My alarm clock ringed off at 4am, buzzing underneath my pillow. Immediately, I got up and switched it off hoping no one would awaken. The room was extremely quiet, faintly hear my brother snoring in the room across me. The raindrops on my window were starting to multiply, the sky becoming darker. I was worried. I didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, but I reassured myself that everything would work out. I grabbed my old bag that my mother bought me as a gift for Christmas. It was leather, built with sturdy straps and two slots with zippers that could fit almost everything inside. I grabbed the polished keys from my dresser, opening the window ever so slightly. I quickly hopped out and ran towards the old motorcycle, started the engine, …show more content…
, working endless hours at the farm doing laborious tasks that would have needed more than three people to complete. My grades were plummeting faster than I could catch up, and my parents screamed and yelled at me more often about it. I couldn't handle the fact that they were imposing me to do so much work and yet complaining that my grades are so low, not having enough time and energy to complete my homework during the night. On regular weekdays, I would only get five hours of sleep a day without homework; three with. I would show up to classes with dark circles and baggy eyes, other students asking what was going on. I didn’t answer to any of them, knowing that rumors already spread like wildfire and if I said anything people wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. My teachers weren't concerned, knowing that my mother and father are “great parents” and “raise their children properly”. I was tired, groggy, and overworked. I mentally and physically couldn't handle the stress any longer, even after talking endlessly to my parents asking them to give me time and give me some breaks. All they would do is complain about me, school, and then give me more work to do for being …show more content…
I opened up my notebook and started making a chart with the pros and cons. I listed underneath the pros; “ I would get more freedom, I would be able to get a job since I turned 16 two weeks ago, I would be able to save up for college, I would be able to get things that I need for school and my new home, and I could reach my job and life goals faster.” I hovered over the cons section and thought for a bit. I wrote down; “I would need to have funds to start me off in case I do not get a job, I need a vehicle to get somewhere, I need to make sure my parents have no idea that this will happen, and I need to make sure I pack up the most important things. After two straight days of writing and debating in my head, I finally figure out the official plan: I would grab my father’s wallet the day before and take out $300, and replace it with fake money from a monopoly board game. I would also hide the keys in my dresser right before I go to bed, and pack up my backpack with the necessities. Then, I would wake up very early in the morning, open the window, climb out, race towards the motorcycle and speed out of the
It was the fourth year of my school carrier. In other words, the year of truth if I would make the cut to the higher education track. I was nervous because I knew that I would be capable of going this route, but I the feeling of concern was stronger because I haven’t had performed very well in my fourth year so far. At the end of the school year, I received the shocking news that I didn’t make the cut to go to the school which would have had allowed me to go to University later on in my life. I was sad, disappoint in myself, and lost self-esteem in my educational abilities. At this time, I was more embarrassed then able to realize the real benefit of a system which early on tracks children’s
But of course, the voices of my aunts and uncles were always in the back of my head: "you're not smart" , "you're not trying hard enough", "you're not good enough", "just give up". And the fear of failure would make me nervous when a test was around the corner. I couldn’t ask my parents for help because they weren't literate in English and they were only Spanish speakers. I couldn’t ask my brother he was always playing outside with his friends and I couldn’t ask my cousins because they would only make fun of me and tell their parents. So, there was a time I stopped asking for help. My parents saw my struggle so they signed me up for afterschool tutoring. I didn’t know what to expect, I just hoped I would get the tutoring I need to pass my classes. The tutors were so understanding and they didn’t just have homework tutoring but activities for learning which were fun. They also had books they read to us and they made the big kids read to the little
