Personal Narrative: My Memories Of Elementary School

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Elementary School Elementary school was kindergarten through fourth grade and there is very little I remember. I don’t remember going home and reading to my grandparents or playing with anyone at recess or biting my nails when I was made to talk in front of my classmates, but I know I did. There are pictures of elementary school me with big smiles and bitten down nails.
There’s this memory I have of writing my name in cursive and being told, rather harshly, that I was not to do that again because we were not being taught that. I remember biting my and nodding and struggling to remember cursive letters in later years. But I also remember a classmate cutting my finger so bad it was barely hanging on and then going back to class just fine with
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I remember absent day after absent day of laying in bed as I refused beyond reason to go, I remember meetings with my parents, and teachers, and the principal, and I remember being told I had so much potential. I remember feeling awful that I did not want to go, remember how much I enjoyed learning, remember how I always felt someone was looking at me and judging me, and I remember biting my nails. I remember wishing there was somebody I could say anything to without feeling judged. I have this very clear memory of me and some of my classmates at recess. We were all sitting around and telling stories. We were sprouting off “facts” about ourselves and our families and adventures we had gone on and we were all trying to convince each other they were true. One of my classmates said she and her family had gone to watch the Olympics that were held that year in China, that they just didn’t have any pictures because their camera broke. We pretended we thought she was telling the truth, we pretended all of our stories were real. I’d like to find them all again and ask about those stories again, ask if any were true or if they were all lies. I don’t think any were …show more content…
I didn’t go to school much. I wasn’t out partying or drinking or doing drugs, I was usually at home sleeping or crying or trying to control my breathing enough to feel like I wasn’t running out of oxygen. Though I don’t remember biting my nails, I know I did, I do remember gasping for air and a constricting chest. The end of middle school is when I was officially diagnosed with social anxiety and depression after months of screaming with my parents that I was not going to school and laying in bed and sleeping hours away and wishing with everything I had that I could talk and be

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