I hate to admit it, but I’m racist. Racist against those, who are racist against me.
Just now, another blatant act of slight, disrespect and non acknowledgement.
Tue, April 18th, 2017 1:40pm
Not ten minutes ago, I go into Giants
[It’s a challenge as it is, dealing with mental issues, anxiety,. Fighting the incredibly strong urge, to stay in and isolate. Then this]
I speak to the first person I encountered (My dad taught me this, it’s called manners) who was a black american male (autocorrect, I chose not, to cap that A!) and an employee. He doesn’t speak, he says “Hi baby, to a light skinned person, that was male, that was behind me. This is strange for a few reasons for me, 1. If he only likes and speaks to men. (2) I am often mistaken for male, so why didn’t he speak. And (3) Was he exercising, skin tone racism?
The 2nd person I speak to (another employee of the store) is a African male. He says nothing, crossed in front of me, to present this old white lady, a bouquet of flowers, then wishes her, a happy birthday.
Now, to other people seeing that, they saw “Aw, What a sweet thing, he’s a wonderful person, For doing that”.
But having been slighted [while dealing with my dad’s diagnosis] for the umph time, all I saw was someone that was lining his self up for a future reward.
And that speaking to me, wasn’t beneficial or necessary.
So, why bother?
I haven’t always felt this way.
As a child, I remember my dad having 2 friends, one named, Michael, the other James. I remember, them fondly. My dad liked them, so I liked them. They we’re both from Africa.
It’s them, I think of, everytime
I say, Hello, to the next person,
Who doesn’t look, exactly like me.
Depression, My life with Mental illness 