OK, I don’t know how this actually works but people, I need your help. My name is Tea and I’m 63 years old. 2025 was by far one of the worst years of my life. Racism was running rampant in my job that I started in November and was laid off from in May due to not agreeing with my boss and jumping on the Trump train and understanding that Black people had never had it so good and Trump was not a racist. My boss had to inform me of that 5 months in after getting the job. The guy that was supposed to train me didn’t like me at all. He watched Fox News while I was sitting at the desk and soft core exercise videos. He was supposed to train me to work in this print shop and learn how to use the postage machine. There was a lot of postage and a lot of money at stake, and I wasn’t picking it up because I was uncomfortable every day. I was nervous every time I came to work. I had no idea what was gonna pop off, and quite frankly, I wasn’t happy, but I had to go to work. One day he yelled at me so loudly I was shaken and stirred. I walked away, came back, and asked if he claimed me on his taxes. What was that? No? Well, you can’t talk to me like that. Also, remember the day that Black people all got messages to report to pick cotton. Yeah, let me just put my hand up. I know someone that got one family. They thought it was funny that I tried to work. I tried to learn and I did like the job, but I was uncomfortable every day.

In February, we celebrated my father‘s 90th birthday in Washington DC at the African-American Museum that they’re trying to shut down because, you know, history gets rewritten. I’m supposed to keep plugging along. It’s like every day I hear something new or another thing to remind me just how much some racist white people don’t like me for no other reason than I’m darker than them and I might be getting some more than they are. God forbid, you know? Then I heard about that woman that tormented the autistic Black child and called him the N-word and then felt unsafe. If that’s the case, I’ve been unsafe my whole life. I felt nervous. I’ve been in spaces where I was the only Black person, and I felt uncomfortable. There have been times on trains and buses that I wanted to leave because people made me feel uncomfortable.

I know people get shamed now and they get canceled, but back when I was going to school, you basically took that shit or you started a fight or you hoped that you were playing dodgeball in gym class cause if you were a tomboy like me, you could let people know how they hurt you. I remember, I had a gym teacher who pulled me aside one day after hearing the girls laughing about me and teasing me because I was flat-chested with an Afro, driving a Schwinn, and wearing PF Flyers. My gym teacher pulled me aside and he said, you know we got dodgeball today and I can’t see everything. So I will say I’ve had some allies, quite a few allies over my years being called Darkie, Black, dark Blackie, Jigaboo. Yeah, that was commonplace. I mean, they have always been all kinds of friggin colorful names for Black people.

When Roots came out on television, it ruined my whole perception of white people and the American Dream of growing up in the middle-class suburbs of Framingham. I was treated badly. I was made to feel uncomfortable. It’s actually amazing that I made it this far.

Just think about the fact that if you’re a person that’s overweight, take the first 10 years off your life. Let’s just start when you’re 10. Imagine every day from the time you’re 10 till you’re 63, every single day, sometimes twice a day, three times a day, sometimes all day, somebody calls you a fat fuck. That’s what’s happened to me. That’s what I’ve had to endure, and that’s what all people that are Black have to endure. All people that are different from white people have to endure. I’m not looking to fight. We’re not looking to be different. I mean, when I was younger, I was like, I wish I could change. Can’t change. Kept my head down, laughed at the jokes, was usually the brunt of the joke, dealt with the humiliation.

I mean, damn, I have ridden on a crowded Blue Line train and was called the N-word for six stops. I was grateful that somebody finally put her off the train. This was a woman who smelt of shit and urine and was visibly drunk at 8:30 am in the morning, but I’m the problem.

What about the hospital that told me when I was in labor to stop complaining about the pain, it was going to get a hell of a lot worse before it got better. The same nurse brought me the wrong baby when I gave birth to my son. His father was Italian, so he was a little on the light side. That was fun. Wait, it gets better. You know what was even more fun? The day I was in the grocery store and my son was crying because he needed to eat, and unlike my mother, I didn’t have the willpower to whip out a boob and feed him. So when I handed him to my friend, my roommate, so that I could pay the bill with my food stamps at the time, the two women in back of us, when he of course stopped crying, said it’s about time the nanny gave that child back to his mother. I want to tell you, I dropped my pants and showed her the 17 stitches and said, yeah, that head that came through here. I’ve been called the nanny more times than I can count.

I saw my high school bully. She told me every day how ugly I was, I was never gonna have a boyfriend, and this girl, she was Tiger Beat pretty. Hell, she was beautiful. You know, cheerleader, football player boyfriend. Well, she looks like 20 miles of bad road now, wants to know my secret. Because I haven’t changed. I just politely said I wasn’t a cunt in high school. Then I laughed and I told her melanin and oppression.

