I have a story to tell, of a person who feels like he was born different from everyone else. Who was judged by family. Who was judged by people he didn't even know, while all of his flaws are showing. But why is it that I always ask myself questions? Why is it that I don’t receive the same love I give to others? Why is it that people always push me away?
Despereaux being judged in a young age is something I actually went through for a couple of years. I went from being judged by people I didn't even know, to family just telling me to act like everyone else.
I would always ask myself:
Who is “everyone else”?
Is “everyone else” people that have a way different personality than you do?
Or is it to be a jerk and tell people “you’re different, so why are you here?”
I asked if that was true to myself.
But something didn't click, something didn't make sense when people picked on me and only me. So I asked myself. Was it because I looked weak? Was it because I was afraid? Or was it because I was gay?
I was 8-years-old when all of this happen. I was 8-years-old when I was separated from my family going into foster care. Don't get me wrong, it was tough for me, but at the same time, I was glad.
My parents were on drugs.
I wanted to be with them every step of the way but I didn't want to see them suffering. Actually, I didn't want to see myself suffering. I didn't want to be in their shoes in the future. I didn't want to be so weak, so helpless, so afraid. All I was thinking about was being this typical 8-year-old boy that wanted to be a policeman to protect lives. Like every other kid wants.
5 years passed, I was 13-years-old,
I remember moving from family to family, house to house, city to city. I felt Despereaux was going through the exact same thing but the difference was that he just didn't have anybody especially a family supporting him. While I was living with one of the greatest foster families, what I do remember that even if I wish to forget it, that just won’t leave my memory is when I went out with my brother by myself which wasn't a good idea to do. I would hate to talk about what he did to me. But people need to know that my life wasn't perfect, it was a complete hell hole.
I had this older brother—well a fake brother that wasn't really my brother if that makes sense. Anyways, one day we were heading home late from watching a movie. Which was fun. Until he took the wrong street on the way home. I almost had this feeling that he got too comfortable with me, as in, he liked me more than his brother. Which was true.
I was raped. That's all I have to say for this part of the story. Even if it doesn't make sense.
I don't tell people my sad stories so they could feel bad about me. I tell them because I want people to know what I went through and to think before they say anything offensive to me.
4 years passed, I'm 17-years-old now.
The 8-year-old I use to be, will always be gone. The things that had happened when I was 13-years-old will always be gone too. But for now all I think about is the person I am now. The present me, and the future me. Especially, since Despereaux went somewhere to make himself happy and doesn't let anything from the past stop him.
I asked myself. Am I going somewhere?
I asked myself again and again and again. What do I have? What I do have is the mentality of think about these negative thoughts, and these negative emotions. What I do have are these people, my friends and family, that has been here for me 24/7 and will never let me go. What I do have is this quality of making people smile and laugh. I know it's weird to say but people do look down on me, despite my height.
And again I asked myself, should I be happy? Even if the little small mouse that was born different, happy. Should I smile even if it's fake? With the hollow of depression inside me that is holding back. With the hatred and cries and worries. With the love and sacrifice I had.
I’m one of those people that feel that they matter with a peppy smile of their faces. I’m one of those people that feel ostracized at times and feels likes a ghost in people's eyes. I’m one of those people that nothing can get me sad. Even if my stories are sad. I will always smile, but I know deep down there is still some hatred, still some cries, and still some worries.
That's how I see Despereaux. Why I'm so interested in his story. Why a 17-year-old boy told you a long story short.