Personal definition

My personal definition essay for sophomore english - just thought I would share it with you guys :)

I believe I am one of few who have my personality at my fingertips, commonly, few people grasp who they truly are until they grow far advanced in years and sagacious. I suspect that this might be because I was forced to mature without delay. I was a kid for about ten years of my life and from then on, my maturity gathered more years than I did physically. I had been twelve with the wisdom of a thirty year old woman. I felt unique to be more mature and experienced than many others my age. I still seem to be this way until this day, of course.

 

In spite of my maturity, I know for a fact that I display devotion solely because I’m devoted in the wrong areas sometimes, and sometimes to the wrong people even. I devote myself to other people and things with no effort. Once I had done this was all the way back in kindergarten. I had a friend named Hannah, or at least I liked to call her my friend because I didn’t have any. She was a lot bigger than I was at the time, because I was a tiny kid. One blazing hot summer evening, she and I decided to bring out the bikes, which wasn’t a common activity for us considering the misfeasance we got involved in. She was more experienced in the bike riding field than I was, since I had no knowledge of how to even pedal at that age. She and I thought of a plan, which consisted of placing her bike on the top of the steep hill in her front yard. I nervously placed myself on the seemingly unstable bike while attempting to reach my feet to the distant pedals. All the while I questioned whether or not it was a reasonable idea and I could never agree with myself but went along with it anyway. Hey, I wanted to learn how to ride a bike with desperation. I knew that if I didn’t go through with the plans, Hannah would forever think of me a chicken and never be my friend. Now that was a big deal. My thoughts were distorted, nowhere near legitimacy. I agonized at the edge of my seat as I shook vigorously and anticipated the bike to be pushed and send me cascading to my demise. The exact thing I knew was going to happen happened. The bike shook as it hit every pothole and dip on the hill, and suddenly, it stopped. The front wheel of the bike twisted and it slowly fell to its side with me on it.  It felt like a scene from an action movie, it was really happening quickly but seemed to be in slow motion.   My scraped knees and elbows show a point that I devote myself to the wrong things sometimes. 

 

 

I can be very sensitive sometimes, specifically because I take everything people say to me to heart. That seems to be a terrible thing, having a big heart that is. A mere compliment can make me overly attached to someone surprisingly easily. I think this is one of the less fortunate things that I received from my mother genetically; she too has a big, sensitive heart. For example, once it was a chilly day and I decided to go on a bike ride. I was zooming past the cars and streetlights like a hummingbird in mid-summer. I could feel the wind whirring in my ears, creating a sweet soft hum almost alike to a lullaby. The crisp cold bit at my fingers as I grasped onto the handlebars of the bike, hoping not to fall off. I heard snippets of people’s conversations as I whizzed past them. I came to a stop at a light, and on the other side of the crosswalk there was a group of middle school aged boys circled around one doing skateboard tricks. I paid no attention to them as I slowly rolled by after crossing the street. “Hey, look at that elephant!” I heard the cruel words ring throughout my ears. I didn’t know who shouted it, but I could feel my heart sink. I slowly turned my head around to find the group of boys staring with amusement and pointing playfully and making elephant noises with their mouths. It struck me like a chisel to ice. I continued to ride my bike, pretending the comments didn’t affect me. I went home that day and I constantly kept looking down at my legs. Fat, all I could see was fat. I decided to stop eating so much. I skipped meals, every day. I got help for this later on but it’s amazing how merely words can send someone spiraling into something so horrible and self-destructive. But to me, those words meant more than my own life and wellbeing. 

I know I am very strong because I’ve been through heaven and hell in one lifetime. When I was five years old, I was molested by my babysitter’s husband.  Since my mother married my step-father, I witnessed a lot of physical abuse as a child for many years of my life.  Given that these two things are very traumatic events, I have been ‘blessed’ with a disorder called PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) this disorder causes me to experience these events over and over again and feel the same things I felt at the moment.  It’s quite a blessing (sarcasm fully implied).  I’ve been hospitalized twice, once for suicidal ideation and once for an actual attempt. It turns out that the medication Zoloft invites you onto the welcome wagon to mood swings and a life worse than it was before it was prescribed. Now, with a truckload of prescribed medications pumped into my body and having an everlasting happiness outburst. As amazing as it seems, I am still alive. I’ve been killed on the inside, been a walking dead person and today, I must be a zombie because of my internal deaths. I’m doing much better now, I have a different living situation, and I seem to be happy and all the while I’ve been strong enough to make these decisions for the better.

 

 

I am Rheanna and I know who the hell I am. I’ve been pounded to the earth, run over by a truck and shot at a million times and today I might have a ton of broken bones but I still manage to stand on my two flat feet, anticipating the world’s next move. Not literally, of course. I wish people to know my story, to know who I am, and to know what I’ve been through and be inspired. I wish for people to find who they are and develop a greater person from their experiences like I did.