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Lessons learned from writing a personal narrative
Lessons learned from writing a personal narrative
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I am writing this sentence at 1:37 in the morning. I’m not anxious because I procrastinated (Okay, I’m a little anxious because I procrastinated), but because I didn’t know what I should have written about. Going back and forth in my head all night wondering which will be the right answer to an open ended question. I could have done any number of topics, but there’s always downsides. Is this too serious, too shallow, too immature? Those were all questions I asked myself while thinking about my topic, all the while wondering what everyone else will think about me. At this point, the only thing letting me write this right now is sheer exhaustion. The wonders it has on the human psyche. As a kid there was little I would be worried about, I never
cared what people thought about me, as a result there are some pretty embarrassing photos of me from elementary school. A staple of mine was a red and white striped jacket five times too big that made me look like I was drowning in a candy cane. Now, however, I change into three different outfits in the morning debating on which one is the most appropriate for weather or society. Generally, I decide on a t-shirt and shorts but a problem arises if I’ve already worn that too many times this week, or last week, or last month. Always praying that I’ll make the right decision for the day, even though no one has ever said anything. Every morning is a storm of second guessing that leaves me standing in a whirlwind of clothes on my floor. There are times when I can relax. When I’m alone or with my friends there is a brief moment of tranquility. The knowledge that there are people that accept me for who I am lets me drop the mask for a moment. However, there are times when it rears up again like a lion. When I start thinking too much and inevitably fold into myself with insecurity. Even more questions race through my mind. Am I being too loud, too quiet, too annoying. Constantly trying to make myself the best I can be in the worst way possible. Later on in class I am sitting at my desk and the teacher is looking for someone to call on. I see them start to call on me, and suddenly there is cotton in my throat and I struggle to swallow past it as I formulate an answer. As I feel people looking at me my hands start to shake and my body gets hot. There’s nothing I can do to stop the feeling of impending doom as the question remains unanswered. The eternity in my head translates to just a few seconds in the real world and I wish I could live there, but I’m stuck. This doesn’t happen all the time, but it happens enough that I start to wonder what’s wrong with me. I am writing this sentence at 9:43 in the morning on the day this is due, hurriedly typing on my phone while constantly asking my friend for critique. Worrying about being wrong, about standing out, about doing anything that could ever be considered out of the ordinary for the average human. Like I’m an alien trying to watch, learn, and adapt to the environment around me, but it never gets easier. There’s always something that is on my mind that is wondering if what I am doing at any given time might be considered strange.