Neuron-Personal Narrative

One of the biggest transitions of my life was when I moved off to college. At home I have a very stable and supportive family system. They knew me better than anyone else and they held me accountable. I was not scared to move out and go away to college, I was more curious to see what this chapter of my life would bring. Getting away from the comfort of my family really made me take some time to focus on myself. This may attention assignment only furthered this journey of becoming more self aware.

When I was young my Dad would always remind me of how important these years as a kid are. He would always say watch how you act as a kid, for it will set the stage for the rest of your life. So many people I know ruined their lives when they were kids. This small, yet so important statement runs through my mind everyday. I love how everyone says they don’t care what people think of them, but I wish they knew how important it is to have a good image. I am not perfect, but I would like to be close as possible. But as Salvador Dali said “Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it. “ The problem I see is everyone wanting to be someone that they are not. Sure, we all have our idols that we look

Everyone has experienced a difficult time in their lives either by making a difficult desition or by experiencing something. My most difficult experience was when my father was having brain procedure done to fix an arteriovenous malformation or is also known by AVM (malformation of arteries and veins). It all started in the summer of 2016 my dad suffer a stroke. He dad was home alone, and knew that something was not right, he was able to dial the first contact on his phone, it so happen to be my sister and, was able to tell her that something was wrong, as she rush over across town to check on my dad she found him on the couch not being able to move his left extremities. She rushed him to the nearest hospital, after running many tests they found he had a hemorrhagic

" Aim at the brain " , We were told , " that is the only way they will die "

Everybody but those freshman had showed up at my party, it stated nearly half an hour ago. I was a little disappointed, a freshmen getting the opportunity and totally letting me down. I was actually humiliated, this couldn’t be any more real. They must not have known who I am because if they did, they would’ve been here an hour before the party started. Before I was done ranting, I saw Ray out of the corner of my eye. He was speaking with three, rather petite girls. I lit up in flames, “Why was he talking to other girls?” I thought. I zoomed over to him and shoved right through the girls.

As the blood was dripping from Katherine neck I felt an oozing pain in my body. Looked over at Jacob, he smiled. My first drink of the year and I already felt guilt for what I had done. I didn’t like the new me, I didn’t like the way it made me feel. All my emotions were spinning in my head and my body I just can`t handle the pain.

I walked down the street with my hands down my pockets of my black, ripped jeans. As I exhale, my hot breath formed a faint fog in the cold weather as if I was smoking. My skin was as cold as the winter wind blows that I can feel it to my bones. But I ignore the feeling.

“Move the light so it’s on my good side,” Mary snapped her gum, and glared at the technician, “You just can’t get good help these days, you know?”

I know there is no excuse for my poor academic performance this past quarter, however even with that in mind, I ask for one more opportunity. I am aware that I am just one of thousands of students in the university and, like all the other students here, am here because I want to make something of myself. I am not asking of another opportunity solely because it is an option for me at this point in time, I’m asking because I know that I am capable of performing a lot better than what I did last quarter. My performance was a demonstration of a naïve nineteen-year-old girl. I was an intern with College Works Painting (CWP) as of spring break this year. This internship devoured about twenty to thirty hours of my week and included all weekends of

I see myself: a young girl, maybe 3 years old, with her brother, an older, darker-haired boy with his arm wrapped around her. Behind us, a park. Our hair is a tangled mess, and from our windbreakers I can guess it is a windy fall day. Even though I don’t remember this photo being taken, I could tell you exactly what we did that day. On a late-fall Saturday in Virginia, my dad hauled his tackle box, my brother’s Spider-Man and my Tweety bird fishing rods as well as his own to 301 Park down the road from the first home I’d live in as a child. A typical day at that park would go like this for toddler-aged Peyton: fuel up with a Capri-Sun and Little Bites muffins, cast the rod. Reel in a leaf or two, pout in jealousy of the tiny fish my brother could catch. Take a break from fishing to feed the geese. Get bit by the geese. Take a break from feeding the geese by swinging on the swings. Down another Capri-Sun.

I still remember my tween years like it was yesterday, how could I forget such a stage in my life. At this time everything was new to me and everyday I was learning a numberless of things. All things fascinated me and were so fresh, I always craved for more information. One thing was clear to me though, I knew who I was, and no one could tell me otherwise of it. I saw myself as a stylish, innocent, and friendly tween.

On my way to Language Arts I hear the word spreading fast about seeing the most dreaded teacher . Ms.Gulon apparently came back early from her week off.

“Are we there yet?” I impatiently asked. “It’s already been seven minutes and this is starting to become sort of tedious.”

I once became friends with a ghost named Henry, he was or still is nicely haunting a hotel in Georgia. Another time I befriended a ghost named Cecilia, she was in the process of moving on, but I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't doing it right. She wasn't making peace, she was creating more attachments.

On a drizzly Sunday evening my first summer in New York City, I was walking in Chelsea when a man rode up beside me on a bike. I really don’t want to bother you, he began, a baleful look in his brown eyes, but this ridiculous thing just happened to me. He explained that the costumes he had designed for a Broadway show had accidentally been locked in his apartment, and he had lost his keys. He just needed to borrow a little money so he could get in touch with his assistants and sort the whole thing out.