Personal Narrative Essay : My Love : The Story Of My Story

It hurts. My bright red bruises under the light were buzzing from the pain. The yelling and arguing were muffled by my loud sobs. Why did this have to happen to me? I was just a kid, I didn’t do anything! Stomp stomp stomp. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He found me and yelled into my ears even more. I was called ugly, fat, disgusting, useless, girly, weak. The words ringed in my ears as I asked myself once again, why? I was like a slave, I couldn’t defend myself, I had to survive the beatings. I succumbed to the insults and descended into chaos.

I had always assumed that my legs were strong and that I had decent muscle control, however, this thought was proven wrong at the beginning of my junior year in high school due to a detrimental injury. It was the first game of fall league for basketball, and within the first five minutes I had succumbed to an injury. Tearing my ACL and Meniscus has taught me to continue improving on my strength, not let this one injury keep me down, and to keep a positive mindset.

The journey that Richard and Mildred Loving took is important for history and for the future of civil rights in the United States. I recently watched the documentary The Loving Story and enjoyed the footage, pictures, and interviews of everyone involved in the Loving v. Virginia case. The documentary addressed the issue of interracial marriage in Virginia in 1967.

She stands at 5'6’’ tall; she has pretty blonde hair, with the most beautiful green eyes you will ever see! Her smile, her smile still gives me butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She walks with such grace, and she is not afraid to show or share her love for Christ! She does so much to make sure that I am more than satisfied. She is an amazing mother to our beautiful 4 year old daughter. As you might have figured out, that woman, she is my wife Amanda! I never thought we would be together; 4.5 years later, we have a beautiful love story.

Something came over her when she the smaller girl reading what she had always thought of as her story. Her shyness began to dissolve without her even knowing. She put down her crayons and closed her coloring book. Before she knew it, she was marching her way up the aisle to talk to the other small girl. From behind the girl looked remarkably like herself. With long flowing brown hair that reached almost to the waist of her pants, and skin that was darker than most others, the similarities were striking. Lauren was not tall by any means, but had always been a bit taller than most, the new girl being one of them.

We met (again) by accident, as I was unaware of her summer job as the ice-cream parlor girl, when I walked into the Sugar Shoppe, my shoulders hunched and aching from having slaved all morning over my typewriter. It was the closest thing to a bar near my summer chalet, and I had forbidden myself to drive farther than five miles to find a beer. She was wearing a candy striper’s uniform, the dress cut straight and box-like, lace socks sagging around her awkward boney ankles and her hair tied back with a tired-looking ribbon. The electronic buzzer that warned her of entering customers rung it’s hollow tone as I opened the door and Vitya’s face jumped with an adorable surprise.

Some days begin like any other, and then end in a way so unexpected, so devastatingly sad that it takes your breath away. You are left with questions like how could this be? Why did this happen? To which there is no answer. Your brain begins to hypothesize and rationalize and pick apart every detail, I should have known. There must have been a sign I missed. I live with these thoughts still, like a an incomplete jigsaw puzzle sitting on a table of sadness, in a house of guilt, on a long dark road of regret.

I have always enjoyed school mainly because the work was easy to me. I was an honor roll student with plenty of academic awards presented to me. Elementary school was a breeze and intermediate school brought no competition. However, high school was a different story. My worst subject, by far, was English. I love to read books but to my surprise Harry Potter did not help me analyze short stories. It seemed my brain could not process tone and mood as well as it could understand numbers. Writing essays was an even bigger problem for me. This level of education required more from me than ever before. I, who won the D.A.R.E. essay contest in 5th grade, could suddenly not put my thoughts on to paper. Within the first month of my junior year, I had

You can fold anything into me and it’ll blend. I can write research papers and do group projects, not that I like either of them, but I can do them, without complaining. I can go watch Angus’s band play; I can play pick up ball with Dekalb. I can go to Target on Friday night with Brandy. I can live in Oak Prairie: I can live in the city. I can live here with you, Dad, in this wreck of a house, and I can live with Mom in her mansion that feels like a hotel. I can be your only son, and I can be a big brother. I can be with Angus; I can be with Brandy.

The year was 1993. It was cool, and dark out. I had been watching her; watching her every movement, for almost an hour. Time was ticking by, and soon it would be eleven o'clock: the town's curfew. I had attended church a little before, and I hadn't seen her there, which only confirmed my suspicions. Her red hair looks even more striking in the light of the moon. She threw her head back, laughing at something that her friend had said, and I frowned. Didn't anyone else suspect that she was different?

I have built strong relationships with friends, and met many new ones, that I could only have achieved by spending hours running through the woods. There is a beautiful camaraderie that only teammates can have, I have learned that if you want to go fast, go alone, and if you want to go far, go together; this mindset has made me realize that in order to achieve things you must surround yourself with a strong team that builds each other up. Furthermore, that all parts are important, no matter how small and that cheering for everyone, regardless of speed, builds morale and encourages everyone to perform better.

I was laid on my bed after I bade Ri a goodnight. I was pondering about anything and everything. Thousands of thoughts were racing inside my head. But the most important question among them was, whether I should sleep or not. After the events of that night, a peaceful sleep seemed like a distant memory. Getting sleep terrors every night was being stressful, both physically and mentally. It drained and strained me from inside every time. All the events of that night were still alive and fresh in my memory. Consequently, when I slept at night, these memories rewind and replay. I could still feel the igniting fire kissing my skin and scarring it. The smell of the burning blood was still fresh in my mind, as though I could still smell it

I exhibit untainted modesty and decorum at all times. To modify that statement so it sits in casual terms, I prefer to be well aware of the required principles and stay atop them; I am not one to waver ways away from what is expected.

I finally reached a point where I felt I needed to rest, or get an idea of where I had

I met her two years ago and we did not have much to say at that time. Little did I know that she would later steal my heart and become an intimate part of my life. As the saying goes "there is someone for anyone at any time in this life" and I was about to find out that this saying was so true. I have had a wall built around me and my defense was as a stronghold to protect myself from all the relationships that have come and gone over the years. I thought that I was meant to be alone in this old life and happiness was forever gone from me. This wonderful woman I am speaking of is Mary Doe, and the joy she has given me has revived my hope and faith that I may have finally found love and peace within. She has made me feel like I am a child