Please edit my personal statement! Will critique back!
"One day, I just looked in the mirror and realized I only had two options: get better, or die." I turned away from my co-worker, blinking back tears, hoping that he didn't see how his story had affected me. Daniel was only 20 years old, but had already suffered through and recovered from a heroin addiction. Watching how he had managed to choose to get better, and to turn his life around, just made it harder to face the fact that my father had chosen the other option.
When I was 6, my mother told me that my dad was addicted to drugs, and though I had no idea what that meant, I understood it was something negative. My family had always lived comfortably until this point. My dad had started his own company and we lived in a large home. But following the start of his addiction, he quickly went bankrupt and lost his business, bringing his family down with him. We were in terrible debt, and had no income. My mother, who had always stayed home to raise my siblings and me, suddenly had to find work. We were forced to move to a small two-bedroom rental house, where I had to share a room with both my brother and sister. Various babysitters came and went, but from a young age, I often found myself charged with caring for my siblings while my mother attended nursing school. As the oldest, I was suddenly faced with the challenge of having to grow up prematurely. The world was a harsh reality that I came to know too soon.
One of the hardest parts of all this was being at school. My mother had managed to attain scholarships for us to attend the local private school. The toughest thing anyone in my class of nine had to experience was getting their cell phone taken away. In fourth grade, there was one other boy in my class whose father had passed away. He had been in the military, and everyone always talked about how brave he was. But even though I hadn't fully understood my father's condition, I knew he wasn't brave. He had abandoned his family for Methamphetamine. Instead, when friends asked why I only lived with my mom, I lied and told them that my parents were divorced and my dad lived on the other side of the country. I didn't want their sympathy, I hated the pitying looks people gave me when they knew.
And then, one day, my dad had to face the same decision Daniel did. All I remember about the incident was my mother, trying to console me. Trying to console herself. "You're gonna hear people talk about suicide, but we're his family, we know he loved us and that he wouldn't do something like that. Daddy was sick, it was just an accident."
My father's suicide affected me in more ways than I like to admit; some good, and some bad. From a young age I was forced to become independent. During my brief encounter with poverty, I vowed never to let my children experience the same hardship I felt. I threw myself into my schoolwork, making my future my number one goal. Thinking about a future away from pain was my escape, and it shaped the work ethic and motivation I have today. As I've grown older, I've come to understand and accept why my dad did what he did. He wanted an escape from pain too. He couldn't handle the mess he'd made of his life and his family, and chose the easy way out. And I can't blame him for it, all I can do is understand the past for what it is, and live every day with the hope that he would be proud of his baby girl.
