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teen suicide concluion
TEENAGE PREGNANCY
introduction to teen suicide
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On April 10, 2014, was the worst day of my life. I came in for a procedure to be done on this day. I was very nervous because I knew Growing up in the hood as young man was hard for me not getting everything that the other kids where getting it was hard for my mother knowing she was a single parent trying her best to keep the lights on for our family growing up with no father never had no one to tell me right from wrong had to learn on my own until this day I’m still learning still doing some dumb things that’s wrong pushing family and friends out my life . There been times I have to go live with my aunt for weeks maybe even months cause we didn’t have no lights , hot water , or enough food to eat praying that god …show more content…
I really didn’t want to attend college then wanted to go home but knowing that he will like to see me ball out praying and wishing that a change will come going through a lot in one month never thought I will be in someone college promise my family that I’ll try my …show more content…
She did not let you know when she was feeling down, she was a warrior. I know that she is not feeling any pain on this earth. She went through a lot from being really sick visiting the doctor a lot. Some people ask “Do you wish your mom was still alive” and my first answer would be yes but you got to think about the pain she was feeling in her body. So my answer now would be no because I know what all she went through when she was alive, she is truly resting. Like 2 Corinthian 5:8 “We are confident I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the lord”.me and I was sitting there just crying. So after they did the procedure, I felt I was tortured. On the same day my father had an appointment as well suddenly, I left the clinic, but I wasn’t feeling well at all. So, I decided to stay in the car while mom and dad attended the appointment, which was my father’s appointment. My mom walked out to the car to check on me, though I was feeling weak and dizzy. I felt like I was going to pass out. My mom carried me to the bathroom instantly. That’s when I passed out, quickly mom shouted for help. Next thing I know, I was laying on a bench shaking and weak. What was seen through my vision was people running in a hurry,
I am sitting in my bed, thinking about my process of writing as I am trying to go through it. It seems the more I think about it, the less I understand it. When I am writing, I don’t think. Which I know, sounds bad. But, I spend every single moment of every single day over thinking, over analyzing, and over assuming every aspect of my life. When I’m writing, I’m free from that for just a little bit. Until of course, my hands stop typing or the pencil (no pens- never pens) stops moving, then I’m right back on the carousel that is my brain. Heidi Estrem says, “...writers use writing to generate knowledge that they didn’t have before.” (Writing is a Knowledge-Making Activity 18). I believe my ability to write without an exact destination
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
In the early years of my childhood from what I could remember life had seemed to be decent. My mom was flourishing in her career at the Post Office and making an admirable amount of money, considering the fact that she was a single parent. My mom was very dedicated to ensuring that my brother and I had an exceptional life growing up. She worked what I would have liked to call insane hours. But even as kids, Derek and I understood the importance of her work ethics. We had each other and other relatives to care for us to make sure that we were never left alone or so that we didn't feel abandoned. To me life couldn't get any better then this. That was until my mother found a lump in her breast. I can recall that memory as if it had just happened yesterday. That one day, a lump that would change our lives forever , that small lump but yet so powerful and damaging that threaten to take my mother away from her children. It was like any other normal day. My mom was in the bathroom doing her normal routine when she came out of the bathroom and told Derek and I to get dressed. I don't know what made me look up that day, but I did. When I looked into my mother's eyes I knew something was wrong. You have to understand that my mother is a brave and strong woman that never expressed nor showed her emotions towards Derek and me other than her happiness. So that day when I looked into her eyes I saw nothing but pain, anger, and sorrow. At that time I couldn't quite find the words to describe what I had seen but now I know those were the perfect words to describe that look. It was terrifying, but yet she still remained so calm. Looking back on that day I don't know which really scared me the most, that look in my mother's eyes or the calmness in ...
Sure enough, it was indeed the worse day of my life (12/2/2006) and my life was never the same. Everything happened so fast. It was 6 months ago that we were just moving back to DC from Augusta, GA, and a year before that we moved from Florence South Carolina, where we resided for 6 years of our lives. We moved to Florence because my mom said she wanted better for me. Nothing was further from the truth. South Carolina was not the best option, However, I learned my mom needed an escape and to start over fresh, beginning with herself. Moving to South Carolina was more than an adjustment for me. I was bullied for having an accent, being chubby, and light skin. The country people had a drawl to their voice that I didn’t understand. We were homeless initially, but my step-grandfathers sister accepted us and introduced her to this “boyfriend” that was in jail in Effingham, South Carolina. My grandfather, sister and I are still very close. Being blood relatives couldn’t make us any closer. My mom was extremely smart although we were living in someone else's home. It wasn’t for long. My mom found a great job, bought a truck, and we moved into a two-bedroom house on Bradford Street. Everything was going great,
“Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go” (BrainyQuote). It is shown in this quote that when you begin writing you know nothing, you have to learn and develop a writing style as you write more, it takes time to become a good writer. Throughout my many years of writing, my writing styles have changed greatly. In middle school I had never written an essay based on a book. This year I have gone from being utterly confused on how to write an essay about a book, to having a full understanding of what I’m writing. This year is the year that I have grown more than any other, all because of my teacher, Mrs. Johnson. She has helped me become the best writer I can be this year. In this essay I will reflect on how my writing
I have always considered writing to be a work in progress, and it constantly can be improved. I have always been devoted to writing. I loved to write stories as a child because I could use my creativity and create any type of character I desired. But I have struggled with writing as well. English has never been my forte. I have received A’s, B’s, C’s, and D’s on essays. I truly never found my voice in writing. In my high school, English teachers would give me mixed reviews on my writing. For example, in 9th grade my English teacher said I was organized with my thoughts, and my writing process was excellent. While in 10th,11th grade ,12th grade my teachers only said negative things about my essays. Not being a strong writer made me despise writing. Then I started to believe that writing is not important. I came to conclusion that writing is not important ,because I am going to be a Math major. I had the mindset that I am not a writer, and will never be a writer. But, my thoughts about writing changed when I started taking English at CSUN.