Tears streaming down my face, I kept walking ahead wherever my small, roughed up feet would take me unaware of the consequences of doing so. I felt tears roll off of my cheeks slowly, and then all at once. My shirt was wet and cold because of the salt filled tears, my nose was runny and I used my Winnie the Pooh hanky to wipe the snot away. Within seconds, my nose felt irritated despite the soft, microfiber of the handkerchief and my hands were tired. My vision became really cloudy and I could barely see where I was going. At this point, I had lost all hope and my heart felt heavy, pushing me down with every hurtful step I took. I wanted to sit down and wait for my parents to come to me themselves, so I did. I sat down next to the gate to one of the other rides and waited for what I thought was years of time. I remember getting strange looks from people, as they walked by and I kept wondering why. The ground I was sitting on was unwelcoming, rough, and littered. My pants would definitely need to take a spin in the laundry. Mom wouldn’t be too happy about this, not just the fact that my parents had forgotten me and left me to venture out into the world solitary but also the fact that my clothes were dirty and I had generally made a mess of
I thought I was going to leave empty handed until I spotted the stack of boxes in the far left corner. There was a small wooden box on the top labeled David Walker with black sharpie. This is it. I thought. I sprinted out of the attic holding the box in one hand and the ladder in the other. Out of breath, I plopped down onto my bed, sitting with my legs crossed and the box out in front of me. Answers… Please give me answers. I thought as I opened the box. Inside held a picture of a man with dark skin and short black hair. I assumed this was my father. In his arms was my mother. They were both smiling uncontrollably as if it was the best day of their lives. What went wrong… I thought. Underneath was a black journal, tied shut with a thick string. I lifted it out of the box, untied the string, and began to read the
You can’t see anything around you and there are animals that could attack you. I was on my way home riding my bike. I was as scared as a mouse being chased by a cat. Suddenly, I felt my hip vibrating. It was my phone and I got a text from my mother. She said, “Where are you! You are super late!” I had to stop and text her back because I knew she would get mad at me if I didn’t. Then she texted me again and I had to stop, and again, and again. With her texting me I thought I would never get home. Then I decided that I wouldn’t text her and try to get home as fast as possible. That was a mistake that I will never make
My parents applauded my academic success, but hardly knew the price I paid for it. I vividly remember one night when my mother couldn't fall asleep. She kept going to bed and getting up again. Every -, time I heard her get up, I'd turn off my light so she wouldn't catch me still awake. By 5 o'clock that morning, I was so sleepy that I didn't hear her footsteps as she shuffled down the hallway. When she saw the light under my door, she came in and demanded to know why I wasn't sleeping.
All the sudden I had this weight put on my shoulders. I was mentally wreaked, at that point I felt like my body was just failing me. I managed to get C's in most of my classes but I wasn't able to pull in together for one of them and I got a D+, so I wasn't able to lift my self from academic probation.
rumors began going around that i was a slut & was accused of fucking multiple guys even though i was a virgin. people lost respect for me & eventually started attacking me on social media. i began to change rapidly, and i began to worry my parents, my friends, and my therapist. apparently my depression and anxiety weren't alone, because i was then diagnosed with bipolar. depression, you led me to steal my father's pain killers & abuse them to the point i could take 6 at once and not feel anything. i began to cut again, but holy shit these were worse. these cuts left scars that are still here and will be here for the rest of my life. and again, this goes on daily for months. so now it's almost the end of freshman year, and i actually lost my virginity to a guy who treated me like shit and broke my heart. but as hard as that was, the drugs & self harm you introduced me to helped me through it. well, they helped me until i had my first overdose, at least. an overdose that was caused by me taking 20 pain killers on the last day of school. my dad found me asleep on the couch covered in my own throw up not being able to stand up or form a complete sentence. he knew i had smoked that day but nothing else, so i didn't tell him
I am jarred out of a relaxing sleep by a voice yelling my name in a loud whisper, and a light burning through my eyelids. Groggily, I open my eyes to see my father standing in the doorway to my messy room. He tells me that I need to get going, that it is 3:00 a.m., and I'm burning daylight. I find my clothes and get dressed. The whole time I wonder why I get up this early to visit the rugged outdoors. I want to go back to bed, but I know my dad will be back in to make sure I am getting ready, in a little bit. Instead, I put my boots and my wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat on, and walked out to catch the horses. The horses are all excited because it is dark and they are not that cooperative. My dad and I get them saddled and in the trailer, and go back into the house to get our lunch, water, and a cup of coffee. Now, we can head for the high country.
