Personal Narrative Essay: The Experiences Of My Childhood

Writing this is a bit difficult, due to some of the events that happened in my childhood. I don’t remember many things clearly at all, as I’m more than sure almost all of them are repressed. What I do remember though, are people, even if their names and faces are lost to me now. As a child, the only friends I had were spoiled brats. My father was an alcoholic who beat me often and my mother was never home because she worked at a motel most of the day and into the night. Even at school the teachers and staff hated me. My sister, the only real friend I had, couldn’t even express empathy or sadness. From that short description, you’d probably suppose I’d turn out rotten, full of hatred or something like along those lines. Well, more than likely I would’ve if not for my somehow strange ability to “care” that I only ever saw in a miniscule amount of people.
Caring defined my life, just as much as the world around me did. It seemed nobody cared about me. I somehow always seemed replaceable. So, I made everybody else irreplaceable in my mind, and I cared more than I ever should
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She was the oldest of five children and was beaten often by her mom, my grandmother. Her dad didn’t care what was happening, for some reason or another. She even drowned at the age of five because her father threw her into a pool and wouldn’t let her out until she swam. Somehow though, she turned out like she did. I began helping her after her Multiple Sclerosis, a disease where the immune system eats away at nerve endings, started getting worse. When she needed help getting things out of the car, help up the stairs, or just help, I was there. I never complained though, because I knew nobody else in the house would help. My sister simply couldn’t process that our mom needed help and my dad was too drunk to care. My mom taught me what it was like when somebody cared when you had somebody looking out for

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