I know that pain. The pain of being told your experience doesn't matter. Of being told your experience is wrong while people joke. Of people going about your day while your brothers and sisters die just because they are your same color. Of having a target on your back. Of being different. Of sticking out like a sore thumb. Of "not being a good fit". Of being unwanted. Of having to dedicate your life to being a good example of your race, due to the lot of being born. Of living in despair because your race is the a constant reminder of a society's ugly truth. So constant that people rather hate you than confront their place in that ugly truth.
I know that pain of being told, "it's your fault". Of being told "get over it, it happened 400 years ago". Of being told "get over it, it happened 6 years ago." Of being discredited. Of people implying that you "may have misremembered" your rape. Of being discarded. Of being talked about. Of having people abandon you. Of losing friends because of past trauma. Of wanting to punch someone the next time you see a comment defending a rapist or an abuser or a pedophile. Of feeling so much anger because people don't know or don't care that you want to cry. Of being ashamed of humanity's commitment to maintaining the reputation of horrible people at the expense of someone whose life and essence and innocence has been stripped and stolen and stomped upon.
I know that pain of being a black woman, two planes of existence that I'm learning cannot be separated. I know that pain of being a survivor. I know that pain of being me. Of living my life. I know it all too well.
No MP please