Narrative Essay On Substance Abuse

On a scale of 1-10 of rude interruptions, I’d say getting punched in the face was an 11. I had missed the end of my friend Kyle’s theory about how our history teacher is definitely going to grade our DBQ harder this time, because an upperclassmen just had to get his friend to notice him. Unbeknownst to me, a small shoulder-level freshman, an unspoken rule of high school is that the only surefire way of getting someone to notice you in a crowded hallway is to hit them on the shoulder. Of course, my freshman naivety convinced me that being the same height as a certain someone’s shoulder would not paint a target sign on my forehead and as a result, I learned that valuable lesson the hard way. What ensued was arguably the worst thing that ever happened to me: being noticed by more than two people at a given time. “Oh my God, they’re all looking at me,” I thought to myself, as I desperately tried to avoid eye contact with the offender who punched me. I quickly mumbled, “I’m fine, I’m fine” under my breath, breaking through the wall of people going down the commons stairs, kool-aid man style. I speed walked intensely, trying to put distance between myself
My embarrassing moments would not be permanently etched into the minds of strangers, and no one was going to conceive a gossip column to discuss my faults if I attracted the slightest notice. I realized that maybe the world doesn’t revolve around me and my faults, and that the slightest mess up, like going in the wrong direction, is not an Earth- Shattering event. Even though you won’t find me turning around in a crowded hallway, or screaming to my friend across the classroom, I’m not longer afraid to make my presence known anymore. Sometimes, it takes getting punched in the face to learn that getting attention is not the end of the world, and that football players need to find nicer ways to get their friend’s