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Reflection on therapy session
Reflection on therapy session
Refecting on therapy session
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CONTEMPORARY SHORT STORY Damn it! Samantha is starting to cry, but I don’t want to say that I’m sorry even though I probably should. I am sorry. Sort of sorry. Like so many things, I really don’t care. Sometimes, I think about going to see someone, sorting all of this shit out. There will always be a need for those people. People you pay hundreds of dollars to, just to tell you that you have abandonment issues and describe how you can’t really feel anything. Thanks, I know. Just the thought of going to one of those big looking offices and sitting in a waiting room with a bunch of other people with a bunch of other problems, pretending not to look at each other. And then it’s my turn to sit in front of a complete stranger and bitch and moan …show more content…
Like I’ve done so many times before I’m going to leave and this time I won’t come back. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Who would talk to me once people found out? Who would hate me? Two weeks pass and everything is set in motion. I won’t take much to Perth. I’ve never felt very attached to possessions. Sam can have everything. Too much of our things remind me of her. I’ll make our last evening nice. I’ll make her favourite meal and we’ll talk about stuff like we did before. She leans over the island counter while I’m cooking. She looks at me as if she knows something is off. I offer to pour some wine for us both. She takes her first sip as I’m cutting the meat. Sam walks around the counter, takes the knife from my hand and places it on the bench. I’m looking down. She cups my chin with her hand and pushes my head up until our eyes are level. I don’t know what to do. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Samantha says in a whisper. “I have to tell you something, but I can’t,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “Whatever it is, I can handle it, I’m a grown woman,” she says and whips her back. I give a crooked smile. “I’m a bad person. You make me a better person.” “You’re not a bad person.” “I
She picked a seat in the way back, away from all the people. She silently stared out the window making a quiet list inside her head of all the things she had forgotten and all the people she remembered. Tears silently slid down her face as she remembered her aunt crying and cousins afraid of the dark in their house. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was the best for everyone she thought. Deep down though she knew how hard it would be for everyone to find out she was leaving. From her family’s tears, to the lady in the grocery store who was always so kind and remembered her name. She also knew how
I can leave this place. They can’t leave this place. This is their reality. Unlike the energetic car ride there, the car was now silent. At this moment I realized why Eden said the seats were stained. After reflecting on your experience you couldn't help but sit there and cry. Crying out of compassion for those girls who - yes, made bad choices, but who had also been hurt, unloved, given up on, leaving them feeling hopeless. Not only crying out of compassion but crying out of thankfulness. Thankful for the grace God has given me by placing me with the family He did, I don't deserve any of it. I could be them.
I hug her knowing that this will be our last. Tears are streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks, staining her shirt. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't understand why this is happening. Out all of the 7.28 billion people in this world, why did it have to be her?
March 1, 2001 5:39 p.m. - Nerves, nerves, nerves…how can one letter enclosed inside of an envelope determine so much? Michael Livingston had plenty to lose. Try four years of undergraduate school at Morehouse University, two years of Notre Dame graduate school, and Harvard Law. Yes he had plenty to lose. Walking into the door of his closed-space apartment, he sits down with the letter in plain view. Thump, Thump, Thump! His heart races like greyhounds at a race track. The time is here. The time is now. Michael opens the letter to find his results of the BAR exam he had taken…
To have complete and thorough knowledge of who someone truly is, is quite similar to being present in their mind at all times, experiencing and comprehending every passing thought which they have. Digging through the masses of thoughts which are embedded within the layers in their brain. Having through knowledge of someone means to know their deepest and innermost thoughts at all times. Knowing someone to the fullest extent is quite comparable to understanding their thoughts and emotions which they may not necessarily choose to voluntarily share with others. The short story Seventh Grade portrayed the struggle of thinking that you truly do know someone to the greatest level. This short story depicted the experiences of Victor, a young adolescent
It was one of those nights that the sky was clear and the stars were visible. I had just defeated the stress of finals and was now ready to be back in action; the late night activity of the San Francisco underground scene was calling my name. It is where a person could go and walk down one street and probably visit at least 30 clubs by doing this. There was a particular flavor I was in search of this night, something that could make me exert my body to its fullest extent. I needed to go and release some stress by dancing at a club, I needed to let loose.
