Personal Narrative-Finding Ambivalence

I’ve been trudging along for what seems like hours. I lost count of my steps sometime after my car broke down. When I look around all I see is an almost tangible grey curtain hiding everything except for a small segment of the highway. As I look forward the dark grey of the asphalt blends into the fog. I have no Idea what time it is when the fog rolled in my phone died. Without a clock, any length of time seems to go on forever, especially when the sun is hiding behind the fog. I just something I don’t understand about my situation, there has been no change in light since the fog rolled in. Same brightness the whole time. It’s almost like it’s not that I can’t tell time is passing. It’s that time isn’t passing, but that’s impossible.

One of the greatest life skills that you can attain is to always double check! I unfortunately had to learn this lesson the hard way. Even though obstacles come up, you can always learn from them. In this certain situation, my brother David and I thought that we did something when in reality we didn't.

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 took my seat after the bell had rung waiting for my teachers instruction. Today was the day I dreaded the most, grade check’s. My teacher called us up to her desk one by one, it felt like I was being called to the judge's bench. The room was dim; the only light came from tall white lamps in each corner of the room. I could hear each person breathing heavy, there were only ten of us. I picked up my head and looked around the room. Everyone sat twiddling their thumbs waiting their turn anxiously. A girl at the end of the table had her head resting in her hands while breathing deeply. The teacher called her name, and I felt my stomach turn upside down; I was scared for her. As her grades were read aloud tears rolled down her face. She returned to her seat defeated. Her sister sat right next to her shaking her head in disappointment. Her sister began to scold her in front of the class telling her how

As I sit in the chair of my high school classroom I often feel remorseful of some decision I made as a young girl. these decision would affect me later on in life, and lessons would be learned from my mistakes.

The coyotes howl the moon beckons me the stars wink at me begging me to join the night again. So calm and peaceful my soul was when the moon chased the sun into hiding. Everything went by in a flash as though time was on fast forward while I sat and listened to the music of life. I yearn so for that time again. It was just me and the night.

Personally, I’ve never been a heavy reader or writer. Books and I have a love-hate relationship , but reading has played an enormous role in making me the person I am today. Plus, It has given me a sizable vocabulary and helped me become an exceptional writer. Without all of the reading and writing I’ve done in my years I wouldn’t have the heft vocabulary and I wouldn’t have the enormous amount of knowledge that I have today. My earliest memory of reading books was when I was around 5 or 6 years old. I was sitting on my red beanbag reading a Caillou book, my favorite PBS character at the time. Although I couldn’t pronounce all of the words and I didn’t understand much of the book, the act of reading a book was one of the things I adored most

I often think about what I would do if I never began to pursue my art. Would I be as creative? I began making art my main focus during my sophomore year of high school. Before that, I believed I was going to go into the science field. Not only did it become my main focus, but it was my escape from the struggles in my life, and my coping mechanism to handle my depression and anxiety, as cliche as it seems.

“WHAT DID I DO” I’m screaming in my head from a fight, like when you're innocent when a crime happens and ask questions and keep pushing.When they bring you to a cold investigation room,with one desk,chains,and a one sided glass window.This was the end of a friendship,mine,a friend who is now not.The girl who is beautiful,beautiful ombre hair,smart,funny,her name was Hannah and then me,who has blonde/brown hair,blue ocean eyes,and no glasses or anything.This is what i did,what she did,what we did.This is how i dealt with it,it will get easier.

"How did I get here?" I thought, as the cold, hard steel of the policeman's handcuffs latched on the sensitive skin of both my wrists. Despite the staggering amount of drugs that were raging through what remained of my emaciated body, my mind somehow began to salvage some form of what could be considered clarity. As I slowly began to comprehend what was happening, the policeman started to guide me down the stairs of my home with caution. And that was when I cast my unsteady gaze over my shoulder, only to behold the absolute indignation, repulsion, and total disappointment that dominated my mother's face. Yes, I knew how I had inevitably arrived at this moment in my life. I was being arrested because I was a thieving heroin addict, I was

“The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.” - Rene Magritte, Belgian surrealist artist.

Some would say I’m very down to earth—pun intended. Becoming this way was a journey filled with many ups and downs, almost as if I were on a rollercoaster, that is, if I were able to ride it. The climax of this journey peaked towards the end of fifth grade. The principal had made an announcement over the intercom congratulating all of the “big and tall fifth graders” who’ve made it to the top and were moving on to their next big endeavor: completing middle school. It didn’t take long before I heard one person laugh and point at me saying, “She’s not tall!”

In 5th and 6th grade I hated singing. I thought I was awful at it. Then I joined the choir in 7th grade. I thought it would get me out of the classes I hate, but after the 1st quarter I felt way different about it.

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.

As a child, I was often watching; I lived in a quiet and modest manner. I assumed if you only watched; you couldn’t get hurt, you couldn’t disappoint anyone. I grew into it, seeing things collapse around me and only staring. Like a child who makes a mess and hides, unsure of what to do to rectify it. It took sixteen years to break away from the habit of watching, of just seeing myself fail over and over without attempting to fix that. It took sixteen years to realize only watching did more harm than trying.