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Mental health among students essay
Mental health among students essay
The effects of mental health on college students
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So nervous I had a bit of a shake to me, a constant shake that I’d almost grown accustomed to. I grab the cold metal door handle and pull it open. I walk through the door with a mountain of stress weighing me down. Stress from senior year, stress from work, and especially stress from not hearing back from the college I wanted to go to. As I enter there are pictures covering the wall to my right, a few more steps and I look to my right and I see Mrs.Sivets old desk, now replaced with a stranger. I continue walking and peer into offices filled with familiar faces, until I reach Coach Knapp’s room. Noticing that he is on the phone talking to someone, so I silently plop down on the yoga ball chair that he keeps in the corner of the room. The
As I walked toward a bus full of strangers, using my sunglasses to shield the tears forming in my eyes, I couldn’t help but to be apprehensive of what was to become of the next twenty-three days of my life. As I trudged up the stairs of the bus leaving behind all that was known, I couldn’t help but wonder; What have I gotten myself into?
Analysis of Hemingway’s Narrative Technique as a Short- Story Writer. For many years, the narrative technique of Hemingway has been under debate. Writers before him had already achieved works that bear the characteristics of the modern short story, and many of their works could stand today, with those of Hemingway and of writers like Faulkner, as representative short stories of modern times. What distinguishes Hemingway both from his predecessors and from his contemporaries, however, is the theory he produces to deal with the challenge of spatial limitation which every short story writer has to face: how can he say more than his space actually allows him to say?
As everyone in the locker room are getting ready for the football game James is nervous and excited but then James thought to himself this is not the time to be nervous. As he said that the butterflies in his stomach started crowding around is gut. Since this is their first high school game James was excited to be on the high school football field and when the coach walks in sand says game time James puts on his wide, protective pads and the butterflies go away.
My feet planted firm on the ground as I bit the inside of my cheeks to feel something. My pigtails and gray uniform forgotten along with my surroundings as I just watched death do his work. I didn’t feel like a kid anymore. The once peaceful scene turned into a mass of chaotic moments as soon as metal clashed on metal, and the remains of glass littered the floor of the street in front of the fenced gates of my school. My peers screamed loudly but the sound of the crash replayed in my head, but worst of all is that I saw the blond hair of the woman cover her face like a veil tainted red. My teacher ushered us to wait inside yet my mind was numb and my thoughts blurred as I heard the cries of the adults.
One’s culture somewhat affects the way one views others and the world. It is up to the person whether they want to view things with an open new mind or from one’s cultural perspective. A few examples of how culture somewhat affects someone’s view of others and the world can be found in Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri and in “By Any Other Name” in the book Springboard. It depends on what one’s viewpoints are on other cultures and traditions. If someone thinks that their culture is better than any other, then they might approach the world differently than how a someone that is open to new ideas and is willing to make a change.
Realism occurs everyday, one may not know but its the reason why know not everyone gets to live their lives to a happy ending, its the reason why sometimes you can't get everything you want in your life. Realism is the attitude or practice of accepting a situation as it is and being prepared to deal with it accordingly. Realism is a trend which takes place in the nineteenth century during which literature depicted life "as is," and focuses on real life. This literary movement frequently depicted everyday life; it follows the rule of a phenomenal world and that nothing is added to your life. It is the reverse job of what a filter would do to all the troubles that one may encounter later in life. Realism is represented in Kate Chopin's short stories The Story of an Hour and A Pair of Silk Stockings. In both the short stories, the main characters get to face a dream/fantasy that they’ve always wanted to encounter; something rare that lasted only for a short amount of time. The freedom that each character got was some sort of new freedom that they never experienced before. For example in The Story of an Hour, the main character Louise Mallards is feels oppressed because she can't live for herself. She realizes at the end that her husband was alive the whole time and that her short fantasy came to an end. She thought that it would last forever until the death of her but she was wrong. Another example of realism is A Pair of Silk Stockings, the main character of this story was Little Mrs Sommers. She finds fifteen dollars on the floor and this feeling of having this much money eventually controls her until its all gone. Her lack of being able to control herself and curiosity controls her and the money. W...
