What Do You Use For An Outlet When You 're Angry? Essay

When classes were out for the day, my cousin and I walked to her house. At home, I had to tolerate physical violence. There were days where I didn’t want to go home because I was afraid of my brother; hoping he wouldn’t become violent

I came home one day to see both of my parents sad. As a third grader, I didn’t completely understand at the time, but my father had been laid off from the job he’d had since his teenage years. My father had started at the age of eighteen as a student worker at Southern Miss, and after years of hard work he had been promoted to the manager of shipping and receiving on campus. When the recession struck, the need to save money resulted in his position being terminated. My father was without a job. My father loved that job and when he lost it, he changed. He found a new love, alcohol. He let his love for alcohol become an addiction. He would do anything for alcohol; he even had secret stashes when my mom had removed all the prior alcohol from the house. Quickly my father became a violent drunk and began to routinely beat my mother and me. He became unstoppable; no person could get him back on track so my mother, in an attempt to keep me safe, removed him from the house. Even my mother’s best efforts weren’t always enough, as my father constantly broke into our house. One day my mother and I came home and my father was waiting in our den with a gun. We walked in, he pointed the gun at us, and then back at himself. He couldn’t decide to kill my mother, himself, or just all of us. He had more hatred in his eyes

Life as a child was really rough,. When I was about 9 years old, my mother would abuse me for completely nothing. eEverything I did was wrong. If I didn’t never eat all my food, I would get slapped,. if I didn’t never do my homework, iI would get slapped. Taking care of my siblings was hard enough and iI was slacking on my school work because I hadve so much to do at home. All I ever did was stay home, watch kids, clean house, and make dinner. I was the oldest, so I didn’t really have a choice but to do all those things because my mother was a druggie. During my teenage years, it got a little better because my mother she had a job,. sShe was going to gonna graduate soon and her siblings wereas doing pretty good in school, Uuntil one day she woke up to people knocking on the door. sShe yelled “Hold on i’m coming.”

The next day, I went straight home after school like my mother had said, she made me sit at the bench perched up on those hideous stools and do my homework until dinner time. She keeps telling me to respect our culture, and how if I were in Vietnam, I'd still be at school at this hour. Hearing about Asia frustrates me, it just reminds me that I don't belong anywhere. But I didn’t have a choice, I sat there alone in front of my open books. I was almost the queen of procrastination, so I found myself questioning why I let her dictate how I spent my afternoon and why those nasty girls at school

As I jotted down the answer to my geometry homework, I felt the vibrations of the floor trembling beneath my feet from the deafening screams of my parents. I continued my work, as I go uninterrupted by the daily routine argument. One day, I didn’t hear the screaming anymore, which was one of the biggest abnormalities in this household. I slunk halfway down the stairs and stretched my neck over the banister to catch a glimpse of what had happened without getting caught. The next thing I knew my older brother was standing by my side, his curiosity piqued. My mom broke the silence by peering her head around the corner of the living room, her eyes locked onto mine. As my brother and my cover were blown, we walked gingerly to the couch and sat down. I watched my mom’s stone cold face quiver out the words, “We...are....divorcing”. My face froze as if I was in a cartoon show. I tried to

The summers in Assur were incredibly hot and dry, and I had spent the day working ambitiously with my father and brother irrigating the crop so it would not die. The sun had set for some time now, so we decided to call it a day and go inside for dinner. While we were working on the farm my mother and sister had been cooking in the kitchen in order to feed a household of five. My father had sat down at the head of the table and called for my sister to bring him his liquor, My father was a mean drunk, laughing at himself, demanding from my mother and my sister, insulting my brother and I, while we sat in silence. Most nights this would carry on until he had drank himself to sleep, but that night he order my mother to bring himself a fifth cup of liquor. When she told him the bottle was empty, he grabbed her viciously by the hair. “Well why don’t you go buy some more?” my father said, throwing her a coin. He then struck my mother across the face twice, and on the second time she fell to the floor. My sister rushed to help her up, “sit down!” he commanded. My brother and I were furious, but what could we do? It was the law, he was allowed to hit my mother as he so pleased. So I offered to go into the city to get him his liquor, and my brother agreed to watch over my mother and sister in the meantime.

“Maddison thought to herself “why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t I just have a normal life?” She walked in on her drunken father beating her mother to death. Her mother Madeline looked so helpless. Fear was all you could see in her eyes. She silently mouthed “ I love you and I’ll always watch over you” to her daughter. Madeline knew her time was coming. Maddison knew what her mom was thinking and it made her body fill with rage, hurt, and anger. She left the scene and went to the place her mother told her to go if this happened again.

Sitting on my mother’s bed with my two younger sisters, our eyes are overflowing with tears and I step out of the room.Their yelling is all I focus on instead of taking action. My parents are arguing over nothing, as usual. My heart begins to beat at the pace of a butterfly’s wing and I freeze. The volume of their argument has increased and I attempt to persuade them that this argument can be solved in a more positive way. I remember the fear I felt when I saw my mother crying immensely, it was gut-wrenching. My father was standing in front of her, I knew he was going to hit her because it was not the first time this had happened.

