Personal Essay : The Story Of The Body?

rooms of the place. A mirror, as old as the history of the humans and whatever other living

Henrietta and her family have been treated poorly by the medical institution and the researchers. Dr. Howard Jones found the tumor approximately the same size as a nickel in Henrietta’s body and took a sample to send to the pathology lab. Henrietta gave birth to her fifth child in September of 1950, and a six-week check-up was performed at Johns Hopkins Hospital, however there were no reports in her medical records that she had a large tumor in her cervix. It is likely that the physicians missed the tumor because they did not take the time to careful check over Henrietta and make sure she was healthy. Without Henrietta’s knowledge, Richard Wesley TeLinde took tissue samples of her cervical tissue when she was unconscious on the operating table and gave them to Dr. George Gey who

I took a deep breath as I walked through the doorway. The door was stuck open, hanging on just one of its hinges. It was clear that no one had been near this place in a long time. As I entered, a stench hit me. It smelt sickly sweet, almost like rotten fairy floss. I looked around the room at the faded and ripped wallpaper, and the broken furniture. The air was so thick with dust it was almost impossible to breathe, and everything was thickly covered with dust. The little light there was came from the cracks in the yellowed blinds.

We got to town and I bought the steam engine I had been wanting. I did not really care, just tossed it in my pocket like a gum wrapper. We went by Elmore's for Scout's baton that she had been longing for. I could not think of anything. I was not mentally there. I don't think any part of me was there, except my body.

Then suddenly, a disconcerting fear latches onto your cold shoulder holding you tight. What if these walls eat you alive? What if the only things you will ever see ever again are the scuffed tile floors, plain walls, and flickering fluorescent lights? The fear makes your head spin, yet it yanks you back to this moment with its boney, thin, gray

The light spills out from the center, behind a dark circle, and traces the length of the pointed arms of the starburst. The light is bright, and allows for the viewer to see enough of the surrounding area to deduce that it sits upon wooden panels of a building, but the edges of the photograph are still in darkness. The efffect is adramatic documentation of light and shadow on the side of the building. It is seemingly a mundane subject, but captured in a dramatic way. LA-C 27 (1977) shows the front door of the Exbrook Arms Residence Club. Much like LA-C 32, this image shows the efect of the outdoor light fixture on the side of building. The light spills out from behind a dark disc, and casts light upon the resided lettering of the sign above it. Additional light illuminates the glass panels of the front door from within. There is not much detail in the image – the viewer can gain a general idea of the external appearance of the entrance, but this is not the goal of the photograph. Instead, Welling is documenting how the different types of light intereacts with the various surfaces around it, and the effects of the shadows it

Though we were enclosed in darkness, the cathedral itself seemed to shine with inner light, reflected in the stained glass windows that surrounded the sides. I moved closer to the light, drawn like a moth to a flame as I peered at the stained glass, and once I peered, dear Reader, I jumped back in absolute horror, and fear of getting burned. The heat radiating off the images was intense and never ending, like the fire of millions of tiny suns. But the images within the stained glass there were souls, still fully conscious as a multitude of horrors transcended on them, made me weak to the knees. The souls were covered in large white sheets from head to toe that obscured them from my view.

Every inch of the dusty Walla was covered in moss coloured slier. The ceiling was crushing me with every step. I was droning as the walls caved in. I could smell the odours from the dead animals creeping its way up my swollen nose. The scent whirling around, getting stronger, the further into its world it got. This unfamiliar place kept feeling further away from home and slowly felt my heartbeat increasing. Abode thirst scream, a suicidal blood splatter, a choking stench, a gruesome Tate, a trembling body, the world was slipping away at my trembling fingertips. And i stumbled my way deeper and deeper; the dusty darkness became somewhat mysterious. The once slime covered walls, were now shiny glass and had been stretched into a dome. There was a strange smell, like shoe polish, flowing around the room. The disturbing silence was growing more frightening. It was lifeless. My eyes were drawn to an ago iin sight. Right in front of my blurring vision, the reflection strewn across the glass, stopped my pulse. Jet-black eyes, red tangles locks, and brightly coloured clothing stared back at me like a laser-light. A droning sound echoed off the revealing walls. It was the same sound as the grandfather clock made in my old grandmother’s house. It bounced around, as if to make fun of me. It was ripping away at my ear drums with its repetitive noise, increasing by the second. Silvery illuminates

Purpose has been injected into your journey. The light continues to drag you down the hallway. At each epicenter of luminescence returns the same dark truth. Bile floods your mouth. The toilets are close, and offer sweet release. Your stomach rejects what your eyes saw, and attempts to purge the memory through your mouth. Bloodshot eyes stare back at you.

Throughout life's funebrial journey, we travel long, winding roads. Saturnine, wearisome, days, wistfully, wondering why we feel so empty?

I feel I have gone back in time. The stone walls and rising wooden beams reach impossibly far into the vault of the ceiling. There is none there but I. Alone. And yet, there is such an intense sense of fullness.

I lay here in bed. The room is dark and empty. The darkness is like I've never seen it before. It expands into a great bisque of unknown. The abyss sucks me in like a black hole in space. As I lay here I think about my family. I think of my father who is in Memphis Tennessee, I think of my mother who's in the kitchen cooking. I smell the smell of enchiladas drifting through the year I smell The distinct smell of paprika flowing through the air. I hear the sizzling of the melting cheese on the stove. As I lay here my bed feels like loud. I feel as if I'm on a throne with in the sky floating around with no end in sight. I hear the fan. It's roaring like a jet engine. I think to myself it shouldn't be that wild but life goes on. A beaming light

I’m typing this on my phone right now as were pulling out of our block and headed into the unknown. I decided to put this recent series of events up on Reddit because of the lately strange behavior of my friend, Matt. Matt and I have been roommates since college, and although many roommates try to avoid each other (like my introverted self did), I grew close to Matt because of one interesting aspect of his personality. He was absolutely delirious about finding this secluded tunnel in the Nevadan Mountains that led to a land no one, not even the US government had been to.

Nothing seemed certain. All was a blur. Shadows. Hazy shapes floating across my room. Vague impressions of seraphs sitting beside me on the bed. Smears of color and smudges and brilliant light. A clock tolling out the number of loved ones long gone. The clock tolled again, and they appeared as guests at the inn.

The Self Every situation that an individual is exposed to throughout life, helps mold our “self.” As humans we have the ability to see ourselves from the outside, and all through life we try to see what others see and our “self” revolves around the generalized other. We observe how others perceive us and we make conclusions depending on our observations. How we act around others depends on the image we feel they have towards us.