Personal Narrative Essay: The Storm Comes First

The Storm Comes First As a teen, it 's hard to remember exact moments when looking back at baby pictures. We were babies, we can’t possibly remember what went on when we were too young to comprehend language or the art of mobility. Although we can 't remember exactly, someone does. Whether it be our parents, the photographer, or background characters from the photo, someone can recall that exact moment. The older you get, the more eager relatives are to share stories about you from your childhood, some broadcasted to the world making sport of you, and others in the quiet of your own home, attached to heartbreaking memories. Even though you may not be able to remember them, they are your experiences, your life story, things you should be able

It had already affected me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I constantly stepped up around the house to help my mom, making sure that the four of us kids got our stuff done so there was nothing for anyone else to yell about. I was always the second parent in the house while my dad was outside smoking or drinking trying to wish his life away. For a while, it was a hard reality to live in. Even thinking back to it and reliving those moments makes it feel like my heart is breaking over and over again. Life was horrible, I hated being home. I hated being asked about my family. I hated hearing about other people 's families. To me, family was just one big lie. That was until my little 14 year old life was flipped upside down. My dad’s alcoholic habits started to do actual harm to our family, not just inside of our own home, but in all aspects of our lives. My mom decided she was going to leave my dad, a moved out for a couple of days. Of course this decision was made after several thousand screaming fits in which i would take my siblings downstairs and blast the TV so they wouldn 't hear. Once again, life became more and more