In eighth grade I made the decision to take the risk of trading in my queen size bed and baby blanket for a twin bed and a complete stranger for a roommate. I came from a small private school located in New Haven, Connecticut that is called The Foote School. I was used to the things people at my school enjoyed like recess, gym class, and soccer. For me, the routine was the same. Everyday I would pack lunch in my lunch box, get Dunkin Doughnuts for breakfast, and scramble to finish my math homework on the twenty five minute car ride to school. The days were almost effortless. I always knew what I had to do and when I had to do it because everyone was constantly reminding me because, after all, I was just a middle schooler. When I was little, whenever we used to drive through New Hampshire, we would stop at the Tilton Diner, or as I called it “that place with the good milkshakes”. To be quite honest, I never actually knew that I was in New Hampshire when I would go to the diner; someone could’ve
I was born in Somalia, a country torn by a civil war where free public education does not exist. I lived there with my grandparents, who both wanted me to have the best education available. They both have started teaching me at an early age, where they taught me the Somali language, Arabic alphabet, and math, because they believed that learning these subjects at an early age will help me accelerate. As I reached school age, they have taken to the school in order to be tested. My test scores revealed that I was in the third grade level, although I was supposed to go to first grade. Eventually, I skipped first and second grade and dived right into third grade. The teachers knew about me, so they would always make me do the hard problems when everyone else was unable to solve them. This habit continued until I got to middle school, where my family decided that we should take things to the next level.
In the year of 2010 around 11:00AM on a bright and sunny summer morning and not a cloud in the sky, you could hear birds chirping and feel the wind blowing, I was planning on swimming in my clear heated pool in my backyard with colorful lights on the inside, it was planned to be the perfect day. Little did I know I was not going to be the only one swimming.
I have encountered the quote,” Easy Does It, Sun” in my life. for example, I was in the Woodland summer camp in 4th grade and they were holding an egg drop in competition. I imprudently forgot to work on it beforehand. Therefore, I woke up really early the day it was due to start my project because I really wanted to win the competition. My mind was racing with many ideas I was putting together in my brain. As I ran hastily down the stairs, I mistakenly slipped and fell. Then, my parents, Grandparents, and sister rushed after me to see if I was okay. I suddenly had lost consciousness and was unresponsive. my mom called 911 and my sister prepared to give me CPR. It was a very frightening moment for everyone. Luckily, my sister had
It was a maddening rush, that crisp fall morning, but we were finally ready to go. I was supposed to be at State College at 10:00 for the tour, and it was already eight. My parents hurriedly loaded their luggage into the van as I rushed around the house gathering last minute necessities. I dashed downstairs to my room and gathered my coat and my duffel bag, and glanced at my dresser making sure I was leaving nothing behind and all the rush seemed to disappear. I stood there as if in a trance just remembering all the stories behind the objects and clutter accumulated on it. I began to think back to all the good times I have had with my family and friends each moment represented by a different and somewhat odd object.
It was the start of a new beginning. The sound of my alarm woke me from a deep coma. I hit the off button with my head still resting on my pillow and my covers still wrapped around me. I felt like a zombie. No matter how much sleep I got I always felt as if I needed more. I got out of bed and stepped on the hardwood floors of my newly furnished apartment. Opening the blinds I stepped outside onto my balcony, located on the twentieth floor, as I watched life. Pedestrians walking with such purpose, some appeared to be in a rush, traffic which was idle due to the over crowded streets. A homless guy in a ripped red shirt with brown jeans, due to the accumulated amount of dirt, caught my attention. He was picking cans out of a garbage as everyone walked past as if he didn't exsist. I siged as I walked back into my condo to put on some coffee.