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Model #2

The Nightmare That Haunts Me Forever

When my writing professor asked me to write a Writer's Autobiography, it was like something out of the movie Nightmare on Elm Street. My heart started to race, I began to feel sick to my stomach, my head began to pound, and I felt as if I would drown in a pool of papers, never to find my way out. However, I knew I had to write this paper on my own. My overall writing experience was traumatic, and continues to be frightening for me.

My anxiety began in first grade with a teacher named Mrs. Smith, who made fun of my writing and spelling in front of the entire class. I was heartbroken and frightened. I remember thinking she was like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. She was so scary t me that I did not want to write anything ever again, for fear of her wanting to consume me. She had a red pen that seemed twelve feet tall. Mrs. Smith marked everything wrong with this red monster pen. However, the rest of elementary school there was not much writing to do, which was nice for me.

As I began the transition into junior high school, I worried that I would have to write all the time and that scared me because I knew I could not spell very well. I began to wonder during an English class if I had a learning disability, and then my teacher referred me to a program for children with learning disabilities. I began reliving the nightmare, as I had to take an IEP test (Individualized Education Program). It was like Mrs. Smith stomping down on me with her big foot and saying, "I will crush you like a bug." After the IEP test, I found that I had disabilities in reading, writing, and spelling. I was relieved to get some help for these problems. I had a lot of writing to do in junior high school and the learning program helped me achieve my goals. The teachers from the learning program informed me that the IEP program would follow me into high school the next year, and I felt relieved.

In high school, I did a lot of writing, especially in history and English. Even though I had help with the class, I had a hard time with the writing assignments and it became evident that I needed more help than I was receiving. My history teacher wanted me to take another type of test that would determine if I needed special accommodation with the writing classes. I felt as dumb as an ox. I became very scared, and the nightmare of my first grade teacher laughing at me and saying I was dumb came back to haunt me yet again. I felt I had a box closing in on me and I could not get out. I had the fear of my peers making fun of me, I felt very sick, and wanted to drop out of school.

I never thought I could achieve anything in school because of my learning disabilities. I always felt stupid because I could not spell or read well enough to write a paper. It was like living in a horror film that never ended. I also thought people were making fun of me and calling me names. Because of my insecurities, I did not attend school very often. I wish I had spent more time in class instead of skipping school. I realize now I was only hurting myself when I did not go to school.

However, the rest of my high school years, I never had a good experience in writing because I moved a lot. One of the schools I attended did not have a learning disability program. This was a private school where learning disabilities were not accepted, and grades had t be above a C without exception. I found ways around their rules by having my friends do most of my work for me, which did not last long because I was there for only two weeks before I had to move to a public school.

Looking back on my senior year, I remember getting help from my teachers who love to teach children how to deal with learning disabilities. I learned a lot more with the understanding of how to achieve my goals. The experience was not very great because my teachers were doing my work for me. I would tell them what I had to say and the teachers would write the papers for me. I really thought I was learning something and thought the help was great. I never realized that by not writing the papers myself, I was hurting myself. I was just happy to finally make it through high school and graduate with my class.

In 2002, I began college courses after being out of school for ten years. One of my first classes was Writing 115. I thought I could pass this class without any challenges because I love to write. The class was overwhelming as if I was riding a bike without training wheels for the first time. As time passed, the class became a little easier. The professor was helpful and understanding but challenging. She never gave anyone a hard time and always made herself available, as she was able.

I began working with tutors who would share their ideas about each essay, and gave me helpful ideas to improve my work. I learned to have much more confidence about my writing from them. I learned how to check for run-on sentences and homophones. I felt as if I was passing the class.

When the end of the term arrived and our portfolios were due, I felt as frightened as a small child would feel attending school for the first time. My heart was pounding, my stomach was doing flip-flops, and my head was aching. I could not wait for the anxiety to be over and have my portfolio returned.

When the day came to pick up my portfolio and get my final grade, I began feeling nervous as a cat. When I opened my folder to check my grade, I was in a state of shock to realize I was going to have to repeat Writing 115. I felt as if I had let my professor down as well as myself. Once again, I felt stupid. The experience for me was intense.

Having to repeat the class over, I hope to be able to find where my mistakes are and how to correct them. With work, I can visualize my dream of becoming a teacher of Special Education by the end of my four years of college. I finally realized with a new start in college that I truly need the writing skills to achieve my goals. I want to become a teacher who teachers disabled students that they too can achieve anything they want to, including passing a college writing course. Writing is a lot like a Cinderella story to me because I see that there is more to writing than a "happy ever after." It takes a lot of hard work and determination to accomplish a good piece of writing.