Once upon a time there was a kid named Alfred. Alfred was in the 3rd grade and he loved playing on the schools playground at lunch. Alfred was kind of an awkward fella and he had no friends. The kids made fun of him every single day.
It had come to the attention of my family that I had some sort of psychological problem and something had to be done. I was always labeled as a shy and quiet kid, and like my family I had thought nothing more of my behavior. However, now it had become something more obvious. I had told my parents the kinds of problems I was having. Basically I didn't want to talk to anyone or to be anywhere near anyone I didn't know. I didn't really want to leave my house for any reason for fear that I might have to talk to someone. I was so critical and scrutinizing in relation to myself that I couldn't even enter into a conversation. Everyone seems to have a part of themselves that lends itself to thoughts of pessimism and failure, but mine was something that was in the forefront of my mind at all times. Something telling me that everything I did was a failure, and that anything I ever did would not succeed. Through discussion with my family it was decided that I should move out of my parents house to a place where I could find treatment and get a job. I was to reside with my sister Lisa, her partner Brynn, and their Saint Bernard in Greensboro.
It was about one-thirty in the morning in the town of Homestead Michigan. The almost florescent light of the moon bouncing off the fresh puddles that covered the ground. The grass and trees were covered in a thin layer of water causing every little beam of light to reflect back up. Anyone who may have been outside at this time would have without double, smelled the mix of fresh dirt and night crawlers. As the moonlight started to fade away through the cloud cover, three buses made there way through the streets and parked in front of HHS, the local high school.
Over the last few years there have been many controversies over the invasion of privacy of individuals online. Many are not aware of how easily the government can obtain access to their personal information through their devices when they use the internet or simply use phones, as well as what type of protection is offered to them. People go through their daily lives without realizing the risk they may face and that their personal information can be in the hands of others without consent being granted. However the effects of online surveillance are quite more complex than what we’d expect them to be. Many are not aware of what the consequences of such behavior done by organizations like the NSA are. The surveillance actions that take place by the government are unethical because they invade the privacy of individuals by accessing and retaining personal information without their consent. Furthermore, they try to access this information
There was a girl named Kandy, she was 15 years old. Her life was extremely boring, all she ever did was go to school, go on her computer, eat and sleep. She spent all summer on her computer. She was really good with HTML and spent her free time making web sites. Kandy didn't have many friends and rarely talked to guys because she was shy and unconfident about her looks. That's why she went into chat rooms. She made a web site with pictures of herself on it and told people in chat rooms to go there. A lot of people would tell her how pretty she was and some would say she was ugly. That made her feel awful. When anyone would say anything nice to her, she wouldn't believe them and think that they were just making fun of her. She only had one real friend that she could talk to, her name was Ang.
"I regret putting so much time and emotion into one person, when that one person should have been me."
The traditional short story is a genre of a prose. It is a fiction work that presents a world in the moment of an unexpected change. The traditional short story obeys some rules, such as the unexpected change and major events with detail. The modern short story is a revolution which is based on the traditional short story. In other words, if the traditional short story is in the first floor, the modern short story is in the second floor. Therefore, the modern short story still obeys some rules that the traditional short story obeys, and breaks some rules that the traditional short story obeys. One rule that the modern short story still uses is the unexpected change. The rules broken by the modern short story are that the major events are not detailed, and that the border between the real world and the fiction world. This paper first talks about the unexcepted change and uses the examples of “Eveline” and “The Open Window.” Then, this paper talks about major events with detail, and uses the examples of “Lottery,” “The Open Window” and “Hills Like White Elephants.” Finally, this paper talks about the meta-literary and the border between the real world and the fiction
The degeneration of moral values in the Nigerian society in the last decades led to a multitude of scourges; one of which is drug smuggling. Drug mules’ numbers increased to reach an alarming level. In her short story “Last Trip” the Nigerian writer Sefi Atta tries to shed light and give some explanation to this phenomenon through the journey of a drug smuggler who is a single mother with her mentally disabled son from Lagos to London in what might be her last trip.
It was morning when we set out on our quest once more. We took the paths again, so I had no clue how long it would really take us to get where we needed to be. I hoped maybe we would get lucky and they'd bring us closer rather than farther. That didn't seem to be the case, though. It had already set us back two hours.