A Personal Narrative Essay : The Life Of My Life

My autobiographical essay resembled the training needed before an enduring run. Just like a runner’s endurance needs improvement after a prolonged time of not running, my writing needed some work after not having written for a long period of time.

If you knew you were going to at this exact moment, would you be satisfied with how you lived your life up to this point? Do your accomplishments and overall happiness outweigh your regrets? I was eleven when my parents got divorced and the aftermath included me going into a depressive state. One quote from what is now my favorite television show gave me a new perspective on life and gave me the strength to do things differently.

October 16, 2011, Michigan Nationals vs. Lansing Spartans. The Nationals leading scorer Darin Mihelac, I look down at the jersey I am about to put on, on the back it says Mihelac in red under it the big forty-seven, the one my teammates always looked to for big plays to carry them into the playoffs for the last two seasons, me, the one that felt the pressure of every single loss my team had, the one that felt it was my fault every time they lost. Fast forward to the second period of the game I grab the rebound from the bottom of the circle from the left side of our net, “SKATE!” what I heard every time I had the puck and I always listened so I put my head down looking up every other second. Once I get to the Lansing blue line there was one defenseman who didn’t open the hips quick enough and right around the outside, I get to the Spartans goalies right side circle I wind up a wrist shot and over the goalies right shoulder I heard the same “WOOO!” thirty-three times that season. But what I felt there was always an open pass that I see every time I now hear that “SKATE!” I feel I let somebody that had a more open shot. That is just one experience of me being self centered in my life. It was being self centered because I did not pass it to my teammates and

When I first entered high school, I thought I knew everything I possibly could about writing essays. During my freshmen year, I made good grades in my English class, which only furthered my enormous ego with my ability to write. Moving into sophomore year, a new teacher came to North Murray High School, and I was lucky enough to receive Mrs. Kim Knight for my tenth grade honors English class. She was like no other teacher I have even experienced, Knight, from the very beginning, pushed me in absolutely everything. The first essay was assigned, and I knew I was going to do wonderful. I felt very confident in turning my essay in until she came back with them graded and gave a long speech about how many of us had work ahead, but that was good because she was going to teach us how to compose an essay. Despite the speech, I had some confidence left that my level of writing was good enough to satisfy her criteria. When I received my essay, I could barely rad it because of how many red marks took up the pages. Now my grade was not terrible; I received a high eighty, but that’s when I realized my ability to

I long to be free. To be free from the metal chains that hold me down. To be free from the whispering as I descend into my empty slumber. My heart couldn’t handle the pain of the immortal whispers and figures that popped up here and there trying to help or drag me with them.

I never really thought about where my life was going. I always believed life took me where I wanted to go, I never thought that I was the one who took myself were I wanted to go. Once I entered high school I changed the way I thought. This is why I chose to go to college. I believe that college will give me the keys to unlock the doors of life. This way I can choose for myself where I go instead of someone choosing for me.

This explains the beginning of my life all the way to the end of my life. My life from the beginning was very fun as I grew up living with my mom’s friend and my friend. But there were a lot of fights and I was very hyper back then. I have ADHD so back then when I was little; I was very hyper and wouldn't stop moving around the place. I always was annoying back then and never seemed to get my homework done at school.

Tears blurred my eyes as I watched hundreds of balloons fill the solemn grey skies. I tried to clear my vision by wiping the tears away. Even with the light wind, the water pooling from my eyes would not dry. After my failed attempt to stop crying, I looked down at my fingers and saw black streaks of my mascara and eyeliner. I take out the scented Kleenex tissues from my bag and wipe my fingers on them. The only thing filling the silence was the constant sobs coming from people around me and my own. I found a sense of comfort in my best friend. I could smell her fruit scented shampoo as she laid her head on my shoulders and clung onto me. As our group of friends surrounded us, we all hold on to one another, finding solace within each other. This was the first time I mourned a death of someone I loved.

There was no need for sunshine because I preferred the rain. I read that over and over till I was just sick of it I let out a growl of pure exhaustion.

There was darkness. Nothingness. Except the excruciating pain. But with pain came existence, and with existence hope. Then, slowly, Jacob lifted his head from the ground. As his blurry vision cleared, many things came to him: the fire raging on the wing, the plane lurching as it fell, and the last frozen second before impact.

“Nooooo!” I screamed as I felt like my heart ripping out of my chest. It was beating at seventy-thousand beats per minute and I felt like I was frozen still like an iceberg in freezing water. The day had come where I was no longer needed and the government was ready to get rid of me. I heard the police sirens closening to my home. “Here take this” my mom told me as she handed me the government issued gun for my training. I was being trained as an operative that went undercover and was issued warrants to kill certain high up people in our opposing government of District 15. “Wee-oo wee-oo” The cops cars are closening and my heart is beating faster and faster. I started for the door as my mom forcefully took me into a hug. “I love you Michael, don’t ever forget that.” “I love you too mom.” And with those words I ran the front door and before I knew it the cops were already here. “MICHAEL CONROCKER, DROP YOUR WEAPON AND THIS WILL GO VERY EASY!” The police officer yelled through the megaphone. I knew that I had to listen otherwise I had a larger chance of dying than living. I slowly lowered my gun to the ground and turned around for them to cuff me. As they cuffed me I could sense my mother’s longing stare from the foyer window of our new home that I had just bought. I felt the rigidness of the police officer’s hands as he forcefully tightened my hands into handcuffs. The officer cuffing me was one of my best friends who knew that if he didn’t do what he was told that his day

I remembered going up to my nana's house every Saturday in the summer of 2014. My little

I was four years old as I was being pushed in a stroller onto the Clovis West pool deck and I knew just about what I had come for. I had been begging my mom, ever since I saw my big sister swim, to let me swim like the big kids. I remember how confident I was standing behind that block, knowing almost as it was my destiny to be in this sport. I hear the starter tell us, " take your mark" and in that moment I knew, this is where I belong. Little did I know twelve years later I would be sitting here in my room writing how one small sport made such an impact on my life.

We all have that one person we look up to the most, we turn to for advice, encouragement, or just a good laugh. My person lives in a long, white house with rusty, red shutters. Surrounding the house, there is a garden, shop, shed, and dog pin. Inside the house, is where the builder is found. You will see a tall, thin man in navy blue work clothes that has seen and experienced more than I could ever imagine. He fought cancer and WON, lives with Parkinson’s disease, is a care taker of his wife who lives with a form of Parkinson’s disease, and continues his garden year after year providing food for his family and people of the community.

Ever Sunday afternoon I would watch whatever football game was on. My favorite team, the Steelers, were on a bye this week, so I was just watching the Bengals vs Cardinals game. I remember this games vividly because it was such a good game. It was half time when I heard my phone buzz. I ignored it until the end of the third quarter and when I looked at it my stomach dropped. In my history class we had been learning about western migration. She told us that we had to make an advertisement about moving to the west. We were allowed to have partners so Chris and I immediately looked at each other and partnered up. The three days in class that were supposed to be for working were spent talking about fantasy football and the NFL season. That project was due on Monday and Chris and I had not done any work. Chris’ text said,