Personal Narrative Essay: The Story Of Annaleah's Story

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The sound of the wheels from a skateboard on the pavement rattles my head. The only thing stopping the pounding noise was the slight breeze of air that flew through cooling down all the noise. Blowing through the blue curls in my hair the wind covered my ears. No worries could reach me in this moment. The excitement to get to the library kept me flying down the road. I could already imagine the smell in the air of old paperback books enveloping my nose. Getting to run my fingers over new books hard spines that hold the forever stories together.
Stop!
I 'm lost. This girl with the blue hair is not me--she is whom I wish to be. Annaleah is who she is and she shows the true me when I dont have the ability. I am the girl with my face plastered …show more content…

I walked away knowing who I am and wish to be, all because of Annaleah Lankston. A silly blue haired skateboarder who I made up in my own head, who ran every aspect of my life until now. Don’t get me wrong, Annaleah is still here. I couldn 't write this story without her. But she isn 't who I wish to be anymore. She is my inner monologue, always reminding me of who I am and pushing me to do my best in everything that challenges me. Don’t get me wrong; I did try being her. She was my aim in life for so long. I tried the blue hair, but it turned to shit green and I immediately regretted it. And I do speak my mind, but I choose what to speak because I realize the stuff I hold in my brain makes conversation way more fun. I keep things in my mind because I’m a thinker. I would rather hold onto something and think about it for weeks, than blurt it out and have others give me their opinions. Opinions they force on me not giving me the opportunity to form my own opinion. Yes, she had the older brother I’ve always wanted. However, I have an older sister who I can steal clothes from and I guess she isn 't all that bad. The truth is, I spent so much of my own life wishing to be someone I thought I wanted to be when now I know I wouldn 't choose to be anyone but myself. I have Annaleah and my high school English teacher to thank for that. And who am I? I am the girl that rips the missing person sign plastered on every light pole down, not looking at the familiar face staring at me as I do so. This girl was finally found, finally knows who she is. I am Samantha Livingston and wish to only be

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