I was scared and crying as my parents took me to the hospital, it hurt. I felt angry, scared, confused, dizzy, and all over betrayed. We got to the hospital and there was a strong
My grandmother died while squatting over a toilet. People say she deserved it. They say the way of her death shows what a sinful life she led. God punished her and killed her in midst her own wastes. When they wrapped her body in a yellow sheet, I did not cry. They laid her in the living room and her white hair spilled like milk onto the red carpet. They say she was very light, wrapped in that yellow sheet. Her soul had left her body and taken all her sinful heaviness away. I could see hints of her withered naked body under that sheet. She was washed clean by her own death, and like a piece of paper that is wetted and left out to dry, I thought she would soon crumble. I did not cry when I looked at the blue hollowness underneath her eyes, or the red puffiness of her cheeks when the rest of her body was a leathery yellow. I did not cry as I prayed over her body in respect. They took her away in an dilapidated old ambulance. Nothing in her life was ever stable.
I got two hours of sleep that night because I woke up at seven in the morning. This was the worst day of my life. I had to help my mother pack our things as she sobbed uncontrollably. I also thought I would never get to be with Matt 's sons again, who I had known since I was eleven. They were like brothers to me and they were the only people who understood what each other was going through when it came to family issues like this. I thought I was never going to get to act like idiots or have serious conversations with them again.
We are, as a species, addicted to stories. Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories. The idea is not new - that (when all’s said and done) everything we are is just that - stories. That’s what keeps us from going mad - the stories we tell each other. The stories we tell ourselves. And this is what will be remembered after we pass away.
A mentally disabled but diligent female high school student attends a tutoring session at the learning center to work on a classroom writing assignment. Despite encouragement and prompts from the tutor, the student is unable to write. She states that she hates writing and declares that she will take a zero for the grade rather than complete the assignment.
It was June 6, 2011. I remember taking my mother to the County Hospital’s emergency room. She seemed extremely exhausted; her eyes were half-closed and yellow, and she placed her elbow on the armchair, resting her head on her palm. I remember it was crowded and the wait was long, so she wanted to leave. I was the only one there with her, but I did not allow her to convince me to take her home. I told her in Spanish, “Mom, let’s wait so that we can get this over with and know what’s going on with you. You’ll see everything is okay, and we’ll go home later on.” I wish then and now that would have been the case. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with colon cancer that had spread to many parts of her body including her lungs and kidneys. The doctor said to me not considering that I was a minor and my mother’s daughter, “Her disease is very advanced and we don’t think she will live longer than a year.” With this devastating news, I did not know what to do. I thought to myself that perhaps I should cry, or try to forget and take care of her as best I could and make her laugh to ease her pain.
February twenty-third 2010 was just a regular ordinary day. I was on my way to class on this cold February afternoon, when my phone rung. It was my cousin on the other end telling me to call my mom. I could not figure out what was wrong, so I quickly said okay and I hung up and called my mom. When my mom answered the phone I told her the message but I said I do not know what is wrong. My mom was at work and could not call right away, so I took the effort to call my cousin back to see what was going on. She told me that our uncle was in the hospital and that it did not look good. Starting to tear up I pull over in a fast food restaurant parking lot to listen to more to what my cousin had to say. She then tells me to tell my mom to get to the hospital as quickly as possible as if it may be the last time to see her older brother. My mom finally calls me back and when I tell her the news, she quickly leaves work. That after-noon I lost my Uncle.
Doctors began to tell us to prepare for the worse. My mother having heard those words before showed no worry. She was confident that everything would get resolved. On January 31, 2014, my brother passed away. He had fought with everything he had. Doctors were surprised that he lasted around forty days. His lungs had collapsed due to the high-pressure oxygen he was receiving through a machine. He needed that machine in order to stay alive, but unfortunately, it ended his life. My parents were crushed, they couldn’t believe what was happening. My mother did show sadness, but to be honest, she was calm throughout the whole process. Up to this day, she still remains calm. She seems so calm and joyful. When I ask her why wasn’t she going nuts like I am for my brother she replied: “Todo pasa por algo, yo lo puse en manos de Dios y si en su voluntad estaba que el se fuera, lo acepto”. At the time I couldn 't understand what that really meant, but now as I 've gotten closer to God and his word. I understand how everything in life has a reason. As the bible assures, “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in
It was a week before Valentines Day in 1987. I was nine years old and