Personal Narrative

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

I started playing volleyball in 3rd grade. My dad wanted me to play because my sister also played. It was my first day being a 3rd grader and my dad told me I should get into volleyball. From there I wasn’t sure if I wanted to play. I watched my sister play every game and it looked like it was hard so I didn’t think I could do it.

I think about it for a moment. "Thanks for the offer babe, but I'd rather fly this one solo" I reply to him.

It was one of those oddities; though identical twins, they had celebrated different birthdays: first, Molly, born on April 1, 1972, at 11:47 PM, and second came Megan on April 2 at 12:17 AM. Their parents, Meryl and Bill, thought it best that the twins celebrate on their own days and had always held separate parties for them. Bill adored “his girls,” and Megan was probably his favorite. A parent shouldn’t have a favorite child, yet, they all, more than likely do. It’s either the one that they’ve carried some sort of guilt about, for one reason or another, or the one that highly reminds them of themselves. In Bill’s case, it was definitely Megan, he enjoyed her spunk (a quality he thought missing from the other two children). It was his attraction to her high-spiritedness that had Meryl, on countless occasions telling him; “You are letting her get away with

The front lawn of Valdosta State hardly looked like a lawn, but more like a flea market on Saturday afternoon or a carnival on a Saturday night minus the rides. There were so many people there I could barely pick out one conversation because the roar of the crowd was so overwhelming. As I approached the hectic scene I seemed to be swallowed by the swarm of people around me and continued to travel in the same direction as them. I began to feel the beat of the music in my body, the booming in my chest felt as though my heart was racing and then the unfamiliar beat became clear to me. I continued shuffling my feet in the grass and could feel the warmth from the sun heating my skin. I could hear the excitement from the student’s voices when they received a free souvenir. I also listened to the workers from the booths advertise their business saying where they were located and what extraordinary deals they had to offer. From then on I began paying more attention to the booths themselves. A majority of them were plastered with their logo and surrounded by bright colors to grab the student’s attention and more often than not, it worked.

My entire life I have always been the smallest person in the room. In elementary school, I was a four-foot-nothing, fifty-pound, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pretty little wisp of a thing. My best friend, Michelle, was, in contrast, was a year older and nearly two heads taller than me, and outweighed me by at least once my own body weight. She also loved to wrestle and would take any opportunity to smash me in a wrestling match. These matches were friendly (if only in the sense that after they were over we would both stand up and go back to adoring each other) but nonetheless highly competitive. Looking back on it, she probably should have been able to kill me, but, try as she might, she never could - she didn’t even win more than half the time.

At two in the morning seven years ago, my nine year old self was jolted awake by my mother. Begrudgingly, I peeled my eyes opened and tried to blink the sleep away.

I do not remember much from middle school; however I do recall having trouble fitting in and making friends. For the Central Bucks School District, seventh grade marks the beginning of middle school. My awkward 13-year-old self, with bright blue hair, was immersed in a pool of people at Holicong Middle School I had never met before. I had spent the past seven years with the same people and now they were mixed in with this monstrous crowd of new people, forcing me to make new friends. I was not a normal kid by society’s standards, and I still am a quirky kid, but at that point in my life I was still trying to figure out how to behave in a social setting. That was not a simple task for me; I was a hyperactive kid who dyed her hair a plethora of colors. To make matters worse, I was not mixed in with a pleasant group of people.

Gravity beared down on me cripplingly as the weight of the revolver numbed my coarse hands. Lips chapped, mouth agape, and eyes sweeping, I tensed the trigger gazing in anguish as the deafening crack resounded throughout the expanse. Fluid sputtering on my face; the foreboding taste of blood clinched my tongue. Confusion at the torrential flow of blood, shock, anger, disbelief, and finally a ghastly sense of fear; a stammering wheeze was uttered from the disfigured man’s lips as he plummeted onto the harsh asphalt – ‘perpetuus tantibus’. Liquid spilling out from his throat, I gathered my emotions quickly as I absconded in fear. Sirens resonating in the distance, I sought asylum in a decrepit household. Panel by panel, I sandwiched my fingers between the clefts heaving away at the eroded nails that held the sheets in place, thwarting the entrance. Splinters probing away at my fingers, and dust blistering my vision; a sensation of solace arose with the swift snap of the panels. Escorted with my rusty lighter, I entered the derelict.

I woke up as usual a couple of years ago on September 20, I rubbed my tired eyes with my hands curled into fists. Uncovering my head from the large blanket I had, I was blinded by the brilliant light that hung above my head. A few moments later, after my eyes had adjusted, and my temporary blindness left me, I stumbled out of my bed and tripped to my closet, still dazed from just having woken up. Once I was ready I dazedly walked down the stairs, hanging onto the wooden rail tightly so I wouldn’t fall, though I almost fell more than a few times. My grandmother was sitting in her grey rocking chair, watching The walking dead, she heard me trip off the last step coming down the stairs and turned her head slightly to face me. She started to say

S: Today the client was on lunch duty which means she was helping the kitchen staff in serving food to other students. After this, the client was able to help and engage in developing a treatment plan. It was first discussed what P.C would like to work on over all. She stated that her goal should be improving her friendship with her classmates and improving her feelings. Her goal was set to improve social and emotional functioning. It was decided that the objectives would include improving her self-esteem and engaging with her peers more. It was then discussed the action steps that will be taken place for each of these objectives. It was agree upon that P.C would write in a journal about her feelings and focus on positive feelings. She explained

February 4, 2007 was a day of celebration for my whole family. That day my family gathered around in the living room and cheered on the Colts to victory in the Super Bowl. This day was the anticipated highpoint of my school conversations for the past week. My dad was in his leather chair drinking his favorite Raspberry Snapple Tea. My mom, siblings and I were crowded around on leather couches in our living room. We were all close in age. I was ten years old in fourth grade, my sister was eleven in fifth grade, and my brother was thirteen in sixth grade. I didn’t understand football that much as a fourth grader, but I always looked forward to the Super Bowl commercials. I still remember one of the commercials that affected me the most. In the

“Knock, knock! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” It was my sister, Karla, and her boyfriend, Celestino. It was 4 in the morning and I thought to myself, “What do they want? Its 4 in the morning.” Then I remembered, “We’re going to Florida, right now!” I quickly grabbed a blanket, pillow, and my suitcase. Then, I went in the van so that we could leave.

“You can have it if you want,” my father said, pointing to the Playboy magazine on his desk. His index finger interrupted my line of vision, and my eyes shot up to make contact with his.

We just finished looking at the house. I was bored, since we do this all the time. It was hot outside, and I didn’t really like the way the house looked. It was something different, the home was painted in a variety of bright colors which went together well. I wanted to go home and do something else but I was stuck with my parents. I felt like we were running miles non-stop, with no end point, since my parents search for a home all the time! My parents had a looked at each other like I had never seen before.