Personal Narrative: My Legacy

A legacy, by definition, is something handed down by a predecessor. That “something” that is passed on could be anything, ranging from a story told by your great aunts and uncles simply to a doll loved by your family being passed on. A legacy can be a physical object or it can be a word of mouth kind of situation. Legacies aren’t always positive, however. A legacy could also be a burden that an ancestor dealt with.
My legacy originates from when I was a young little fifth grader. I wasn’t treated very nicely by the people at my school, and my brother had already created a name for himself as an awful student which fell onto me unfortunately, as we are siblings and I can’t do anything about it. I didn’t understand why we were moving schools

I had so much to say and thought sharing my ideas and hearing everyone else’s was the most exhilarating experience. But now I rarely hold eye contact and use short sentences,seeing it as what makes what I say different that the kid next to me? I couldn’t stand to hear myself out loud thanks to the fact I made myself believe no one else could either. When I was in the fourth grade, at my previous school, people would sit two and even three to a chair to avoid sitting too close to me. I believed I was normal, but nobody else seemed to.
Today, the reason I am one of the quieter kids is due to that horrible mentality and feeling of isolation that I gained when I was so young and thought that was normal. I never liked receiving help from other people, it made me feel weak, and like I was the only person who needed

I still had very terrible anxiety from the past, so it was difficult to do that. I could barely order food at a restaurant without feeling like I just ruined the staffs’ day, as they were serving food for yet another person. It would make their job easier if there were fewer people, right? I branched out a little that year and I was more comfortable with the school atmosphere. My favorite class that year was literature, taught by Mrs. Connell. My seat was in the back, by a few trusted people. On my left were the windows, with a few healthy plants on the windowsill. Outside the window, during that class, a brown dog would come out of the somewhat rundown house and lay on the steps in the sun. The sun shone on the desk next to me, but never onto my own, and I liked that. I was far enough away from the large groups that I couldn’t hear their loud banter. I loved that aspect. That is my favorite spot in the whole school, and what helped me through the year. However, I’m in the eighth grade now. If I wanted to say anything about what I went through, people would make fun of me, so I can’t do that. My anxiety is still very much present, but I have awareness of how to calm it. Overall, I have more control over what I do. But the reason I don’t talk much has changed, and no one knows except me. It’s not being as I’m scared, but considering that I’m not. Had I wanted to, I could simply start singing High