Personal Narrative Essay on Self

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I’m nine years old and wondering why it’s taken so long for me to figure out what was going on. I was in the fourth grade and we had just begun the D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) program. The more the instructor talked about the signs of drug abuse the more information fell together like puzzle pieces. My dad’s weight loss, him leaving without warning, the sleeping for and at unusual times. I went home and immediately got in the shower, I just sat under the water and cried for hours that night. My little brother had just been born months before and I didn’t want him having similar experiences to me. This was the day I decided it was time for me and my brother to move in with my grandparents. I talked to my grandma and it wasn’t long before she took it to the courtroom and was able to win custody of us.

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I’m thirteen years old and wondering when the last time I had spoken to my dad was. This was is second time being sentenced to prison for two years. The first time he went in for that amount of time I visited and wrote letters as often as possible, but the second time was different. I was hurt and couldn’t understand why he kept doing this to my family…to me, part of me didn’t even want to understand. I hadn’t seen him for weeks before he got picked up and sent in the second time. I refused to write letters even though my mom begged, and there was no way in hell I was going to see him. I honestly couldn’t say whether I was more saddened or pissed off.

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I’m eighteen years old and just wondering about everything. I wonder how he could have ever chosen that life over his family. I wonder if this sense of abandonment I feel will ever go away. I wonder what was going through my mom’s head when she thought having my little brother would straighten my dad out. I wonder if he even slightly understands what he put us through. But mostly, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to truly forgive him.

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