Personal Narrative-What Is Something Wrong?

I am not a writer. Writing an essay feels painful, I never know whether my work is sufficient or up to par with the standards. In math, 1+1=2. There is no debate, argument, or discussion. In writing, there is no right answer and it is not always accepted by everyone. I am scared. I am uncertain. The last sixteen years, I struggled viewing myself in a positive way. Being an only child and having to live in a basement for so many years made me crawl in a hole and isolate myself from the world around me. When I was younger and saw kids playing sports, instruments, or activities, all I could think was “I wish I could do that.” I was not exposed to the world as most of my friends were, I did not have anyone to play sports or games with. My mom works two janitorial jobs so she was either working or just

The one time I experienced failure was last year in April. I had just finished a great indoor season and I was eager to start outdoor season. The reason why was because I wanted to accomplish some of the goals that I didn't get to accomplish during indoor season. I wanted to train hard, stay dedicated, and motivated. I started giving it my all at practice and no matter how hard practice was, no matter how tired I was I refused to give up. I told myself that this season would be a great one but I was wrong. Unfortunately, there were other plans for me, I ended up pulling my hamstring that year and not only was I devastated but I was upset. I put so much hard work and so much effort for someone to tell me that I might be out for the rest of

I do not believe in much aside from a few simple morals such as knowing right from wrong. There are no moments in my childhood worth mentioning and those that are I prefer to keep to myself. However what I can and choose to share are common experiences faced by many and that I too have experienced such as bullying, the divorce of two parents, having to constantly move from place to place, and always starting school as the new kid. Yet through all of it such experiences had no effect on shaping who I am today aside from a newly found sense of independence. Growing up I never cared nor did I worry about what I believed in because it didn’t matter at least not until somewhat recently.

Dan was an ordinary 13 year old boy. Dan hated school just like most people in the 8th grade of Rocky Silvers Middle School. He had a few friends, but they didn’t talk to him. They just didn’t bully him so Dan liked them. Many people knew who Dan was, not as the popular, nice, awesome kid, but as the kid to tyrannize everyday.

"Anything wrong?" He poked through the sheets and gazed at the inside of the fort. I was solemn in a corner, I shed my sweater and let my wings out, in nothing but jeans and a tank top. The back was low, as not to give my wings any unneeded friction. When the words so much as left his mouth, I felt my lungs chained up, prisoned in my ribs, looking out through the bars, wishing to speak, to breathe the air. I was not okay. But I couldn't voice myself. For the past few days, I've felt nothing but hollow, and a new species took over my body. I do not feel as if I'm making my movements, verbalizing my words, or seeing my sights. Everything seems to be grey now, like there's no life here, not in me or anyone else.

Once I got in my 6th period class I sat down, and began my work like everybody else did. As I finished my work; Coach Bell seen me upset, he ask “What’s Wrong?” I told him that my Uncle Charlie isn’t doing so well and I’m I getting check out at 1:25 to go see him. About 1:20 the enter clam came buzzing on asking for Jana Boothe she’s being check out. So I grabbed my stuff, and left going down the hallway I ran into my friend Skylar, and he asked me “Where am I going?” so I told him that I’m getting checked out to go see my Uncle Charlie. After I told him say that I hope he gets better and everything; after he said I smiled and gave him a hug and thank you for being here for me. When Mom and I got in the car my brother and my uncle were already in the car, so just headed towards Conway to see my Uncle Charlie for a few hours. By the time we got there my mom told to stop crying and look happy as we pulled into then drive way I stopped crying. As I got out of the car I walked up to the door, and knocked on it then I walked inside gave my Uncle Charlie a huge hug, and told him that I loved. Then after I did I went to sit over by my Grandpa by the time I got over there supper was almost finished, and yes I was starving I barely ate lunch at today because my nerves were shot. Once supper was completely finished I

“Hey Claire!!” “Claire what’s up!!” “Hiiii!” This is what I am greeted with as I walk into Panera for my closing shift. It is honestly one of my favorite aspects of working here.

