America.

Hello, to those who are reading this blog, this is Jason, Nyjah's counselor. He wanted to write about the movie we just watched, America, but because of a recent skate injury he is unable to type very well. I offered to write what he wrote for him because he wanted to share this. 




I remember reading this book in 6th grade, when everything was going wrong and everything was so messed up. I remember wishing I had somebody to talk, like America had Dr. B. I remember reading this part that goes, I'm not that little kid anymore.... I'm not white and I'm not black and I'm not anything, but I'm a little bit of everything.... I look down and it's just me.  That's how I felt, exactly how I felt. I'm mixed. Not Black, not White. Nothing. Just a boy. Just a boy that got lost in his own head, trying to find somebody to talk to, desperate to talk to anybody but just not knowing how to get the words out.

America floats away a lot, up to Mt. Everest when things get too scary or he thinks about the people who hurt him. My counselors thought I floated away a lot when they first saw me, when I was 12. I didn't know how to tell them about where I was going, I was afraid they'd take my place away and I wouldn't have anywhere safe to go anymore. I thought it'd be tainted.

In the movie, America talks about when it, felt good sometimes. I remember when the touching wasn't bad, when it didn't hurt as bad and he was gentle. Everything changed, his voice went from soft to rough in a split second but I was caught in his trap and couldn't get away.

I don't remember a lot of the movie, I got lost in my head alot remembering him, and what he did. My back started to ache, so did other parts of my body. Parts I still can't name, the words don't come out. I remember when I told Jason, when everything was out in the open and there was a silence that hung in the air. It hung in the air like wet cloth, drowning, covering everything. I couldn't breathe. Jason had to remind me. Breathe in and out. Deep breaths, in and out. I couldn't hear him.

NYJAH!

I was hitting myself, down there, between my legs. Punching myself until he grabbed my arms and stopped me. I just kept saying it was all my fault. Cause that's how I felt. Since sometimes it felt good, I was giving him permission, like it was okay.



This is all Nyjah wrote before I noticed him getting agitated and crumbling the paper up. Before getting to the trash can, he gave me the paper and wanted me to read it. When I was done he said he wanted to share it, so here it is.