Personal Narrative: My Waking Up

I think that is an excellent thought, Lindsey. When I first read this that is what I thought as well. Whenever Ada begins to let Susan love her, and whenever Susan starts to show more affection Ada lashes out. I think that Ada lashes out because she feels like she is not deserving of love, and she is not deserving of nice things. This just tears me up inside when a person does not feel like they are worth being loved. The amount of damage that Ada has suffered is almost irreversible now and I think Susan is starting to realize that this will not be an easy fix. I am honestly surprised at how normal Jamie is because even though he was not the one who was abused, he witnessed the abuse. I am glad that he has not lost his trust in people. This

I wake up something is different in the environment. I hear a lot of sounds; it comes out of the room where I am. It´s different sound from everything I heard before. I´m continue walking outside the room, immediately I see a strange artifact, which I have never seen before. I´m looking it so excited, because it´s capable to produce sounds and colors by itself, also there is wonderful women there. It is too thin to contain a woman inside; perhaps they shrouded her.

We took a bag of food and water that can last us about a week,

I remember when I started my recovery I was discharged from the detox program into a six month transitional program. Transitional living that deal with people recovering from addiction are often referred to as recovery residences. The Transitional Living Center provided me a place where I could re-establish my own self-worth. When I was at the transitional housing I felt safe from the possibility of a relapse. My recovery plan was individualized according to the determination of my needs. They taught me what my triggers were and how deal with them in positive ways. I remember when my six months were up and I was getting ready to be transferred into the supportive housing program to be integrated back into the community. Supportive housing allowed

“Noah, here take her!” standing on a 10 story high building, the lady throws me across. Noah catches me as we both tumble and roll on the roof’s concrete. As he gets up from our rough fall, which felt like we had been tackled by a 600 pound football player, he manages to lift me upon his back as I shake uncontrollably in fear.”Take her fa-” another bomb goes off in the destroyed city as the ashes began floating on us like snow on a winter day. “There’s another protection tunnel on 21 and Shepard’s street. There you will find a box of necessities that’ll last you for about a month and a half. And remember,if someone asks you to join you MUST say NO. Use the shuttle lock pad and the code to lock yourselves in it. It’ll hold all the oxygen you

The body I had managed to jostle awake was a latecomer to Oeste the Stalerie had labeled Makenna. It was common for farmers to sell their female children to Oeste, the males were sold to Sur, on the night they were born and given a new name under the King. It was either the tower you sold your children to, or the death of not only your Daelocke child, but it meant your death as well. My own father was an impoverished horse farmer somewhere near the south. He, his wife and four children occupied a home somewhere distant from the island. They had supplied The King and his Stalarie their horses and livestock. I was told by the Sylphen that I was the last child born, and regrettably, born under the night of a full moon. He had sold me just three

I remember waking up early one morning with my dad saying "lets go get the stuff in the car" Then we got the stuff in the car and we drove off to Phoenix/Mesa airport.

In the blood of battle, the most fragile thing is easiest to lose: your wits.

Waking up in the morning going to school was a normal everyday thing, just a normal day of life for a 7th grader. I finally arrived home; it was confusing seeing my dad’s car home. It was silent you could hear a pen hit the floor. I go up stairs to see my dad past out on the floor. I froze, and I run towards my dad hoping he was sleeping. When I’m sitting in front of him his breathing was shallow. I try to wake him up, but at first he does not move and then I see his eyes open. I scramble, and try to find my phone to call the police. The lady on the phone ask many so questions in such a short period I could think of the words to answer. After I hang up there is another long silence. Then I hear a siren getting louder and louder as it pulls

There is an unseen balance in the universe, one not measurable with charts and graphs or even with the highest tech machines man has to offer. This unseen balance guides my life like a tiny white flame, showing the way through the infinite maze that is life.

The next day, I was the lucky one to be elected by my mama to go and grab the pile of past-due notices that were surely piled up in the mailbox. As I started rummaging through them, I had noticed that there was one in particular that stood out because this one had consisted of a high-quality stationary. The envelope was clearly addressed to my mama, Janine Barrett Singer, and it had the words OPEN IMMEDIATELY TIME SENSITIVE printed on it diagonally in bold, black ink and in all capital letters. The return address said it was from the law offices of Schlitzmeyer and Brown located somewhere in Elmira, NY.

I am so emotionally invested in my clients, which allows my clients to actually IMPLEMENT and DO everything we create. I couldn’t do this if it was an automated, generic, run of the mill, done to death business mentoring program. If I give them that, that is exactly what they will create and THAT is not smart, savvy or a success generating lifestyle and business. Nor is it the change I want to see in the world. The past weeks of my AWAKE program we have been putting together what would seem to business basics, BUT that doesn’t it cut it in my eyes. We go so deep that my clients are amazed at the result, because they have never done anything like it (most of my clients have had several coaches, mentors and been around the block a couple of times)

All I remember was me wanting to cry and feeling like I was not smart enough. I remember my math class being almost Chinese to me. I would ask for help but it just was not making sense in my head. I would cry myself to sleep because I knew that the next day would just be the same, not knowing what was going on in class. I would cry to my mother and say I could not do it anymore, but as a mother, she gave me her words of wisdom and made me believe in myself. I knew that I had to somehow stop this stress and overcome my obstacle. I began to find any help that I could get. Whether it was help from a friend or finding helpful videos online. Sleeping until three in the morning was usual for me. I stayed up late studying and making notes until I understood the topic completely. I found my own techniques to do the math a lot easier. At this point, I saw a change and felt confident in myself. I was no longer scared to go to class. My math teacher pointed me out and acknowledged that all my tests were 90% or higher and my hard work and effort was really paying off, because of this I was one of the very few who earned extra credit in the end of the

When I was eleven years I had experienced two fundamental shifts in my life, though at the time I was quite unaware of the long lasting implications of these shifts. The first shift occurred when I had my first panic attack. The second shift occurred later in the year when I was made of my father’s worsening alcoholism. It is these two seemingly independent events to which I pinpoint the foundation of my own feminism. Over the next decade, these two flourishing fragments of myself would no longer be able to exist parallely in my own conscious. Instead I would begin to understand the intersection of my experiences of anxiety, emotional abuse, and alcoholism.

The stars shine brightly in the dark navy-blue canvas above. My heart races a mile a minute, nearly bursting out of my chest. In a blink of an eye, my world changes. The burning balls of gas are overshadowed by the black blobs which form amongst them. The terror back home is probably lurking around here somewhere but, I'm too tired to run.