Everyday at school, I felt like I was watching a silent movie. I can see my classmates talking and laughing as they go about their day, but no matter how hard I try, their words sounded like nothing more than white noise. My parents were too busy to help me, and assumed I would just quickly adjust. While we were well off in China, with my mother the only one working here, there was barely enough money after rent. Instead of a four-bedroom apartment that I was used to, three of us shared a one-room studio. One morning on my second week of school, I was talking to my classmates, when they suddenly started pointing at me and laughing. Months later, I found out that they were laughing at a boy who had fallen off the swing right behind me. But at that moment, not understanding what they were saying, I thought they were making fun of me, laughing at the way I spoke. Never in my life had I ever felt so inadequate and helpless. All I wanted was to go back to the life that I once knew, to escape from the myriad of changes bombarding

“Why does this have to happen to me? What did I deserve to do this, I don't understand.” This was all I kept mumbling to myself. All I could hear were voices in my head that kept telling me negative speculations. Like, ‘You’re not good enough,’ ‘Nobody likes you,’ ‘Why are you even alive,’ and “You should not be here.’ It all started in beginning of 8th grade. I was starting off an outstanding year with amazing grades, all A’s. Then it all just tumbled down hill. I didn't know why, but people just kept hating on me. I could see an extreme amount of people living their incredible lives and then I was just over in the corner living my life down in the dump. I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. I had been bullied throughout my whole 8th grade career, but this one moment, the big moment, hit me hard.

A time in my life were an incident occurred that had had a major impact on me was this summer. This summer was probably one the worst times in my life because my dad left my mom. He left us with nothing because my mom was the reason why they were no longer together. I couldn’t see my dad anymore or even talk to him. I was left feeling depressed and not wanted. At this point in my life I hated and I did wish I wasn’t alive at that time, It was such miserable time in my life were nothing got better it just kept getting worse and worse. I cried myself to sleep every night because I thought everyone hated me and that nobody wanted me. I was stuck babysitting all the time because my mom was out trying to make money. All my grandma did was talk about how horrible my dad was and how she wanted him to die. It just made me mad because it was my mom’s fault every part of it was but I couldn’t say that because I loved my mom more than anything in this world. I also knew she would flip out on me if i said it was her fault because she knew it was. The thing that made it ten times worse was that she found someone new and he was the biggest piece of trash ever. My mom is my queen, she is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I couldn’t imagine life without her . She just tries so hard to make everyone else happy that sometimes it brings her spirit down. I know she didn’t leave my dad to make everyone upset, she just needed a break because five kids and a husband who is always

Due to the naivety of youth, I was unaware of the stark reality of my living arrangements and disposition in life. I was from a lower class Hispanic family that lived in a garage that had been altered by my aunt to accommodate our small family. For up to twelve years of my life, that dingy place was the only place that seemed to make sense. My fondest memories were in that place but I constantly my worst episodes took place there too. People constantly pitied me and I never understood their pity until --I hit middle school--I was in a dysfunctional family and I could never have a true sense of normalcy. This was because my father was a drug dealer and cheater, who constantly would go out drinking while we stayed at home waiting dutifully. Under the veil of ignorance to his disgusting nature, I frequently spoke highly of him and believed he was my hero. Despite the constant fear of wondering if we would have to live in our car or if we’d have food that month and wondering where he stayed the night, I was at peace.

Because of my self-absorption, I didn't see what was going on right in front of me. I knew, of course, that my father had lost his job. I noticed that he was not looking well, that he had gained weight and went days without shaving. Looking back now, I remember his laugh becoming short and sardonic when we heard it at all. I remember how he hardly ever met our eyes and never met the eyes of my mother. But after talking with my brothers I realize that I was mostly oblivious to the despair that surrounded my family that year. Whenever my home seemed less than secure, I would most often disappear into my room with my chemistry book. I never thought anything was seriously wrong.

Father was a well respected Doctor. We were a wealthy family in Aleppo. My two younger brothers had the best education the city had to offer. I wasn’t allowed to go to school. Mother wouldn’t allow it. She was determined to teach me how to be a good wife to my future husband. She made me take edicate classes. I hated it. Ever since I was a kid, I was a rebellious little girl. I was always chasing my younger brothers and sneaking to the backyard after dinner to play ball with them when I should have been cleaning up after the meal. Mother resented me for my boyish habits. I never was interested in being a good wife or a proper lady. When I was younger, I never understood why my brothers could do the things that I wasn’t allowed to do. Now I understand. Girls have a place, and boys have a place, and exploring outside of those strict roles is looked down upon. I despise the way society forces this on us. I despise the things people will do to others who don’t agree with their beliefs, to others who are different. Father

Due to the naivety of youth, I was unaware of the stark reality of my living arrangements and disposition in life. I was from a lower class Hispanic family that lived in a garage that had been altered by my aunt to accommodate our small family. For up to twelve years of my life, that dingy place was the only place that was sensible. My fondest memories were in that place, but I constantly my worst episodes took place there too. People constantly pitied my circumstances and I never understood their pity until --I hit middle school--I was in a dysfunctional family and I could never have a true sense of normalcy. This was because my father was a drug dealer and a cheater, who constantly would be out drinking while we stayed at home waiting dutifully. Under the veil of ignorance of his disgusting nature, I frequently spoke highly of him and believed he was my hero. Despite the constant fear of wondering if we would be required to live in our car or if we’d have food that month and wondering where he stayed the night, I was at peace.