The blaring sound of my alarm clock feels like a physical assault on my senses, as I struggle to lift myself out of my half-awake state. I often find myself drifting in and out of dreamland, dreading the thought of another day of school. As a teenager living in an orphanage in Minnesota, USA, I often feel isolated and misunderstood by my peers.
Despite the encouragement of those around me, I find myself constantly struggling to maintain a positive outlook on life. People often say, “You’ll have fun at school!” or “I loved school when I was your age!” but for me, it feels like they are speaking a foreign language. How can I enjoy something that feels like a daily battleground, filled with painful memories and constant reminders of my past?
I stare at myself in the mirror, hoping to find some semblance of comfort in my reflection. But instead, I find myself lost in a sea of sullen thoughts, unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong with me. It’s a feeling that has plagued me for as long as I can remember, a constant reminder that I don’t quite fit in with the rest of the world.
As I make my way to the minivan that will take me to school, I try to prepare myself mentally for the day ahead. But the thought of facing another day in a place where I feel like an outcast is overwhelming. Mr. Reeve, one of the care workers at the orphanage, drives us to school each day, but no matter how many times I tell him how much I hate it, he never seems to get the message.
The journey to school is always an uncomfortable one. I struggle to find a seat on the minivan, and as we begin to move, I fall flat on my face, a reminder of the car crash that took both my parents’ lives and left me with a mangled face. It’s not something I like to talk about, and it’s something that has left me feeling like an outsider for as long as I can remember.
As we arrive at school, I look out the window and am immediately appalled by what I see. Someone has spray-painted a horrible drawing of me on the entrance, with the words “Peter, the fuckfaced British boy.” The image shows me with a bloody face and people kicking me until I die. It’s a painful reminder of the bullying that I endure every day, a reminder that there are people out there who want to hurt me simply because I’m different.
Despite everything that I go through each day, I refuse to give in to my despair. I try to fight back against my negative thoughts. I long for a life where I feel like I belong, where I’m not judged or bullied for things that are beyond my control. But I know that this won’t happen overnight. It’s a journey that I must take one step at a time, a journey that requires patience, resilience, and a willingness to keep going even when the road ahead seems long and hard.