#EricGarner #MikeBrown #AkaiGurley #TamirRice #SandraBland #FreddieGray #RekiaBoyd #AltonSterling #PhilandoCastile #TanishaAnderson #TyreKing #WalterScott

September 16, 2016. #TerenceCrutcher.

These names only begin to cover the lives lost to police brutality in the past two years. According to The Guardian, at least 782 people in the U.S. have been killed by police in 2016; 193 of them have been black.

The latest death to hit national news is that of Terence Crutcher. For those of you who don’t know, Crutcher was shot by an officer of the police department in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Dashboard video of the incident was released to the public on Monday. The video appears to show Crutcher with his hands in the air at the time of his death.

Black Americans, myself included, are affected by these incidents in a way that is hard to describe. A special kind of despair penetrates our hearts.

It’s waking up to autoplay Twitter videos of a daughter comforting her mother after both witnessed Philando Castile being shot. It’s hearing how Freddie Gray’s spinal cord injury, which led to his death, occurred while being transported in a police van.

These stories infiltrate our thoughts while haunting our dreams and hopes for the future. Every move we make must be second-guessed. Every day we wake up is another chance for us to become the next trending hashtag.

Will someone think I’m suspicious if I walk down this street at night? What if my car breaks down? What if I’m gathering with other black students on campus and someone calls in our activity as suspicious?

Yet we still go through the motions as if nothing is wrong. We sit through our classes with teachers and students who have no idea that a person’s life was just ended. We show up to work for bosses and managers who think all problems would be fixed if the guy just pulled up his pants. We still hold it together for our families and younger siblings who lean on our strength.

We sit through conversations with our parents who must deliver the newly updated list of things to do to avoid getting shot (i.e. don’t reach for your license and registration, don’t let your car break down in a secluded place, don’t be black and exist in public).

We cry at the thought that change is something our grandchildren probably won’t see.

Today I am angry, frustrated, sad, depressed and hopeless. The day after is always the worst for me.

Keilah Davis is a sophomore studying physics with a minor in Africana studies.