Personal Narrative: The Adulterated Soul

Pure desperation is vomiting behind public dumpsters, or stealing laxatives from Target; it is shoving food into your pockets and your hair, hoping no one witnessed you scraping the butter from you slice of toast, storing the excess behind your fingernails. It is wearing ankle weights to yearly physicals, donating blood to “shed a few quick pounds”, and bringing plastic sandwich bags to Thanksgiving dinner to avoid eating the beautifully prepared meal. I was ten years old when I read that I could eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight, permitted that I was willing to carry a toothbrush around in my bag. Little did I know at the time that my playing with such dangerous behavior would then lead to my brain waging war against my body, a series of battles that I would consistently lose over the course of the next nine years.

The stone was cold and I could feel the pain swelling up inside. I took a step towards the edge, I thought to myself, “One more step and the worries would end…” if only it was that easy.

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.

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 quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

Sorry in advance if this is be too much information for some. . . .

I come across a rear projection TV on the side of the road one day, load it up, and take it home. I eagerly spend a good four hours stripping it down and saving as much as I can. I end up with a 48” fresnel lens, two hefty speakers, a couple large capacitors, three glass lenses, and a glass mirror. Left over is a box of electronic waste and the particle board skeleton of a TV. I take the electronics to my local electronics recycling center, and set the wooden frame on the curb. I took 70 lbs. of trash and turned it into 10 lbs. of treasure ripe for projects, 30 lbs. of recyclables that would have gone to a landfill, and 30 lbs. of refuse that I had fun

When I walked into the store, I was greeted by the sales associate, Cathy. She came over and asked me how she can help me today. I replied that I was looking for a new mattress and was told by a co-worker that they had a new Sleep Number bed and I was interested in finding out about them. The associate asked me about my current mattress and what I was looking for in a new mattress. After I answered her questions, she led me over to the demonstration mattress and asked me to lie down. She gave me the demonstration and then asked me to come over to the m7 mattress and lie down on that mattress. The associate then demonstrated the adjustable frame of the m7. She then gave me the laminated pricing sheet and explained that there was a current

Lurid means vivid and unpleasant. Lurid was a word on a weekly vocab quiz I took the week I first visited Simon’s Rock. Lurid was a word used casually (and properly) in a passionate discussion about a Rococo painting, The Swing, in an art history class at Simon’s Rock.

From a young age, I was referred to by numerous as a difficult child. Everywhere I went I would constantly be boisterous and disruptive. Of course, I didn’t act disruptive intentionally, I simply couldn’t help saying everything that came to my mind the minute it came to me. Due to this behavior of mine, I had trouble staying involved in activities, such as sports and scouting. Without these hobbies, I had trouble fitting in with the other kids. What made this even harder was that I moved every two years, which meant I had to make new friends every two years. However, all of this changed when I moved to Huntsville, Alabama.

It was just like every other day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping playing their songs in harmony. I was at the station drinking my coffee.

After seeing the monster I was I had got my answer to my question, that had been haunting me for as long as I could remember.When saw the monster I was, i had a new question that I was determined to find the answers to.Who am I and who had created this monster I see.

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

The ceaseless ring of an ambulance rushes through the single cracked window, filling the room its grating melody. Beyond this bleak room, outside the dingy maroon curtains framing the glass portal to the world time continues to flow. Lovers walk hand in hand with restrained enthusiasm, children run along rushing to school. At night lone men walk corner to corner contributing to the unique landscape of city life. But this room to me is solace, a shabby oasis of peace in a desert of disruption. Posters and pictures line each wall, showing the wear and tear of time with frayed edges and faded graphics. A large metallic grey heater monopolizes much of the corner, protecting its claim with every searing grate. Behind on the far wall stands a single

“Falling down is an accident, staying down is a choice.” I believe this quote helps me understand the true meaning and purpose of getting back up again.