But I need help, America. I can’t pay my bills. I’ve been in two car accidents in four months, both times rear-ended by people who didn’t speak English. I don’t care if you can’t speak English, I don’t really care. I don’t wanna call ICE on you, but I’d like to be able to understand how to get your paperwork. I was nervous for the girl; she drove for Amazon. The guy that hit me a few months later, he spoke English, turned the corner. I was at another light, complete stop, and I watched him in my mirror coming right up behind me on his phone, singing, having a grand old time, hit me doing about 45 miles an hour. He got out of the car. I’m so sorry I used the brake. I said, no, you used your phone. I was your brake. And of course, because when you have a lawsuit, it’s what is it, 9-10 years as long as they can hold it out for you because, you know, even though you pay insurance in case shit happens, your money is probably already spent in Caracas or one of those lovely vacation places. Meanwhile, I can’t walk, can’t move, can’t work. I was hit the first time in May on my way to a job interview after I got fired. Now I can’t work. I have sciatic nerve pain. Never ever ever has my body literally looked at me and said, not gonna work. You’re not gonna be able to walk, you’re not gonna be able to sit, you’re not gonna be able to lay down, you can’t do anything. Oh, and let me throw in the feeling like gnomes are running up and down your legs with tiny tiki torches. And we black folks are lazy. I don’t get it. Every day is rough. I would like to get combat pay, damn. Some days I don’t leave the house cause I can’t deal with the overwhelming racist bullshit and the pain as well. It’s like I gotta pick a lane. Some days I pick the racism lane, some days I pick the pain lane, and quite frankly it’s exhausting. Please America, I need help and I don’t know how to use this. So I will just ask. I don’t even know if this is right. I don’t need $100,000. I don’t need a new TV. I don’t need to move cross country. I just need to be able to pay my electric bill. And my heat. I just need to be able to work from home on my computer doing graphic design. I do pretty good work. I hate asking for help, but I’m sinking here and I don’t know what to do, so I thought, you know, let me take it to the streets. See if people will help me. I need to pay my rent. I’m in credit card oblivion. I’m spinning out and I’m not getting anywhere. I’m not a junkie but I’m not gonna lie either. I smoke pot, it’s legal. Drink a bit but not too much, don’t like the weeklong hangover that comes with it at this age. I don’t want to be rhetorical. It’s just funny to me how these women create a bad situation for themselves. They are racist but again somehow it’s Black people’s fault. I’m sorry I can’t remember her name but you know she’s in fear of her life for using the N-word towards a five-year-old. And another woman just recently. She was in fear of her life too, and I think I said it earlier, I was born in fear, live in fear and pain, and I can’t live this way. I just need a hand and I will promise to pay it forward if my soapbox speech is heard again. I don’t do drugs. I work. I used to ride a motorcycle, but now I would just be able to wake up without pain.

I would be ecstatic to wake up and not worry what’s gonna be shut off today. Sitting in front of my computer and knowing that I can finish my design work because the Internet isn’t gonna be shut off. I was born in the 60s. It’s now 2026. I saw a lot of things. I wasn’t treated bad. I grew up upper middle class in the white suburbs of Framingham, Massachusetts, but I have got nothing now. I’ve lost everything I have, and before I lose my mind, I figured I’d come to America and see if they can give me some help. And like I said, I don’t know if I did this right. I don’t know if anybody’s gonna read this. Hell, I don’t know if anyone even cares. I would just like some peace of mind and wake up and be calm. I don’t wake up hating anybody. I don’t walk out the door ready to just be antagonistic and argue and cause trouble.

People feel uncomfortable in an elevator. You know, it’s like Black people are raised to forever apologize. I literally was walking out of the grocery store and I was too close to the woman in front of me. She kept looking back. I had to stop, give her 10 paces. She was nervous. I mean, we were in the Whole Foods parking lot, and I just don’t, you know, it wasn’t Rob an elderly white woman day. I wasn’t gonna get away with that one free, but it’s amazing the things I heard that day. Absolutely amazing. I saw my bully that day. I mean, this girl called me the meanest things: darkie, Blackie, nappy hair, you’re never gonna have a boyfriend, nobody’s ever gonna love you. Now she’s had two divorces, she’s got unruly kids, and she looks like 20 miles of bad road and wants to know what my secret is. I just told her, well, I wasn’t a cunt in high school, but then I answered, melanin and oppression. She’s like, I’m so sorry I was such a bitch. I was like, there’s no need for you to apologize. You basically helped to form me into the person I am today. I’m not ashamed of it. You might want to get your kids, though, that are climbing up on the shelves. Last time I checked, this was the grocery store, not Chuck E. Cheese. So I will say it felt good to see that she peaked in high school.

I don’t know. Think I’m rambling. I’m just sitting here. It’s 4 o’clock in the morning and I’m wondering how my day’s gonna go. I’m wondering how I’m gonna get through the day. I can’t walk without pain. I can’t sit without pain, but I’m currently trying to shop a job for myself working from home doing graphic design so that I can just take care of my bills. I wish I could say I feel unsafe. I live in a decent neighborhood. And there are days that I can tell that I’m not wanted in my neighborhood, but I just like to continue to pay my rent on time and not have to listen to the 'see, I told you so.' I mean, the first time I was called a nigger, it was, I don’t know, 1984 on the train to downtown Boston to work. I was called that word for seven stops. I felt unsafe. Nobody wrote me a check. Nobody apologized. Nobody cared that I threw up when I got to work. Nobody cared that I shook for days when I heard a train, let alone got on. I started taking cabs around Boston long before there was Uber. I don’t know. Like I said, I have no idea if I’ve done this right, but I would appreciate some form of help, America. I wanna work. I want to mind my business and I want to be left alone, but being Black in America, that is absolutely positively impossible. Somebody always has something to say, something and I’ve had 62 years of this shit. I’m just exhausted. I’ve had enough. Please help.

Thank you for taking the time to read my rant. At least I got it off my chest. Enjoy your day and thanks again.