Personal Narrative-The House On Greenbrooke Ct.

The House on Greenbrooke Ct. I didn’t always use to live on Greenbrooke Ct. Before that it was Chelsea, and before that it was Mayland Dr. That’s as far as I can remember. Sometimes mommy tells me that it’s much more, like an entire sea of names lining up one by one to fill the list of places we’ve travelled. Eventually the sea stops at the coastline, and our coastline happened to be 11404 Greenbrooke Ct. I never expected this. We were just fine at our apartment in Chelsea. We had everything I believed we needed. Why did we need to move? Mommy told me it was to lead a better life. daddy said it was an upgrade. However, in my little stomach, I had this feeling. A concerning feeling. A feeling that all will not be that same. This feeling engulfed me like the waves of a tsunami. Like the cold, darkness of my room at night. Like the clouds on a cloudy day, only the clouds covered my inner sunshine. I was leaving my friends, no, my family, behind and somewhere my little gut feeling knew that would bring no good. On the final day, I just knelt to the ground and cried on the carpet, the carpet I would be seeing, and feeling, for the last time. The house on Greenbrooke Ct.

I still failed at making something of myself. Some part of me figured that if death by a thousand cuts felt this way, why keep moving. Why keep suffering those cuts over and over again when all it took was just another cut to the wrist? My mama’s words were lost on me. Perseverance, oh if only you were right mama. If only what you said about people always making it in life through perseverance and hope was true. I lost all hope, mama, all possible escapes from this madness sealed by the prison guards who live within the prison walls, the prison of depression, sadness, and fear which threatened to consume me over and over again. I exited middle school feeling like a broken man, mama, a man with nothing to stand for, a man who had everything taken from him. I forgot how to