Reflection On The Glass Castle By Jeannette Walls

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls has many themes such as mental illness, bullying, moving a lot, death in the family, understanding oneself and where one fits in the world and society, and having an abnormal family. It is clear that Jeannette’s mother has a mental illness that, in some ways, dictates her life and the lives of her children. Jeanette was bullied by classmates for being too smart and they thought she was showing off and “better than them”. Throughout the entire book, and Jeanette’s life, her family did the skadaddle quite often. After moving away from her father’s mother, Erma died from smoking and drinking. After living with Eric, she realized that the “richer” life was not for her and she did not belong there. Writing about
I could easily tell my stories and struggles from my past, but unlike Jeannette Walls, I would not be able to write a book about it. The people in my intermediate family have too much control over my present and future and I know that what I would bring into the light of the public, or even just their eyes, would upset some people and my whole life could become literal hell. On many levels, I can relate my past, present, and future to Jeannette Walls, the writer of The Glass Castle. The first time I moved was when I was around 1 year old, and then again 5 years later, totally to 14 moves in my life. I did not move across the country, like the Walls did when they did the skedaddle, just around Findlay and surrounding areas and a couple times in Indiana with my dad and stepmom. My present is similar to Jeannette’s because I am not ashamed of my past and I have learned and become a better person because of my
I did not really understand the deadlines and requirements because I was the only one in this online class. I remember my first anxiety attack vividly, but as if I was outside of my body watching it happen and as if I was in my own body experiencing the attack. It felt like my world was crumbling around me. My chest felt as if an elephant was sitting on my chest and that there was a ball of energy and anxiety in the center of my chest. My mom’s arms were like serpents around me, trying to suffocate me and crush my soul into dust. I started having more and more anxiety attacks and I started to harm myself in worse ways than before. As a preteen, I had severe anger issues and would punch myself, claw at my skin, and rip out my hair because I was so angry. During the summer between freshman and sophomore year in high school, I hardly ate anything. Sometimes I would snack throughout the day but I usually only ate half of my dinner and shut myself in my bedroom. During sophomore year, I started cutting. I never used blades or had intentions to kill myself. I have always feared death. I would just cut deep enough to draw blood. I soon grew to love the burning from the hot water running over it in my shower the next morning. I became obsessed over the feeling of my fingers running over the fresh cuts. My mother thinks that I only cut one time. The time I told her about was real, just not the only one. She was so