I grew up with mental health issues.
I think my first suicide attempt was at 7 years old.
I tried to swallow a necklace.
To choke myself.
I grew up 1 of 2 black girls in my class.
I didn’t play sports well.
I didn’t like 90s RnB.
I wasn’t black enough.
For any of them.
I grew up embarrassed and inadequate.
Singing Alanis Morrisette. Off key. Not Aaliyah or Monica. But mostly Ella Fitzgerald. Off key.
I grew up hiding all the anxiety and depression from never seeing a black woman crumble.
Prayers can solve everything.
I grew up.
I grew up into a multi-faceted black woman.
From the countryside.
She cries a lot,
and sings a lot,
and dances a lot,
and studies a lot,
and drinks a lot,
and fucks a lot,
and loves a lot.
I write this for the black girls who grew up not fitting in.
Not seeing your reflection, anywhere.
Then finally seeing yourself.
Words by Hyacinth Wallace
Hyacinth Wallace is a physical therapist who loves fashion, being a woman, and does some modeling on the side for friends.
Photographer Colin Goodman @colingoodman