The Story Of My Life

Here I am now, standing under these lights, I hear a thunderous applause, my heart is beating fast. Everyone is looking at me with a smile on the face. I can see my parents sitting in the front seats looking at me so proudly. They are glad telling other people that I am their daughter. After this hard time, I can finally speak like a normal person, not only that, and now my words can reach people’s hearts, change lives and bring hope to others who their lives turned into darkness so suddenly as what happened to me.

“At some point, you have to realize that some people can stay in your heart, but not in your life,” Sandi Lynn. The fear of losing a loved one is one of the worst things in life, and no matter how hard you try to get over it or how hard you fight against it, when the time comes, you are never going to be ready. I realized that when my grandfather died; too young to understand what death was, but old enough to experience the pain. Not only he died, also part of me did. “I will always be by your side, my little princess,” were the words that came to my mind as I walk down to where we would meet. I smiled, as I remembered how much fun we always had”

The line continued to slowly move, and I felt the excitement build up inside of me. I was going to meet BTS! And most importantly, my bias, Kookie. At last, I could see the white table, and I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the boys. My eyes narrowed. Kookie. He looked like he would rather be in hell than sitting at the table. He greeted the fans with a look full of annoyance, and gave them the most pathetic high-fives I had ever seen. I could see the slight disappointment in the fans' faces. I walked up to the table, standing directly in front of him, but I acted as if he didn't exist.

The sun shone high, a little too high. Walking down the path of the Washington Monument in, quite obviously, Washington D.C., the Lincoln memorial looked bigger of an obstacle than my friends and I had thought it'd be. I made a grand mistake of wearing a heavy shirt; sweat was dripping in torrents down my neck. Elli and Kennedie, my greatest friends who always remained faithful, were walking somewhat a few paces in front of me. The heat was very unbearable, but Elli's mom, who lagged behind me more than 10 feet, had seemed to of taken the brunt of the heat.

Hi Kim, I just wanted to tell you a little bit about my story. I got sucked in when I was 21. At the time I was already having a crisis of faith. On top of that I became incredibly disillusioned with college. I was in the wrong major but at the time it just felt like my life was going nowhere. I prayed to God whom I didn 't even know if I believed in, and the rest is history. They were the first people to come along and I was so weak at the time I could be swayed whatever way the wind blew. I had an incredibly pushy bible teacher that basically tried to befriend me then would threaten to quit studying the Bible with me if I wasn 't making progress. And guess who defined what progress meant. It wasn 't coming to know who God is and coming to love him and his son. It was doing the assigned watchtower tasks. So I did them and was just kind of drug along for the ride. Eventually I was baptized, pioneering and going along with the flow. I had my doubts I can 't remember a time when I didn 't at least have slight doubts. But at the time I was doing what they said, partaking fully in there brainwashing program.

I gave her a weak smile, my eyes just barely open. “It’s fine.” I stepped out of the line and found a seat next to the windows. I stifled a yawn, covering my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie, and took out my laptop. I leaned against the window, and closed my eyes for a few seconds, letting the fatigue take over me. The past few hours were a series of last-minute study sessions and failed attempts to understand anything at all. My head felt filled to the brim with equations and terms, and I couldn’t wait to relax again.

Maria slid her dress over her head, and wiggled as she pulled it down and straightened it.

The Story of My Life is an account of the early years of a woman who overcame incredible problems to become an accomplished, literate adult. The book does not give a complete account of the author’s life, as it was written when she was still a college student. It is, however, a unique account of one young woman’s passage from almost total despair to success in a world mostly populated by hearing and seeing people. This book is relatively short, but the modern editions also include letters written by and to Helen Keller and an analysis of her education from a later standpoint.

I allow him to lead me into the room. Two lit floor lamps, similar to the ones in the foyer, reside in the back corners of the room. Two sofas, made from dark wood and dressed in fine cream fabric, lay cornered to one and other. One between the two cream shaded lamps, the other, opposite the fireplace. A low, dark wood bookcase sits under the window with more photo frames along its top. Books line each of the shelves. Angelo doesn’t seem the type to read books, but I can tell from the spines that each book has spent quality time with someone. The warm glow of the fireplace draws my attention, inviting me to sit beside it. The cream, marble mantelpiece has grey lines winding through it like lines on a road map. A large, golden framed

I don’t remember being created, but I suppose that no one really does. I do remember moving to where I currently live though. I remember his hands gripping my frame, and the look on his face. His smile was spread wide from the cheek to cheek, revealing a set of teeth that was no longer whole. The sun shone orange off of the whites of his eyes and revealed little specks of green and gold where they otherwise looked like mud. He talked, but he wasn’t talking to me. I suppose that creators rarely speak directly to what they created. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to sell this one. I really think I might be able to.” He took a few steps backward across the hard wooden floor before placing his hands, his thin fingers, in contorted forms against

The running shower ended. Three minutes later the bathroom room door opened and the informant named D exited. He quickly dried off and shot the towel into the dirty clothes basket. Swish! He pimp walked over to the dresser and removed a pair of boxers, T-shirt, and socks. Throwing them all on the bed, one by one.

"Mom, Leya's gonna be over any second to pick me up for school. I figured I'd go ahead and tell you bye since you don't look like you're coming down anytime soon." I plucked a sloppy kiss on her cheek as she gave me an awkward half-hug while shuffling through some more papers on her desk in a nonplussed manner.

The afternoon prayers from the mosque down the block, drowned out the harsh metal sounds Mum was making with her pots and pans. I wondered when she got up to cook, an early riser myself, I heard her bustling about in the kitchen before dawn. The aroma of fresh rosemary and cranberries made my stomach make the most horrid noise, as I had skipped breakfast, but for this occasion, it was worth the wait.

My story starts here. I was at Sisters Chicken working my shift with one hour left to go until the end of it. I actually enjoyed working here; the people and staff were very nice. I liked how the walls were painted in a bright blue, but it wasn’t too bright. I was sitting at one of the bigger booths in the back cleaning it after customers had just finished eating. I hated being the one to cleanup. I would much rather be a waitress, I thought.

People don’t realize the sad truth that I’ve been holding on for and secretly suffering with most of my life. People seem to see me as a girl that is naturally bubbly, happy, and outgoing. This was a way for me to hide my real emotions in the time when my depression and anxiety were major factors impacting my self-esteem, just a couple of years ago. So, yes, I admit it -- I was a victim of depression and anxiety. My anxiety has been occurring ever since I was a toddler. My usual anxious behavior would be when I would easily get nervous, wouldn’t talk that well in order to be understood, would go through emotional meltdowns at times, and so forth. My depression however, seem to connect a lot with my anxiety because of my meltdowns and it would easily bring my self-esteem down. One interesting fact about my depression is that it got extreme when I was in middle school. Many events in that time of my life made me feel absolutely worthless inside.