Waking up every day with no clue as to why; everything is in shambles, the sky looks back at me almost in disgust. I see people looking happy all around me to the point that it gets annoying. Everything I look at seems to lose its life, its meaning, its color, and all I seem to do is destroy the happiness in the air, or it flees as soon as I get closer to seeing it and actually feeling it, but I never knew if happiness could exist for someone who can only seem to destroy the color that exists within things that seem to create so much joy. I never feel like I belong, because my world is colorless.
As a child I was labeled as antisocial, because I never talked much. The other kids, even the teachers, seemed to treat me as if I was some caged animal plotting my revenge on them all. Just like the sky, all I would receive from them where looks of disgust as if I was the scum of the earth making the world writhe in agony just from my very existence, or maybe being one of the four black kids in a private school was part of the reason that I was the outcast amongst a bunch of Caucasian and Hispanic toddlers. My skin was colored, but anytime I was around, anytime I looked up, all I could see was a world voided of color, like a canvas grayed from the dust that it was left to collect in the basement; I was just a piece of the canvas left alone that never received a sliver of the worlds colors.
I hated school. I dreaded seeing the annoyed faces look at me just because I wasn’t sure how to interact with someone else my age, but that didn’t matter I was still shut out, ignored, and treated like I was just the extra baggage that no one was willing to deal with. So I finally worked up enough nerve to actually talk to another kid my age I walked across the room filled with building blocks and children only to accidentally knock over the great and important tower that made this kid who seemed to be a no one at the time have more to do with my life than I would have thought at the time; and since both of us were young and five, each thinking that he was better than the other, a fight broke out and the next thing I remembered was the color red dripping from my mouth and a boy with a purple bruise swelling on the side of his cheek.
I went home feeling like I was just as everyone else could see me, just empty and soulless, a monster with no restraint, and I remember wishing my life would just end and thought “no one will miss me.”
I saw myself as the trash that should have stayed with the rest of the useless garbage that has been thrown away by the world, the existence with no purpose except to bring ruin to the happiness. I could never experience happiness. I was the boy who thought he was better off dead than waste any more time living in a world that rejects me. I walk into my room thinking of how to kill myself, I grab a belt and tie it around my neck and, as soon as I do, hot tears run down my face and I throw the belt to a corner in my room thinking “I’m not even good enough to do myself a favor, you really are useless.” The world I live in will always be the world of a nobody with the eyes vacant of joy.
When I came back to school I was treated with foreboding looks making me think people are scared of me now to or maybe they all thought “I hope I’m not next.” I was alone before, but now I was alone and feared. But for the first time I didn’t care at all, I didn’t cry, I didn’t even try to make anyone think otherwise. I was done. My next eight years at this place would be like this, nothing more, but just fading into the background was always what I thought would happen to me, but all that I am, I suppose I didn’t even deserve that much since all these people seemed to feel my existence was a crime. My being was my greatest fault.
I took away the happiness of other people, I even took away my own happiness. Someone like me is like a harsh winter filled with nothing but days of empty lifeless skies. Is it fair that I was never happy? I was the outcast without even being given a chance to show what I’m actually worth; I would sit and watch the other kids play while I was left alone without anyone.
I would go home and my mother would ask, “Is everything okay? Your teacher said you cried again today.” I would yell and plead so I wouldn’t have to go back, but from my parents’ perspective I had no choice. I realized that I have no power over my own life, so I asked myself, “Why do you exist?” I wondered about this every day and from this I realized even at the age of five that my world is a cruel one and my existence was just a scuff mark accidentally put on the ground by the shoes of fate.
I went back to school on a Thursday, nervous about the looks I knew I would receive and the fear of going another day being the class outcast. As usual, I kept my head down and sat in the back of class, I didn’t so much as mumble a word. Toward the end of the day someone actually talks to me and asks, “Are you feeling okay?” I looked over my shoulder at the boy whom I had hit the other day and he actually looked concerned. His name was Daniel, and I never thought that I would have been seen by the person that I thought should hate me the most; I said I was fine and before the year had ended, Daniel had shown me that it was okay to exist because my friend showed me a world that was anything but colorless.