I hear you. And I believe you. But you know, I was a drafted activist too, though I’m not any longer. I was young and emerging on the gay scene when everyone I knew was dying, either scared they would be next because they knew they were positive or scared shitless to take the test to find out if they were, because … no treatment existed to help them even if they knew. I became an activist because to save my own life and to save the lives of everyone I knew and loved — because given utter systemic apathy, activism is all we had.

I can’t and won’t claim to understand how you feel in your shoes, but please believe me when I tell you I know how it feels to be utterly exhausted and living in something close to a state of despair.

I believe you about feeling that way and I know how awful it is, because I spent years of my life in that kind of state.

I spend a lot of time thinking about racism and white supremacy, and I work hard to educate my peers without overstepping my bounds and taking up space where I don’t belong. I know I seriously fuck up sometimes, but I keep working.

I really do have your back. I mean that. And it’s OK if you don’t believe me, because this whole issue is much bigger than me, and I’m not important.

But I am somebody who will answer a call to action. If you ever issue one I can help with.

Written by

Writer. Runner. Marine. Airman. Former LGBTQ and HIV activist. Former ActUpNY and Queer Nation. Polyglot. Middle-aged, uppity faggot. jamesfinnwrites@gmail.com

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