After his sudden impulse, Tom found himself on the other side of his window, standing on the ledge below him, gripping the ledge tightly above him. A breeze full of brisk air carried itself to collide with Tom’s body, making his knuckles white from grasping the ledge so he would not be carried by the wind. Inching towards the bright colored paper, he could feel his stomach churning and his jacket grazing across the uneven brick. His mind was only focused on the pattern of steps and hand movements he would do, hoping to not think of the imminent danger and bright lights below him. He began to say to himself, “Right, left, right, left, right…,” keeping that colored paper in his mind and sight. The ledge, its width around half of his foot length, seemed to be infinite.
I walked in and my stomach made a flip-flop like riding “The Scream” at Six Flags. Everyone was staring at me! With their curios eyes and anxious to know who I was. I froze like ice and felt the heat rise through my face. My parents talked to my teacher, Ms.Piansky. Then my mom whispered “It’s ti...
In Paul Toughmay’s “Who Gets to Graduate,” he follows a young first year college student, Vanessa Brewer, explaining her doubts, fears, and emotions while starting her college journey. As a student, at the University of Texas Brewer feels small and as if she doesn’t belong. Seeking advice from her family she calls her mom but after their conversation Brewer feels even more discouraged. Similar to Brewer I have had extreme emotions, doubts, and fears my freshman year in college.
There I stayed for the remaining 20 minutes which managed to feel like hours. Finally, we pulled into the front of the school. Any relief in exiting The Bus left me quickly as I gazed upon Royalton High School once again. I had visited the institution over the last three years for my brothers’ wrestling matches, so it was vaguely familiar. After attending Open House the week prior, I became hesitant to approach since last time I had been assaulted by a large group of chatty girls. Only two people names were known to me in this large abyss of hormones, but I’d never meet either of
I was in the middle of traffic. It was 7:24 a.m. and I had to be in class in six minutes. After studying a significant amount of time, nerves were eating me alive because this exam would mark a stage in my life. My mind kept running, going over and over everything I had studied, thinking about physics, biology, and my worst nightmare; organic chemistry. Five minutes had gone by and I was almost at the location where my future would be defined. My vehicle was parked and my anxiety would not go away. Breathe in, breath out, I begun to ponder; what am I doing here?
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
The sun is making its way up the horizon, but has not yet filled the sky with its cheerful rays. We exit the bus and immediately turned into statues. We stood next the flag pole staring at the school entrance. “This is going to be okay. This is going to be okay” I mumbled to myself. I wanted to enter, nonetheless, gravity glued my feet down to the cold concrete ground. My hands started sweating through my thin-knitted pink sweater and tears were about to roll off my eyes. Shortly after, I saw a shadow of a tall woman approaching us from the school’s front door. My heart beats like a drum as she carefully making her way toward us like you would when you proceed a scared puppy. She stood about four feet away from us making sure she’s not invading our comfort zone. She knelt down and shows us her school staff ID card while holding her buzzing walkie talkie on the other hand. She then ask for our names and walked us one by one to our classrooms. I remember it was so early that I had to sit in front of my class waiting for my teacher to
Of course, the fear of failure kept popping in my head and I couldn't get rid of it.Sluggishly, I made my way to the entrance of the courthouse. As I reached for the door, I let out a sigh of worry. I moseyed down the stairs trying to stall as long as possible. All that I could picture was the instructor with dark, slanted eyebrows that made a wrinkle between his two critical eyes.
It was finally the first day of school; I was excited yet nervous. I hoped I would be able to make new friends. The first time I saw the schools name I thought it was the strangest name I’ve ever heard or read, therefore I found it hard to pronounce it in the beginning. The schools’ floors had painted black paw prints, which stood out on the white tiled floor. Once you walk through the doors the office is to the right. The office seemed a bit cramped, since it had so many rooms in such a small area. In the office I meet with a really nice, sweet secretary who helped me register into the school, giving me a small tour of the school, also helping me find