This is my first draft of a Common App essay for the prompt: Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family.
This essay is too long, about 150 words too long... So, some of it needs to be cut out, I just can't figure out where. I'm thinking somewhere in the intro?
Adulthood is more exciting when you're a kid. When the idea of being a "grown up" is just a fun idea that doesn't require any real worry. But then, when you get to be eighteen, America's idea of an adult, it's terrifying. Suddenly, being a kid again sounds like the best idea anyone ever had.
If I could go back and tell my seven year old self something, I would say "Stop dreaming about driving a car and staying up late. It's scarier than that!" There are emotional and physical changes that happen when you near adulthood, but they don't necessarily have to happen at the same time. For some people, feeling that change could be the day you graduate high school, or college, or get your first real job. But for me, the change happened (should I add something else right here, or you know, in this general area?) suddenly but also felt like the longest summer of my life.
My twin brother suffers from anorexia and Body Dysmorphia Disorder, which basically means the way he sees his body is not the way others do. It's "morphed." He probably dealt with an untitled version of it long before we actually started to notice something was wrong, but everything really blew up in summer of 2014. It seemed to happen suddenly, but looking back, it was a very slow process. My parents and I started to notice that bread wasn't being eaten, white rice was switched to small amounts of brown, sugar was dropped, even fruit, and then actual meals started to be skipped. As it clicked, we all took a step back. He didn't look like Jack. He was sunken into himself, skinny and gaunt. And then his heart rate dropped to twenty beats per minute, when the average person his age should be at sixty. That was the first time I watched a family member go to the ER, and the first time I had ever stepped foot in a hospital. I was suddenly smothered with things no amount of Grey's Anatomy can prepare you for. My parents spent countless hours driving back and forth. The question, "Is Jack okay?" became a regular part of my vocabulary, usual trips to the beach became sitting on a hard couch, drowning my hands in Purell every time I left a room, a hospital rule I didn't know existed (? I dunno, this kinda sucks). He was eventually moved up to an Eating Disorder clinic and spent the rest of the summer there, even spending our sixteenth birthday surrounded by people in scrubs.
More issues came to light that summer. My dad's alcoholism became worse, and my mother had emotional breakdowns almost every night, confining herself to her bedroom. I began to feel like I was living alone. I prepared meals for myself and parents if they were willing to eat, I made grocery lists and kept track of pets and laundry. Family members and friends surrounded us with love and support, but I couldn't help feeling alone and scared. Even though I was a teenager, I had never felt more like an adult. I was the only child in my house for three months, something that I had never been. But instead of soaking up all the extra attention like I'm sure any twin could relate to wanting, I was fiercely independent. I spent time with my brother, visiting him almost three times a week, and bringing him personal things he wanted, such as a favorite book or sweatshirt. But I mostly focused on me. I began to transfer from feeling like I needed to rely on my parents, to knowing I could do this whole "being a real human being" thing by myself. I stepped into my mind and for the first time, felt confident. I even flew on a plane by myself for the first time, and only worried about crashing twice. I found new parts of myself, turning to film and photography to escape the nature of my current life, discovering an art that I fully immersed myself in.
My brother is at home now, he's gained weight, and is slowly making a full recovery. The parts of my life that were bent are beginning to repair themselves, but I never expected such a negative experience to have such a positive impact on me. Parts of myself I felt were so underdeveloped, are now the most defining ones. Adulthood does not necessarily mean total independence, support and help will be needed throughout life and should not be something to be ashamed of, but there are standards of independence and confidence held to it, and I have begun to meet them.
This essay is too long, about 150 words too long... So, some of it needs to be cut out, I just can't figure out where. I'm thinking somewhere in the intro?
Adulthood is more exciting when you're a kid. When the idea of being a "grown up" is just a fun idea that doesn't require any real worry. But then, when you get to be eighteen, America's idea of an adult, it's terrifying. Suddenly, being a kid again sounds like the best idea anyone ever had.
If I could go back and tell my seven year old self something, I would say "Stop dreaming about driving a car and staying up late. It's scarier than that!" There are emotional and physical changes that happen when you near adulthood, but they don't necessarily have to happen at the same time. For some people, feeling that change could be the day you graduate high school, or college, or get your first real job. But for me, the change happened (should I add something else right here, or you know, in this general area?) suddenly but also felt like the longest summer of my life.
My twin brother suffers from anorexia and Body Dysmorphia Disorder, which basically means the way he sees his body is not the way others do. It's "morphed." He probably dealt with an untitled version of it long before we actually started to notice something was wrong, but everything really blew up in summer of 2014. It seemed to happen suddenly, but looking back, it was a very slow process. My parents and I started to notice that bread wasn't being eaten, white rice was switched to small amounts of brown, sugar was dropped, even fruit, and then actual meals started to be skipped. As it clicked, we all took a step back. He didn't look like Jack. He was sunken into himself, skinny and gaunt. And then his heart rate dropped to twenty beats per minute, when the average person his age should be at sixty. That was the first time I watched a family member go to the ER, and the first time I had ever stepped foot in a hospital. I was suddenly smothered with things no amount of Grey's Anatomy can prepare you for. My parents spent countless hours driving back and forth. The question, "Is Jack okay?" became a regular part of my vocabulary, usual trips to the beach became sitting on a hard couch, drowning my hands in Purell every time I left a room, a hospital rule I didn't know existed (? I dunno, this kinda sucks). He was eventually moved up to an Eating Disorder clinic and spent the rest of the summer there, even spending our sixteenth birthday surrounded by people in scrubs.
More issues came to light that summer. My dad's alcoholism became worse, and my mother had emotional breakdowns almost every night, confining herself to her bedroom. I began to feel like I was living alone. I prepared meals for myself and parents if they were willing to eat, I made grocery lists and kept track of pets and laundry. Family members and friends surrounded us with love and support, but I couldn't help feeling alone and scared. Even though I was a teenager, I had never felt more like an adult. I was the only child in my house for three months, something that I had never been. But instead of soaking up all the extra attention like I'm sure any twin could relate to wanting, I was fiercely independent. I spent time with my brother, visiting him almost three times a week, and bringing him personal things he wanted, such as a favorite book or sweatshirt. But I mostly focused on me. I began to transfer from feeling like I needed to rely on my parents, to knowing I could do this whole "being a real human being" thing by myself. I stepped into my mind and for the first time, felt confident. I even flew on a plane by myself for the first time, and only worried about crashing twice. I found new parts of myself, turning to film and photography to escape the nature of my current life, discovering an art that I fully immersed myself in.
My brother is at home now, he's gained weight, and is slowly making a full recovery. The parts of my life that were bent are beginning to repair themselves, but I never expected such a negative experience to have such a positive impact on me. Parts of myself I felt were so underdeveloped, are now the most defining ones. Adulthood does not necessarily mean total independence, support and help will be needed throughout life and should not be something to be ashamed of, but there are standards of independence and confidence held to it, and I have begun to meet them.