that.   When COVID first started, I didn’t take it seriously. I was part of the problem. I thought because I was young and lived in an area not highly affected by the disease, that I could live normally.   I went out with coworkers. I sat close to my friends. I ate out. I went shopping without a mask.   Once I learned how I could contaminate someone high risk, that asthma made me high risk, that I knew people who had the disease or lost someone to it, and that pets could get it, I took COVID-19 seriously.   Too seriously.   With borderline personality disorder (BPD), I go from extremes to extremes. Think pendulum style mood swings. I was scared to leave my room without a mask. I didn’t want anyone to breathe by my dog. I worked from home and went a month at a time without leaving. I even kept dishes in my room that only I used.   Yeah, paranoid.   I