In 2021, I posted an image of my swollen left knee, which inspired a flood of negative comments. Some claimed to have seen my breakdown coming and counted it as a personal win. Others simply liked seeing me in pain. “I’m tired of hearing you run your fucking mouth,” one of them wrote. “I hope I never see your Black ass run again,” wrote another. They were trying to salt my wounds. They wanted me to feel the sting, which I did, and hoped it would bring me down even further. It didn’t. I loved those comments. I loved them so much I made a mixtape. I printed them all out, recorded myself saying
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