“Every time I turn around, Andrea is trying to kill her bother. Half the time, Isaac is either being a pervert or a show off. Six, it’s annoying,” I whined.

Anyone could have heard me; anyone could have saved me. But, no one bothered to really stop and listen for me. Could I have been louder? Do you think if I had raised a ruckus, anyone would have helped me? Everyone has their own opinions on what I should have done differently. Frightened and alone, I had no way of making myself known. Giving the exception of my discovery, of course. “Help” had finally saved me from the sewer. I had been trapped there for so long and had become so sick and weak. Just before I came down here, I was loving. Kindhearted, caring, and ever so cute. Love was something I was never short of. Most people would have appreciated that. Not everyone though. Of everyone who could have taken the utmost care of me, I ended up

At some point in our lives we are confronted with a problem. This problem inevitably shapes who we become. My greatest obstacle came early in life; when I was in 8th grade, I was arrested for possession of marijuana.

I waited with my other siblings while the receptionist told us where we needed to go. As we walked up and down the stairs and through the seemly never-ending hallways, I felt as if everything was suddenly falling into place. This baby boy was meant to come in my life and knew that. It finally appeared, the room my mom was in. This was the moment I had been anticipating. The adults got to go in first and look, while the kids sat outside and waited. My Dad walked out, “You guys ready to see him?” Of course I was ready. He opened the door and there he was, my little baby brother. As I went to hold him for the first time, he felt so small and fragile. “What’s his name?” I asked. My mom responded, “Ethan, Ethan

Last Wednesday I ate in the cafeteria with a friend for the first time. Most of the time my classes and their subsequent homework make it impossible for me to find a time to go to lunch with someone else. It was an interesting experience since I rarely eat meals in the presence of others. On that note, I did notice that I could not fully focus on how I felt talking to my friend because I had to constantly work on keeping my thoughts on the current situation. If I try to think about other things, my mind would get so far on track that I could not productively contribute to the conversation. During the lunch my friend and I split up to go to our respective lunch lines. Upon getting our meal, we sat down at one of the long tables in the

Being in labor was by far the most painful experience of my life. On October 1, 2013, I was rushed into the Downtown Baptist Labor and Delivery Emergency room. My contractions were twenty two minutes apart. The contractions were the worst pain I ever felt. It felt like I was getting kicked over and over again in my stomach. The doctors came in for a cervical check to see how far I dilated. I was only dilated two centimeters. At that moment I felt disappointed because I had to be ten centimeters to deliver my baby. The labor pains were persistently coming however; they couldn’t do anything until the next day because that was my due date and I wasn’t dilating fast enough. My stomach started to growl, I was in so much pain

I am looking for my first gig on this site, and hope you are willing to take a chance on a newby of sorts. I do not have a website or proof of my writing skills, other than this Cover Letter. That doesn't mean I have no experience with either. I do have a rather unusual need for privacy, so I rarely share my information on social sites and whatnot. I took a chance on this site, as I also have a need to be productive, I kinda like to eat, and sorta enjoy the roof over my head.

Has someone ever just asked what was wrong out of the blue? Well imagine being asked that by strangers who just happened to walk your way. I always would answer with “nothing” or “just a bad day.” In the back of my head I would think to my self “ I don’t know what’s wrong.” Being asked through out the day “are you sick?” Or “did you sleep at all?” I would get tiered of answering and just smile and node my head. I didn’t talk about my feeling much; I would just focus on the problems of others. Not because I was interested but it keep me from opening up to them. I just didn’t know what I felt. There was one place I felt happy, in where I could pour my heart out without being judge. My drawings, my doodles; with every single drawing I could express so many feelings on portraits of pretty faces; But that too just stop comforting me. I felt so alone. Since I had a pessimistic view on life I though I had no one to count on. Later I realize I wasn’t on my own, I had people that I could ask for help.