Personal Narrative: My Therapist

The moon was the only witness, along with the stars. They were the only ones that would know, and they wouldn 't tell. The ground was moist from the rain that had come early in the morning, and by the fog that stayed since then. The shovel scraping against stray rocks in the ground was too loud, and I feared that someone would hear. The hole in the ground looked like a bottomless pit, where no one would ever find a body.

“Hold still you little brat.” I looked up to see who had said that, but before I even got a glimpse of anyone, I felt an instant pain in my neck that trickled down my spine which then caused me to collapse. Sadly, while I laid there on the street, barely even able to think, I watched my mother and father be drug off unconscious, then loaded into a military truck that only left behind smoke and tire tracks. “Momma! don’t leave me!.” There was no use...I was helpless, I felt dead...like I had no soul. These twisted thoughts made me limp, it could be because I knew it was all over, my family, my life, my friends or maybe the one thing I missed since it was gone, “my world.” Prisoner B-3087 takes place in different concentration camps during the era of the Holocaust, It tells the story of one boy named Yanek, and his family’s attempt to survive the unearthly like conditions of concentration camps. But Yanek’s family is separated, and he now has to “survive at any

I was sprinting through the woods, water splashing from the leaves to my face. I glanced up at the thin grey clouds circling in the midnight sky. Though it was a sight, I couldn’t stop. The anxiety was suffocating, the terror made my knees go weak, but I had to keep going. I had to run or they would catch me, and I was not going to end up like the others.

While I sat alone in my room, my parents were cooking our family dinner. Each year my mom and dad prepared a huge feast for the night. It wasn't Thanksgiving, it was not holiday, it was purge night. A purge is where there is 12 hours with no laws and with no limitations to what you choose to do. I took my medication with a glass of chilled milk, and went into the kitchen. As I walked into the dinning room I noticed my mother and father crouched on the floor telling me to lock my door and hide in my closet. After the night of my parents death during the purge, I have never been the same. And where I am today, you might ask? I am currently sitting in the Rabidus Insane Asylum in Maplewood,

There it was, the creaky staircase of the abandoned Delta Mental Asylum. I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea. I’m getting chills and it’s the middle of summer. At least I’m not alone my sister, Aubrey, is with me. We were just about to go up the stairs when I thought I heard giggles, but Aubrey said I was just being paranoid.

I was sitting in the tattoo parlor with my head resting on the black leather chair staring at my mom from the corner of my eye. I could not tell if she wanted to curse everyone in the room or cry, I came to the conclusion that it was it was probably both. In my mom’s words, I was getting a hole drilled into my nose. In my words, it was a nose piercing. This was the biggest fight I’ve ever had with my mom. She was completely opposed to the idea of me getting one and we had argued about it for almost a year. At one point we didn’t talk to her for a week. Tears were shed and sarcastic remarks were thrown around until she finally agreed to let me do it. So I found myself getting my nose pierced by and guy who was definitely too old to be wearing a leather jacket and a face filled with so many piercing I didn’t want to count. This, while my mom stared everyone down with a furry that could burn the building down.

The foster home that I lived in had other foster kids and my foster parents Kathy and Mike also had children of their own as well. My foster parents children were so mean to me. I remember one time their middle child Kristi was brushing my hair and she was hurting me so I kept pulling forward. Kristi had gotten mad that I was doing that and she pulled my my hair and bit me really hard on my back. I had a bite mark that turned into a bruise the size of a softball. I was so unhappy living there. I had nobody who loved me around. My mother, aunt and uncle didn’t want me. I wasn’t able to see my father. I had no clue where my brother was. I was so alone in the world at such a young

It was a hot, humid day in July. The kind that makes your hair frizz and your pits stink. My dad’s softball tournament was in full swing. They were in the bottom of the fifth with two outs, and his team was up by four. “It’s candy time!” The kids would scream, and off we’d go.

As a member of the LGBT community, I see America through the eyes of someone who has had to struggle to gain acceptance from others and themselves. When you are gay or transgender not everyone is going to accept or understand you, but you have a chance to be who you are because in America you can build your own path. To me, Americans are like phoenixes; we can rise from the ashes of our pasts, and build ourselves up creating our own sense of liberty and freedom.

My mother entered my bedroom and immediately her face widened in absolute shock. “What did you do?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. She rushed inside her home and came back holding a phone. She dialed 911 and she started talking I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

When a 17 year old boy named Ethan with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) finds himself with the lives of young children in his hands, It is up to him to save them. Will he go in or will he leave “The Door” forever. Not only leaving “The Door” but the children… leaving them to die.

I was frantically trying to open the door as if there was a murder with a knife behind me. But wait, I think this is a little too far into the story. Let`s go back to about a day before. It was a regular mildly warm July day in Illinois. But on that day my family and I were going to move to San Antonio.

Before my dad’s death in 1989 I had suffered from mental, sexual, and physical abuse at different times, from different people. I blamed him for not stopping it, for not saving me, and his death added to my pile of excuses to fail. An alcoholic right from the start, I learned how to drink like the pros around me: as fast as I could until the bottle was empty. I found this fun and the lack of accountability was empowering. I hated being weak and I especially hated being the victim, so I became manipulative, and took advantage of the weakness of others. For the next eight years I drank every chance I got, and progressed from cigarettes to marijuana to cocaine, and finally, to meth. I deeply injured the gentle people who loved me the most. Satan

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The thundering sound of my dads fist banging on my bedroom door. I'm cuddled up in my blanket hoping it will protect me from the sound, from the pain, and my dad. What did I do wrong? Why am I here? All I hear is "MAHLI, OPEN UP!". I know what my dad is going to do to me, I know he's gonna hurt me, and I know I won't be able to take it. The sound finally stops. I want to peek out to see if he's gone for another drink, but I'm to scared. My mind is every where..I want to be gone. Get away from every thing and every one. I want to go to a place where no one knows my name. It'll be easier. No more tears, no more hate, and no more pain. No one knows me, well.. they know the Mahli that wears black jackets, black jeans, and has scars on her arms.