A Frustrated Person's Thoughts: Not Safe

By JaDonna williams

These are unfinished thoughts and finished thoughts of a high school girl. The world around her made her feel powerless. Was that the reason she remained silent? Voiceless? She eventually learns she has power but is unsure how to use it. These were the endless and not so much endless thoughts that went in and out her mind. She's struggling to recognize her presence or her present self because her future self and past self are consuming her somehow. This is book two. Which is not so safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387636839

Book preview

A Frustrated Person’s Thoughts: Not Safe

By JaDonna Williams

A Frustrated Person’s Thoughts: Not Safe

@2022 copyright JaDonna Williams

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-387-63683-9

A Frustrated Person’s Thoughts: Not Safe

I dedicate this book to

Eleven.

It’s okay, go rest.

I'm failing to…

I’m failing to…

I’m failing to fucking take care of myself.

I hate touching my face.

I hate touching my skin.

I hate touching my hair.

I try my best not to look at myself.

If I look at myself, I'm going to know right away I'm not taking care of myself.

I’m failing to eat.

I’m failing to get in the shower happily.

I’m failing to get up to use the bathroom.

I am failing.

But I'm not a failure.

I'm going to get back up one day.

Today is not that one day.

Today is my fall.

I'll rise again.

But not today.

History repeats itself pt.2

Feeling neutral.

You want me to help?

People always seen me as someone that can be helpful. In the 5th grade a friend and a teacher encouraged me to run for class president.

They said, You are filled with such innovative ideas and always have ways to bring people together.

So, I decided to run and have my name put up so I can be a candidate for class president.

A few people were freaked out that I was running.

They let me know Why run?

They going to give it to that white girl for sure, so why bother?

I couldn't even reply to them.

Because damn if I always thought of that obvious answer, I wouldn't try to do shit in my life.

So, fuck giving that question a response.

The white girl won the campaign.

Of course.

Those few kids then asked me again Why bother?

When I got to high school, I thought things were going to be a little different.

Yet again I had a friend and a teacher encourage me to be a class president.

I really thought things were different sophomore year. Because I started making decisions for myself and my brain was constantly filled with ideas.

But it happened again.

The white girl won.

The same white girl too.

But the racism and the attacks after became worse in sophomore year.

After the election ended people just wanted to let me know things again.

Maybe if you toke perfect care of your hair like you did freshman year, you could've won class president in your sophomore year.

Bro... you are black, and she is white.

Sigh.

I didn't even really care about these things.

Other people had built me up.

Damn I don't even know if anyone even voted for me.

1st campaign in 5th grade I didn't even choose to vote for myself.

I laugh a little because I think I wanted things to be super fair.

But geez what was wrong with me?

That Election Day was completely disrespectful to me the rest of the day.

Literally the day after people were asking me for stuff that the class president should be doing.

Y'all don't want to give me that title so fuck off don't ask me.

I would have probably let them know but I overheard the white girl saying it's just them sitting in a room speaking to each other and it's boring.

I tried to erase it out my mind right away after I realized it was just a title.

Why the fuck would you build me up?

Ask me for help with coming up with shit?

and not give me the title?

You let me know I can't have it because I'm black?

Well fuck off.

I Find This

Feeling relieved.

I find this therapy to be better.

Journaling.

I'm learning I don't fucking need you.

I feel like I do.

And I feel like the rest of the world screams out how good this is.

Well maybe this is good for white people.

Maybe black people are right.

That therapy is for white people.

I feel like I can't speak about my heavy stuff on my chest.

Because my white therapist doesn't understand that racism fucking exists.

He knows it exist, but he doesn’t believe what I've experienced is racism.

Someone literally telling me that I can't do something because I'm black defines racism.

Therapy felt good.

Until yuh cracker ass ruined it for me.

Maybe I'll feel good with a black therapist.

Like a real good black therapist.

One day I'll try again.

But for now, fuck therapy and that white cracker man hoe.

I start to question

Feeling frustrated.

How I dress during these therapy sessions.

Do I have to be concerned if my bare shoulder is out?

Do I have to worry if my boobs accidentally were seen when I bent over?

Did I wear makeup? Was it too much?

Was it too little?

Was I completely covered or not