This is a film born out of questions - questions about identity, survival, and the silent battles we inherit without consent. As someone who has navigated the complexities of being mixed-race, I wanted to tell a story that explores the weight of generational trauma and the tension of living between worlds. The film wrestles with the relentless pulse of fear, the heartbeat that both sustains us and betrays us in moments of danger, doubt, and transformation. 

At its core, Epinephrine is about what we cannot escape: the echoes of our past, the identities imposed on us, and the ways we navigate a world that often sees us as fragmented. The title itself—rooted in the biological surge of adrenaline—represents the survival instinct, the rush that both saves and suffocates. It’s a metaphor for the experiences of living on the edge, both physically and emotionally.

This film also examines the "tragic mulatto" trope and deconstructs it, transforming it into something raw, personal, and modern. It’s a story about being caught in the spaces between, not just racially but emotionally—between what we know and what we feel, between what we fear and what we fight to understand. Layered into this exploration is the burden of Black female sexualization, a theme often overlooked but deeply entrenched in societal perceptions.

Black women, particularly those who are biracial, often exist in a space where their identities are hyper-visible yet deeply misunderstood. They are objectified, their bodies commodified, and their humanity overlooked. In Epinephrine, this hypersexualization is both a lens and a weight—a reflection of how Black femininity is often consumed, fetishized, and weaponized. It interrogates the internal conflict of owning one’s sexuality while rejecting the narratives imposed by an American society steeped in both racial and gender biases.

Visually, the film mirrors this tension. It plays with light and shadow, isolation and chaos, to evoke the experience of being trapped in your own mind, your own skin. Sound, too, is crucial—every heartbeat, every breath underscores the visceral experience of being alive and afraid, of existing in a world that sometimes feels unlivable.

Epinephrine is not just a narrative; it’s an exploration. It asks viewers to feel what it means to carry the weight of a past that isn’t entirely your own and to confront the question: How do you heal when the pain follows you?
This film is my catharsis, my challenge, and my offering to a world still grappling with identity, race, gender, and the legacies we leave behind. I hope it sparks reflection, conversation, and, above all, empathy.