Personal Narrative Analysis

Jerry wakes up in a dissociative state still hungover from the previous night’s drug binge, nullifying the pain with a fluffy, symmetrical line of Peruvian cocaine and a tightly packed bowl of luminescent green, trichome plastered cannabis nug sourced from California out of his Illadelph bong; naturally, Jerry was quite the aficionado in recreational drug use and progressive dependency. As dopamine floods his prefrontal cortex he’s invigorated with a renewed sense of grandiosity; he looks in the mirror, his eyes are sunken in, the pallor of his complexion is ghostly, an apparition of a once revered public figure. He averts his eyes to his many awards and commendations for a brief moment, before the cannabis takes effect. He brushes

I am getting excited just thinking about being finished with fieldwork next week. It has been another great week and I still continue to learn something new each and every day. This week brought new challenges for me with seeing more kids on my own, but I know Duane is there to catch me when I fall.

From the moment I was able to tie my shoes and button my jacket, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. While all my classmates at the La Petite Academy made macaroni trees and smiley faces, I drew myself with a stethoscope curing a poor man with the cold. Every year in elementary school, we had career day. Never straying from my love to helping others I wanted to be a surgeon one year, to a dentist the next, and even an obstetrician, I changed my mind quickly once I found out what they did. Looking back on my childhood, I always had a connection with animals and always loved being around them. Early mornings I would open our nearly frozen-shut windows listening to the birds calling. Beside from the squawking of the crows, I heard a soft, pleasant yet curious bird call. It stuck out to me

I was convinced at one point in my life that I wouldn't graduate high school, let alone get a college degree. I grew up in a broken home, where there was physical, emotional, mental, and sexual abuse. This all had a tremendous affect on me as a young girl, well into my teenage years, and early adult hood, and significantly impacted the choices I made for myself at the time. I moved out of my home at the age of 15 after my mother remarried, I went to live with a friend which I thought at that time was a great idea. It wasn't long after that I began smoking marijuana, doing cocaine, drinking and taking rohypno. I was hanging out with all the wrong people, and I stopped going to school for over a month my junior year. One morning after I had drank

Growing up, my parents and I always took the time to read stories together. Before bed, before school, while playing with dolls in the bathtub. Fiction and nonfiction stories alike taught me about both the physical, literal world around me, and the world I could create in my own mind when I needed to find comfort. It was through the works of fiction, however, that I learned despite the hardships of life, I could disappear into a world I could mold however I pleased.

Once upon a time, there was an illegal immigrant named Rosa she came from a poor family and her mother left her when she was 4 years old for another man.

Growing up I always had trouble in school, but my struggle only drove me to work harder. The issues I experienced with my recall made everything school related just a tiny bit more difficult. Because of this, I had an IEP, or an Individualized Education Program, in school which gave me accommodations like extra time on assessments and classrooms with two teachers. However, even with the extra help that was offered to me, it was tough to see how others were able to succeed while they only put in half of the effort.

During my pregnancy, I envisioned what it might be like to be a mother; I imagined that I would have a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, similar to myself as a child. I imagined someone calling me “mom”, watching them take their first steps and letting them have chocolate cake for breakfast. I expected that we would be able to relate to each other, I would teach her (or him) things, and we would evolve into friends as my parents and I have. My beautiful son Aries Jayden was born in Edmonton, Alberta at the Royal Alexandra Hospital, on September 18th 2003 at 1:29 am by emergency caesarean. Aries did not cry as most babies do when they first come in to the world. The doctor realized that something was different about Aries the moment

On the third week of a Trail Maintenance crew I did in the white mountains my mental and physical capabilities were put to breaking point. Our groups usual routine of lounging around on the weekend was going to change, we were going to embark on a Leave No Trace. A two day backpacking trip where we expand our knowledge on outdoor ethics. We loaded up our packs with supplies and then packed the van with our bags and departed.

I always had trouble making friends. I was socially awkward, misunderstood almost every cue from my peers, and too clumsy for my own good. By the age of 9, I knew it would be exponentially harder to build a relationship with others. My parents started the process of divorcing each other, placing me in the mediator position. During this time, I was forced to help raise my younger sister and manage the household while my father worked. Instead of doing elementary school workbooks, I balanced checkbooks. Rather than trying to understand vocabulary words from novels, I had to figure out legal terms. I stopped trying to connect with my teachers and my only friend. I became closed off from other people, but more importantly, myself.

I moved here when I was three and I quickly found friends. With my spare time, I enjoy hanging out with my friends, playing on my trumpet, playing my piano and reading. I’m currently reading Harry Potter for the sixth time and watching all of the movies with my dad for the second.

North, South, East, West. Where I’m from is not just a word or phrase. Where I’m from creates a paragraph, an essay of mysteries I’m still trying to figure out now. My mother was born up Northeast in Washington D.C., and my father was born Southwest in Oklahoma. Some of my family still remains there, but others trekked to other cities such as New York City and San Diego, making vacation decisions difficult. Should I go out West to visit my cousins? Or should I go North to visit my grandparents? Although most of my family comes from everywhere, most of my culture comes from the United States. No, I have never been outside of the country before until this recent Spring Break. “What makes me different than any other American then?”, you may ask. Yes. Both of my parents are predominately black, but that isn’t what makes up who I am.

I’ll start by saying I’m shy. I don’t talk to many people, so it would stand to reason that there aren’t many people who know who I am. And if someone were to ask who I am, I’d give the answer expected of a college student: name and major. But this is writing and it’s 3 in the morning and I already deleted all of the writing I did for the “Trump” prompt, so I’ll let the walls down.

Thursday morning came quickly for Samantha. She had lain awake until the early hours of the morning reliving her lesson from the previous night.

Sleep is something of a privilege for new parents – or so Blaine and I discovered that first night. Truth told, I heard mothers often complain that they couldn’t remember the last time they slept through the night or about how the baby kept them up all night, but I thought they were exaggerating. I know otherwise now, don’t I? Another thing I learned is Colby has a set of lungs on him, and he doesn’t hesitate to show them off when he wants something. Not that I mind, I assure you, for I’d do anything for our son without hesitation. Besides, I’m more fortunate than some of those women considering Blaine and I traded off throughout the night, my husband willingly foregoing sleep to take care of our beloved little one. Still, I’m amazed