Personal Narrative: Growing Up As A Child

When I was little I did not realize how much my parents fought. I must have blocked that part out of my memory, erased it from history, but growing up every year I noticed it more and more. As a child, everything seemed so positive, as if I was in a happy dream world, but as I grew older that happy place turned dark. From eight years old, and on it is hard to remember a time when my parents were not arguing. The sound of my mother crying was ingrained in my brain and my father’s yelling vibrating through the thin walls. Whether it was a hole in the wall or doors being slammed the fighting never stopped. I would wake up to it, fall asleep to it, it became a normal thing. This lifestyle was not healthy and my parents finally figured that out. While the main source of tension appeared to be a conflict of parenting skills, as a child I initially took this personally. I was constantly trying to interfere with my parents and make things right, which just reflected their anger onto me. Although I thought my parents fighting would never stop, during high school I began to see a light at the end of the tunnel, a way out to a happier place.

On the last day of school of my sophomore year, my mom called me into my room to have a serious talk. I remember it like it was yesterday. She closed her eyes, took a deep long breath, and

I found myself a college counselor who helped me write my personal statements to explain why I did so horribly in school my junior year. My dream was to get as far away as possible from my family. I knew that because of my poor grades during the ugliest part of my parent’s divorce, it would be hard to get into a “good” school. I worked really hard and filled out a ton of applications, and when I got my first acceptance I cried from happiness. I was finally getting the escape I needed. I was pulling myself out of that low point I had sunk down in and had found my