I walk through the doors to the fourth building, aiming towards the bathroom but instead, continue to the hallway next to the library and sit across and diagonal from this girl who always makes me curious with the way she looks, the way she acts. Everyday I see her, sitting alone. It’s only seven thirteen and I know her friends will join her soon; I stay sitting across from her. Everyday, my curiosity grows. I see her all day and I know next to nothing about her. She sits alone most of the time, an almost forlorn look plastered to her face. Alone now, I know she sees me. Her eyes dart up at me as I sit then return to their staring at a random splat on the floor, wall, anywhere. Part of me wants to think she’s just socially awkward and awful at hiding it, unlike the rest of us. She constantly shies away from conversations with people I always assume are strangers. Most of me believes another aspect is added to her social awkwardness. She’s just weird. Almost proving my assumptions, her lips twitch, as if she’s talking to herself. I catch a few words. She’s singing. It’s idiosyncratic. I mean, who sings in the middle of the hallway? At least it’s not out loud. Her hair catches my eyes as my thoughts wander. It’s disheveled and almost black and wavy-not curly but not straight. She looks like she’s had a rough morning. Bags are crumpled slightly under her eyes. Her eyes themselves are sagging and closing. It’s as if she stayed up too late last night. I picture her out at a party then immediately brush away the though. She looks more like the type to stay up until two or three in the morning reading or studying. She looks sunken, deteriorated. I wonder how much time she took to ready herself this morning. Not a trace of make-up is... ... middle of paper ... ...ous flirty move. She says bye to Tim and fidgets some more. In third hour, I sit in the seat next to her. Her eyes stay fixated ahead and on the desk; she’s scared to look at other people, like it’s frightening to be around other classmate. We have to work in groups and I ask if she’d want to work with me. Automatically, I decide I no longer want to associate with her as she glances up for a second then mumbles a rude no. I turn away and shake my head sadly. She’s discourteous and acts as if I’m a bother to be around. What exactly is it that makes me so unlikable? Aggravated, I angle myself away from her, allowing air so as to alleviate my anger. She’s probably nice but on the surface she’s brutish and she freaks me out with her conversations about death like she’s in love with it. She’s all together an eerie person, maybe she wants to be left to her lonesome.
Throughout her Zoe’s day at school her feeling tones remain constant. When she walks throught the hallways she is giggling and talking to her
Social feeling: Self-actualisers are deeply concerned for humankind rather than being irritated by the deficiencies of others. (Meyer, et al., 2008). Susan however, gets irritated by people too quickly, mostly without a valid reason. It is usually a spare of the moment thing that triggers anger in her and she acts on that anger for longer periods than expected. Some would say she gets angry over petty things or
With regards to not having control over anorexia, there continue to be discoveries of the brain with anorexia and the change brought to the brain after a prolonged eating disorder. The author, Rosen discovered new findings about anorexia and can explain brain’s involvement which sheds light towards the study of eating disorders. The recent research done with brain imaging of people with eating disorders is leading to many changes in the way we look at mental illnesses. The author introduces Walter Kaye, a director of an eating disorders program at University of California, San Diego. Kelsey Heenan was mentioned, a 20 year old anorexic woman, who thought she was to blame for all her life for her mental illness. Brain scans show that there are differences between a healthy and an anorexic brain. The study consisted of unexpected receiving of rewards and omissions of rewards, by receiving a small amount of sugar as the reward. In the brain of a person with anorexia, the brain activity between receiving and omission was not different. There was however a lot more brain activity compared to a healthy person’s brain and an obese person’s brain. Anorexics are wired differently; some areas of their brain are nub to taste and even pain. Kaye knows that starvation causes brain change so further testing needs to be done to see if the brain change causes the mental illnesses or the other way around. (Rosen 22) These discoveries through brain-imaging can relieve a lot of self-doubt in the patients, which is created by society. It is not their fault that they have this disorder and that it is not going away, but getting worse, it is all because the brain functions have been damaged. Dr. Carrie E. Landa and Jane A. Bybee’s research focused on di...
