Personal Narrative: The Pain

At the age of nine, I watched my uncles lowering my father into the ground and what took his life was addiction. All my life I have watched addiction take over the lives of people, I love. My father's side of the family, besides my grandparents, has always faced addiction. Although, addiction runs through my blood, I will not take the same path I have watched people take all my life. I will be the one to end the cycle. Watching the majority of my family waste their life has motivated me to change the direction and better myself from living a life of addiction and misery.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

Put the gun down! Put the gun down! Pow Pow Pow. The gun shots cracked into the air as loud as thunder. One after another. We live day by day not knowing our end. In the blink of an eye our lives can be changed forever. Its life, yet even in knowing this we never expect tragedy to find us. We never expect it to affect our lives and the people we know and love. I’m going to share with you the day tragedy found my life.

I could hear my breathing as if it was a voluntary action. As I saw my mom car come screeching into the driveway, she rushed out, I ran up to her as I tearfully asked, "Is he okay?" With hesitancy and a sorrow- filled voice she said, "He's dead," I screamed over and over again, "No, no, not my brother! Anyone but him!" and I broke down crying, I felt as if I was paralyzed, I felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped around my heart, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted for it to not be

“Casey, your group needs to do the stunt one more time!” coach said imprudently. It happened March 26, 2015; it was at the end of a two hour practice. During the summer months in South Georgia, it is utterly hot and humid, especially in our cheer gym (a warehouse with no air conditioner); it only has two heavy-duty fans and a roll-up door. With this in mind, my group became slightly irritated. Everyone was exhausted; nevertheless we still had to do the stunt anyway.

Well this year was a hell of a year. I mean, i didn't pass any of the semesters but i did observe a ton of stuff that went on in the class. The class in general was pretty lit. Every day went by and i honestly did some work. The class was ready to learn as mrs g was ready to teach. I mean yea we had some days were we didn't want to learn anything and there were also days when mrs g didn't want to teach. But ima be honest, doing the work we did wasn't in my best interest. Most of the projects we did in class i worked on, but at the end i didn't end up liking how i did it so i wouldn't even bother turning anything in. like the obituary we had to write about ourselves. I liked the meaning behind this but honestly i didn't want to work on that because it just brought back memories of my friends that were killed.

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.

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

I’m fairly new to the adult romance genre, and after reading a few that I adored I got a blogger friend of mine to give me some recommendations. On her list of recommendations for romances that are more rom-com was Melissa Foster’s The Real Thing. This was my first Melissa Foster book and I absolutely loved it! I’m so glad I decided to pick up this one as one of my first picks. he Real Thing takes place in a small town called Sugar Lake and features Zane and Willow who have a somewhat complicated history. I loved that they technically started out as friends and kept in touch all those years before getting together as it just made their chemistry and relationship all the more steamier and swoonier. And while the fake relationship trope was used

I felt like I was paralyzed, it felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped arpound my heart. For a minute I sat still taking in the information, I couldn't belive it. I hadn't even realised that I was crying until I felt my little brother wipe my tears away. I looked down at his tiny tear stained face and saw that he was in just as much pain I was in, he looked so broken. I started crying in disbelief and then ran to my room screaming and yelling. The reliazation that I would never be able to see her again painfully struck me. I don't know how long I was sitting there sobbing but time passed by really quick. I hadn't even realised it was morning. I feltso numb, so emotionless, I wanted to cry, scream and yell more but I couldn't. Everything was

The fights. The words. The looks. I can't handle it. I just want to hide from the all of the people who seem to just want to fight with me. I lay in bed and read blocking out everything going on. My mom will yell at me to get out of my room. She doesn't listen when I try and tell her why I hide in my room. I do not want it to get worse. I am told to smile and act happy and sometimes I will just do it because I don't want to fight, but other times I will put up a fight. I know that I will never be like other people my age. Adults talk to me once and say I am the most mature person my age that they have ever met.

Bang! A metal ball slammed into the concrete wall behind me after I ran to avoid it. I was panting and shaking due to the side effects of the drug being tested on me. There was a crackling sound, then a voice spoke through the speakers. "Subject thirteen, we’ll be firing the last round now and it would be in your best interest to dodge it like the previous." There was a few seconds of peace before they shot it off. It flew toward me at an alarming rate and even with this drug drastically increasing my speed; I could not avoid it. It slammed into my chest and knocked me back several feet whilst the feeling of my ribs splintering and breaking overtook my senses. The immense amount of pain was surely over 50 dels and more than enough to knock

From pre-school through primary school, I was tagged talented and gifted by the school district I attended. My state test scores had placed in the top 2% in math and reading. I was always told I communicate better than most adults. Writing a paragraph on any subject though, and I look at the pen and paper like it’s a deadly virus though. I have failed almost every class despite understanding the material better than the instructor. I spent a great deal of my childhood in a state of confusion asking myself what the heck was going on.

Have you ever been in a crowded room of people, picked out a random person and noticed something unique about them? If I were in a room with strangers about eighty percent of them would wonder or question what happened to my eye. When I actually talk to people I often get asked if it 's a lazy eye. That then leads to me explaining what happened. A tragic event happens to make for an unforgettable day. After three surgeries, countless doctor appointments in Omaha, and eleven years later, I still remember.