Post-War Zone

Original

     Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Empty bottles of water here are there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. My hair was in a knotty, unmanageable top bun. I was still in my froyo stained and bleach smelling work clothes. I had completely made my dining room a post-war zone of homework. Tonight I had to manage the store and lock up causing me to not get home till close to 12 on a school night. The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. Everyone was impressed by how I was able to cope with having a part time job and still keep up my grades in school. All of the praise had gave me a false sense of having to continue the good work and not take a break for myself. The stress hit me like a ton of bricks which led to me having a small breakdown. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together so it hurt my family when they saw me crying and freaking out. My mother couldn’t handle seeing me in that state which caused her to also become upset. She told me that I needed a break but I knew I had to get my work done. That night I stayed up till the early hours of the morning and still went to school the next day with dark circles and bags under my eyes. Even with this incident, I’m still a workaholic.

Revised

Revisions Done: Created a short narrative from original writing.

     School days always felt like flashes of mundane classes and monotonous interactions until finally being released to officially start what was left of my afternoon. Once I had been promoted to manager at my job, a majority of my afternoons were taken from me. After the night shifts at work, I would rush home to stay up for hours in order to complete my school assignments. Learning to balance a part time job and being a full time student came easily but it was college applications that broke my stability.

     I do not get home until 11:30 pm after a full day of school and locking up the store once the night shift was over. Besides my apparent exhaustion, I still have a work load estimated to take at least two hours. Not wanting to waste any time, I threw my hair into a distressed top bun and stayed in my ice cream stained, bleach smelling work clothes. I knew I would be unable to sleep until I had finished the two pages of math problems, completed the two college applications I started, and wrapped up my major English essay. Before beginning, I made a cup of coffee, grabbed a few bottles of water, and a large plate of snacks. After bringing everything back to my bedroom, I instantly dove into the mountains of work waiting for me. Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Multiple website tabs and word documents open on my laptop. Empty bottles of water here and there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. In a matter of no time, I had made my bed into a post-war zone of partially done work and crumbs. 

     “I love you, but you look horrible, Jazmine.” My mother and I have always been comically honest to each other but her comment had more of an impact on me than she may have thought.

  

     Within a split second, all of the stress I pushed aside had crashed onto me like a tidal wave. I began to fling papers into the air, throw pens, and repeatedly scream about how I am a failure all the while crying profusely.  The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together, so witnessing me snap struck my mother. She has never seen me in that state so her reaction to hold me tightly was highly apprehensive. My tantrum lasted for what felt like hours but was only mere minutes. After only slightly calming down, I began to clean up the mess I made only to continue my work with tear stained cheeks and uneven breathing.

     “I won’t be able to sleep peacefully until my work is done, I’m sorry.” 

     By the time I completed the pile of work and fell asleep it was already 3 am. Even with less than three hours of sleep, I still dragged myself to school the next day. Peers, coworkers, family, and friends were all impressed by my ability to handle a part time job while maintaining high grades in school. All of the praise put me under the false sense that I had to continue the good work before taking a break for my own well-being.