“Everything about her [has] two sides to it, one for home and one for anywhere that [is] not home: her walk, which could be childlike and bobbing, or languid enough to make anyone think she [is] hearing music in her head; her mouth, which [is] pale and smirking most of the time, but bright and pink on evenings out; her laugh, which [is] cynical and drawling at home…but very high-pitched and nervous anywhere else” (4).
Larisa Ann Brand was lying down on her parent’s couch, trying to relax. She was eating leftover pizza and watching her favorite movie, Twilight. There was a pounding in her head, and she felt sick to her stomach. It was her fault too, last night she drank more than she usually does and she’s hardly had any sleep. Her long, wavy black hair was greasy, so she put it into a messy bun.
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
I knew we were here; my relatives were waiting outside for us. Then I saw her, my cousin that I know nothing about now. My heart dropped to my feet at the sight on how much she changed. My racing thoughts were scattered as I thought, oh my god she different…, is she even my cousin…, No, it’s one of her friends. The one thought I feared most is that she has forgotten who I was.
One day she will be up and yelling so much that she will end up being a target for cardiovascular disease because of her type A personality where she works long hours, even overlapping shifts just to help out. I won’t see her for a week and when I do, she’ll flip the script on me and be very mellow, chill, and calm. She won’t yell, probably because her throat is sore, sometimes she will look like a little-lost puppy. It’s as if I don’t know which to like more, the one who yells and is constantly in a state of panic, or the calm lost puppy
She walks down the long brick hall without making making a sound. Not even the light tapping noise that comes with her usual Converse. Her hair, as white as the snow outside the window, bopping on her back with every step. She skips towards me.
She had her room painted baby blue in the beginning of summer, she had some silky white curtains added by her enormous window. She also added in a very elegant wooden desk painted a creamy white. She bought some candles to put in her room so now it always smells like cotton candy or a spicy peppermint. She always wore sweatpants like me; she had blonde hair and blue eyes just like me. She just got the new IPhone 6 this summer and now she is so attached to it, it has latched on to her like some sort of leach. She’s always watching Grey’s Anatomy while Snapchating her friends.
who would want to kill me. She is hiding something from me and now she
To the people around her, Clara looks and behaves much like the average 15 year old girl. She is well behaved, maybe a little prude, and makes an effort to spend time with her friends after school. She is not...
I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock beeping rapidly. Ugh, I thought. I barely got enough sleep last night worrying about the hurricane that the news reporter was babbling about on TV. I tried sneaking outside around midnight to get some fresh air, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. What if the hurricane came now? Nobody would know where I went, and I would be lost forever. After about 5 minutes of just pondering, (my alarm clock still screaming at me), I climbed out of bed and silenced the clock, which was giving me a headache. I looked in the mirror and it reflected a big mess. Brown, scraggly, tangled hair, droopy eyes,and a frown. I walked down the steps to the crowded living room with low roofs, white walls and waterlogged carpets when I saw the familiar short, blonde haired woman watching the
Her hair reminded me of a fox. I sat on the bench watching her for a moment. With her mother standing idly next to her, the unknown girl cheerfully skipped around. I watched as the girl’s mother disappeared into the restroom, momentarily forgetting her child. The girl’s eyes scanned the subway, frantically searching for her loved one. I watched as tears sprang to her eyes.
However, in the second grade, I'd begun to notice a lone girl sitting behind me. All day, she would be doodling away in her small composition notebook. Her long, black hair would cascade down her shoulders onto the table while her eyes remained fixated on the paper before her. Up to that point in my life, there was no one who had such fiery passion and motivation in their eyes, and it intrigued me. I wanted to get to know her, but when we first made eye contact, I was too timid to say 'Hi' or let alone, start a conversation. Instead, I'd settle for watching her steady hand glide over the paper, flowing with creative ideas from her own mind. Every now and then, she'd look up to watch the teacher explain the concepts of addition or subtraction, but she'd always go back to finishing the previous task at hand.