Personal Narrative Analysis

It was the summer of 2012, my brother Ashton and I were in Hollywood, FL on vacation. We had been fishing since eight in the morning and we were bored out of our minds, so we hopped in a canoe and set off to what is the most thrilling event of my life. We were not prepared physically or mentally for what we were about to encounter.

Admittedly, I've done a lot of things that others would consider abhorrent. I've also been subject to things that others would consider abhorrent but after 12,000 deaths you start to know what's a 'good' way to die and what isn't. I've had my head removed by plasma coated blades, I've been hit by 80GJ Compressed Railguns (you don't feel it), and I've felt what it is like to hold a Locus Grenade in the hand for too long.

After reading, I thought about the mental health continuum and how fear, the root of anxiety, was such a universal part of the human experience. While creating the piece I thought about how anxiety blurs out reality, trapping the individual in a swirl of fearfulness and intense worries. It is not considered pathological to be a “worry wart” or a “scardey-cat.” The problem is not the presence of fear, instead it is the overwhelming, debilitating, and persistence of those fears and worries.

In my earlier days when i had first joined my club Nationals, i used to try and make sure that everything i did didn’t end up in failure. From my passes, shots, freekicks to even throw-ins, i used to be so scared that i would mess up that I actually did mess up every time because i would let overthinking get the best of me. As months went on, I began to think that i wasn’t good enough to pursue my dreams of working to be a professional soccer player.

If anyone had told my 5 year old self that I would be capable to communicate with members of different communities, that I would be graduating from a high school in the United States with honors, or that I would be on my way to a highly competitive university of California; I would have not believed them in a single one, let alone that all those things would be possible in a couple of years.

Anytime I hear someone say that I’ve changed or that I'm a lot different now than I used it be, it brings to mind a certain set of events that occurred just before I entered high school. In eighth grade I had few worries and spent most of my time playing sports. Although I made good grades, sports were my number one priority. I often wondered what I would do in my free time if I didn’t play a sport. Little did I know I would soon find out. Midway through my 8th grade football season I tore my ACL (anterior crucial ligament) . The injury required surgery and meant that I would be out of all sports for at least six months. Everyone said I'd be back on the field in no time, but six months sounded like an eternity. My goal was to complete

The human body is an amazing work of art capable of achieving extraordinary things in the most extraordinary situations. Intra-cellular communication, processing, and reactions seem nearly instantaneous to our conscious selves. Recognition is usually absent from the capabilities of an impressive network of highspeed neurological highways – until a life-threatening event shocks you into acknowledgement of those systems.

What I am going to talk about is what one of my main personal narratives are. I feel that one of my main personal narratives would be adaptability. I feel that I am very adaptable as for everything I’ve been through. Throughout my life I have had to adapt to a lot of things.

I strongly believe that memories that have been repressed and then recovered should not be allowed in court to prosecute an alleged abuser. This comes mainly from the fact that our memory can be altered. Changes to what we believe we saw can come from another person's observations about a situation or from our own false revision of the situation. They can cause false memories that corrode the accurate ones. In my opinion and from personal experience, if something traumatic occurs, it will never be forgotten even if suppression is used, even if the event occurred at a young age. These traumatic experiences can cause a lack of connection and ill-feeling toward someone or something. Retrieval, which is the process of reactivating information that

Sunday morning June 25, 2000, I went to church simply because I felt I should. I did not want to be there, but I had to go and fulfill my obligation. I stood at the beginning of praise, but after a few songs I sat down and placed my hands over my face. Anger and bitterness were swelling in me.

My life would have turned out much more difficult had I been born a male. My name would have been Charles. My parents, the hippies that they were, had an interaction with members from Spawn Ranch. They both agreed my name would be Charles. As a small child, I do not know that my life would have been much different. I had both male and female toys, friends, and clothing. My parents allowed me to make my own choices as much as possible. I was the only child, and as far as they were concerned, I was just a smaller adult.

In my sixteen years of existence, I’ve had plenty of fun, exciting high points where I feel like nothing in the world can drag me down. However, along with those amazing times, my worst ones were always to eventually follow, like it did my sophomore year when I had a choir performance in Visalia with some of my favorite friends and amazing teacher. It was most definitely a high for me. A little over twenty-four hours after, I had fallen off the roller coaster that was my happiness and hit the concrete.

I went outside to feed my ducks, dogs and birds. When I was done I went to the front with my sister and brother to play. While we were playing my dogs came outside and started running away but they would come back. We saw my dogs coming back so we went and locked them in there cages.I saw my dad at the back cutting the grass so I went with him. I helped him cut grass and clean our backyard because we were gonna celebrate my 4th birthday party. But then something bad happened to my leg. My dad stopped cutting the grass and then we started talking so I put my leg on top of a lawn mower while it was hot. I screamed and cried because I burned my knee so I went inside to wash my leg so I can

The third week at the Mayfield Village store I spent my time in the Deli Department. This week I learned the ins and outs of what a deli associate does on a daily basis. I learned about how to service the customer from behind the counter and all the questions to ask them in order to give them the quality of products that they want. There are many difficulties with the over the counter customer service. The associate always has to have live eyes and pay attention to the counter while you are competing other tasks. I learned what the deli has to do in the morning in order to prep for the day. They have to pre slice a few of the top selling products in order to run the efficiency of the counter. I learned the importance of cleaning the slicers

I was nine years old when my father passed away. The death of my father no doubtfully circled a list of negative affects around my family and me, yet a modicum of positive aspects shimmered in eventually, making the dark room just a little brighter. Following the incident, my mother decided to move out of Montreal; our home at the time, and move halfway across the country, to Victoria, BC.