Personal Narrative: The Possibility Of Fear

It was the day of the surgery, I was so nervous that I could have passed out at any moment from my anxiety. I felt sicker then I had in years, I would have thrown up if I had had any food to eat in the past twenty-four hours. When me and my family got to the hospital my anxiety went up another level and I was practically shaking, the smell of all the chemicals they use wasn’t helping my nausea any either. When I was in the room getting ready for surgery I was overwhelmed with what was about to happen so I ended up confiding in my mom that

My initial perceptions about the students of St. Angela were very stereotypical. Honestly, I expected those students to come from single parent backgrounds and come from a low income household. I expected to deal with students who live life in a survival type of manner. What I mean by survival type of manner is for one to be on defense seeing the type of the children are from the Austin area. Walking in to St. Angela I expected to deal with kids that didn’t listen and know respect for authority. I expected this due to my upbringing in the same neighborhood.

I believe I was not created equally. When I open my eyes to this strange world I feel an urge to run and hide. I am not safe there is no escape.

I was twelve when my sister went “mad”. The hidden family suspicions confirmed as I sat watching her write across her bedroom walls in colored sharpies. She would ramble one thing or another, as if to explain the meaning of each equation or symbol. She was a mathematician, and a brilliant one at that. Her autistic tendencies rubbed off on me growing up and together we studied the people around us in bewilderment. More socially apt as I was, I became the psychologist, she the mathematician. Together we dreamed of all the great things we would do.

What stood out for me most in this text was the way that Phil included all of Valeries thoughts and emotions while a part of the story was being explained. What astounded me even more was the writers ability to write the story in Valeries point of view.

I heard cries, but I had no idea they were coming from me. The lights started to flicker, I couldn't breathe. I was holding myself captive and I was being looked at by everyone; it felt like the world was watching. A feeling of disoriented confusion and panic ran through my mind. I was experiencing my first panic attack in the midst of all my closest friends at a house party. I didn't know it at the time, but this was the first of many. This event changed my life forever because it taught me that we all have control of the environments we are in and if you ever feel uncomfortable you can just leave.

In history class we would learn about World War I, and sometimes I would forgot that my own grandfather had participated in it. Learning of all the terrors of war and yet, my grandpa stands before me today. I could not begin to imagine partaking in such dreadful circumstances.

Have you ever actually tried locating a needle in a haystack? It’s an exasperating task, I assure you. Sometime back in the fifth grade, I was spending a day at my close friend Tyler Clarke’s farmhouse property, emptying soda can after soda can, wreaking havoc on the woodlands surrounding the barn, and terrorizing his sister’s prized horses in our sugared up state. Typical irresponsible schoolboy stuff. Polar opposites, no other term could be used to describe Tyler and me. Ordinarily, I was a timid, small-statured

A time where I was frightened beyond belief was about a month ago after I had seen the new Steven Spielberg movie “It”. I was on the Scarborough High School turf after a soccer game with three of my friends. Unfortunately, my friend’s grandmother was late to pick us up, and they ended up turning off the lights at the turf. It was the darkest black and smelled of mist and grass; it made me feel apprehensive. In addition, it did not help that the most unclear fog you have ever seen happened to be clouding the air that gloomy night. After seeing “It”, my friend Lindsay decided to jump on top of a sewer and holler out, “You’ll float too! You’ll float too!” Of course, my other friends and I decided to join her on top of the sewer screaming,

After I had realized I was a putrid, horrifying monster, I drifted back to the crypt I once existed in. I had realized that I didn’t belong outside of the grave and wanted to return. I attempted to open up the stone slab door to go back in, but it was no use. The stone door was slammed shut. I fell laid back on the hard floor looking at the stars in the sky through a huge crack in the roof of the castle. I gazed, looking up at the sky for hours

My power would be a poetic one. Me embracing one of mankind’s most dangerous, prolific and effective enemies, one that plagued humanity for centuries: Anxiety. I would the power to at will induce extreme amounts of anxiety onto anybody in my line of sight.

Imagine coming back from work, or school, one day, only to find that your home has vanished. There is nothing left for you, but the worries of the uncertain future. You must act like every struggle you had, every smile you wore, and every person you met have never existed. Repress your tears, carry your family above your shoulders, and run. Never, under any circumstances, go back for whatever, or whoever, is left behind. Once you reach the other end of the world, find yourself a shelter, and start your life all over again. Congratulations, you are now a refugee… just like me.

“Have fun!” my mom called out from her car as she dropped me off for the first day of junior high. As I entered the school, I prayed that I wouldn’t get picked on or made fun of by people like I did in elementary. Not only did I get made fun of by the older grades, but also my own friends. I hoped that I could make real friends, friends who actually cared, friends who I can be myself around and not have them judge me. I looked around the school, wide-eyed. Something inside me said that I was safe and maybe, just maybe I would be able to make real friends.

Fear is something that consumes many humans. Some fear too much in life, but when I faced fear, I completely understood all the fears that everyone else saw. Summers should be filled with fun and friends, not fear. The rain consumed the small town we called home, even though it was summer we had dreadful amounts of rain.

Please, tell me, what meaning do I hold, having abandoned the purpose I once served? I'm broken, neglected by the world you oh, so adore, Yet you laugh, blind to my obvious terror.