It was expected. Not surprising in the least. And yet, even still, I am devastated. Wrecked. Sobbing. Nauseated. I cannot seem to process the what/why/how of it all, but it does not matter.
Because tomorrow the sun rises. And tomorrow the fight continues. And tomorrow the need to stand up against injustice remains just as sure if not surer.
And so I cry. I vent. I console. I drink. I unplug. I pace. I rock. I reach for connection and camaraderie. I get angrier. I get sadder. I get feistier. I get more determined. I get more courageous. In the face of what feels like hopelessness, I dig in my heels.
Sometimes you have to say a thing until you believe it:
I will not be moved. I will not be moved. I will not be moved.