Why Do You Keep Coming Home So Late?

At twenty-two years old my younger-self had previously pictured me in an entirely different place. I never imagined living in Texas, I’m originally from Chicago, and that’s where I thought I would reside. I thought I’d be graduated from college already, but fate had a different plan. And never in a million years did I think I would become a drug addict; but I am, and you know what? It’s been the best thing that has ever happened to me, it’s something I’m truly thankful for now. See, all the things listed above may seem like negative things if you look at them from an outside perspective; however to me, they’ve changed me in ways I never thought possible just six months ago. Multiple circumstances have led me to this point, but a few stick

As I lay there in the sand, the burning pain surging from where the surprisingly sharp-edged seat - that in a twist of tragic irony was the very same vehicle I attempted to draw satisfaction from - had dug into my legs, I mulled over what put me in that position. I was in Ottawa on holiday, the city before this city in which my life was idyllic, where I was surrounded by who I once considered to be lifelong friends playing in the park with me, enveloped in a deep passion for the place where I was born and my family still lived happily together. Being uprooted and haphazardly transported to a city seemingly an entire world away with only one of my rocks to rely on for reasons not entirely known to me was a horrible experience, and I fell into a deep depression when I made it here to Edmonton. I looked upon the dullness and unfamiliarity of oil country and compared it to the manicured government town that was the Ottawa I had so many fond memories in and found it falling hopelessly short; I then retreated back into those memories as a refugee. I grew older of course, and over time I began to create new memories and nurture a different kind of love for Edmonton and Alberta. Yet when I returned to Ottawa, and reconnected with old friends and family members I began to wonder just how different my life could’ve been if I stayed in Ottawa, if I didn’t have to dissolve old bonds to forge new ones or waste time wallowing in self-doubt over my parent’s separation. Would I

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

Nonetheless, your feelings of guilt, and shame spurred you along. You sighed. You shake. You moaned. You groaned. Still, your guiltiness did nothing to stir remorse until two summers aback. Yes, your body had developed a tolerance for the acid trip. You needed to increase the doses the get that high. This summer was no different than any other. Yes, you were on one of your binges, and you blacked out. When you woke up there was blood all over your face and vomit on your chin. You lay naked on the ground in sugar daddy cellar. When you sat up you were covered with feces and urine. You managed to pull yourself up. You pulled up your pants and buttoned your shirt. The blood on thighs and the money of the floor told you what did not want to acknowledge. Your sugar daddy had sold you for a fix. His need was bigger than yours. God alone knew how long was the human train. You did not scream. No, you did even cry. Your life had come full circle. You stumbled over the garbage bags in the cellar. You smelled. You walked all the way to your parents’ house. It was a two hours walk. You pasted sugar daddy and did not stop when he called out your name. After you showered you climbed into bed with your mom and cried. The next day you checked into your first

I was an orphan. I had nothing to offer them. I didn’t have a good paying job, I lived with my aunt and uncle, and I didn’t have a family. My in-laws informed me that they did not care about anything other than their daughter's happiness. Because of that, I was able to find a light in my life. My wife gave me a family. A family that I had never had before. Hmong parents had also despised orphans. Whenever I talked to girls, I would always lie about who I was. I would never tell their parents that I was an orphan. If I had, they would’ve never allowed me to talk to their daughters. My wife’s parent’s were different. They assured me before to be honest about who I was because they didn’t care about my background. And because of that, I was able to be myself. Tell them my life story. Tell them who my parents were, where they are and how I became an orphan. It was the first time in my life where I didn’t have to hide who I was. My wife gave me everything I could possibly ask for. My life was going no where. I saw it as a failure with many mistakes. But with her in it, I was able to build myself up. I was able to get to where I am

“We are moving to Arizona. It’s your decision whether or not you come with us.” As a seven year, old girl, this was one of the hardest things to hear from the woman I was supposed to trust most, my mom. I had to make a decision whether or not to move across the country with my mom and a stranger, or move in with my dad and stay near my family. I immediately responded with “I will be staying in Massachusetts”. Although I knew that this decision would flip my world upside down, I didn’t know how much I would personally change because of it. In that moment, I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be seeing my mom for another year. I didn’t know that our relationship would never be the same again. That one sentence changed the whole course of my life. In that split-second decision, I went from a seven-year-old little girl, blind to the reality of life, into a mature young girl forced to swallow the idea of her mother leaving her behind.

Do you hate early school start times? If so, here are some reasons why I think we should have early school start times due to the amount of students not getting enough sleep. Students are not getting enough sleep and it's damaging their mental health. We should have a later start time because the students will be awake and their health and grades will improve because they're getting enough sleep.

Don't students just hate having to wake up early to go to school. Why not get an extra hour of sleep? It's better for both kids and staff members. Not all schools have a later start time. Students are going to tell about later start time. The students in Lake Zurich Illinois would like to start school later. Their are many learning benefits, it will be safer, and a student survey supports this idea. Therefore it would be safer if Lake Zurich community have a late start time, so it's not a hazardous time outside from being in the dark.

Although I was born in San Antonio, my childhood life wasn’t spent in the Alamo City. Up in north Texas, there is a miniature city consisting of three thousand people named Nocona. The town was my childhood life until my mother fell into a deep depression. As a result, my mother was unable to hold a job or take care of my sisters and I. This resulted in my mother giving us up to my father in San Antonio. When arriving in San Antonio, my mother would tell me that she was going to come back for us. It has been seven years and I have not lived with my mother since.

Everyone needs an “escape” from their reality at times. Alexie’s story about his family being alcoholics brought up strong emotions for me. He explains, “Like many kids in that situation, I learned to retreat into myself” (Alexie 42). Every family has their own struggles behind closed doors. For

My dad was getting dressed nice in a collared shirt and slacks. My aunt Keziah was on her way over to watch my brothers and I was going to a friend’s house. Today the court would decide whether or not we live with my mom or dad. I finally understood. My dad loved my mom. He left because he had too, not because he wanted too. I heard him on the phone saying that it is best for him but not for his children. What was good for us was being where there was no abuse. No aggression. I do not blame you, dad. I believe you have changed. And he did.

My entire life, my parents have always wanted what was best for me. My dad, an immigrant who moved here at the age of seven, speaking not one word of english. He lost his father at the age of five, and his mother at the age of sixteen. Therefore, he practically raised himself. He graduated high school from Honokaa High & Intermediate School, but had no desire or intention to further his education. My mom, born and raised in Puna, had parents who were separated for majority of her life. A father who wasn’t very involved in her life, and a mother who chose drugs over everything else in her life, especially her five kids, my mother being the second youngest. My father, for all of my life, has worked six days out of the week, to provide everything I could ever possibly need; along with my mother, who has, at times worked multiple jobs at once, to support me, in

I'm sitting in my room getting high now. Doors locked, music up with his lights out. I just take another take until his room gets full of smoke. 5-6-7 hours till he knocks out. Now I started stealing pills from my mom 8-9-10 at a time and they’re gone and maybe for the moment all my problems seem to fade, but the high fades too after not too long and that’s when it sinks in that these drugs won’t fix me curled up on the floor, can’t take it anymore. Now I'm talking to god because he’s the only one who gets me. On my knees, looking up, can’t stop crying. “God I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but this time I really need you right now, please god help me, say something. Just give me a sign, because now I'm falling apart and I don't think that I can do it. Please god, give me the strength to pull through it.

I’m only a sixteen year old junior in a small high school 45 minutes away from the capital of Iowa. Therefore, I have never expected much out of myself, and neither has anyone else that knows me. I have always inferred that I would settle down close to my hometown, in order to be able to take care of my widowed, handicapped mother, but I realized that day that I do not want to be someone who just sits around and waits for life to happen.The sermon made me realize that my heart isn’t here, and I have to be able to leave home in order to be able to find my way back. Maybe the rainy coastline of Seattle will offer what I’m missing, or the bustling streets of New York. I believe that in order to grow as an individual, we as humans have to learn how to leave home in order to find our way

In a world like today, one must stay true to their own beliefs, even if they are standing alone. A individual must have a mode for motivation and a positive outlook. Keeping me going in today’s world is important. I need to do me and what makes me happy. I want to leave an impact on the world, no matter what people think. I realize i have done wrong in my life, but I can accept it. I’ve been lost, now I’m found. I want to leave my mark somewhere, I don’t really care where, just somewhere that it will make a difference. I’m ready to show people who I am and what I’ve done. I’m proud of myself and doing what my mom has always wanted for me.