David Russell

English 1010
Elaine Turner
2/22/16

Adolescent Heart Break

Hey noob, anyone down for a guild raid?

Yeah which one?

Black rock spire?

Nah I did that last week

Well how about Zulaman?

Yeah lets do that one bc I will still need the achievement

Ok brb AFK

Conversations like these were ones that sustained me. You see,
since I was young, anxiety has plagued me, and because of these
issues, I needed ways to keep a fracturing mind together. One of these
ways was through a videogame called World of Warcraft. In this game I
was a mighty Orc hunter. I vicariously lived out the grandest of
adventures. The Orc was strong; a take-no-prisoners hero. No one
dared to push him around. The same cannot be said for the young boy
behind the keyboard. That boy was socially graceless and as time
passed even the blandest of human interactions grew harder and
harder for me.
A particularly painful moment happened in seventh grade math.
It was the girl who sat in front of me. She had long brown hair, and
striking green eyes; she was funny and smart in that weird middle
school kind of way. Her most endearing quality, though, was that she
would actually talk to me. Out of some miracle I had gotten up the
nerve to tell this girl that I liked her. Well, to be totally honest, I had my
friend tell her for me while I was out of town. Warning: For those who
become uncomfortable by reading or listening to awkward teenage
stories, stop reading now.
Okay, were all going to be cool from this point on?
When I returned to school that next week, I was dreading math. I
recall the army of butterflies amassing in my stomach. Taking my seat
in the back of the classroom, I awaited the one thing every middle-

schoolers mental well-being teeters upon: The note. It was the one allconsuming idea that had occupied my mind while I had been out of
town. My mind had constantly pored over what it might say, the
possible words swirling and swirling in my head.
So, there I found myself, in the back of Mr. Hortons class, a more
sweaty than usual, acne ridden, thirteen-year-old awaiting my fate. I
waited for that note just as the anxious cancer patient awaits his test
results, desperately holding onto the hope that the news will be good.
Then I saw it, the note being progressively passed back through the
hands of my peers. If someone had glanced my way she would have
seen me quietly muttering a prayer that one of my friends wouldnt
intercept the note and spill out the all-too-valuable contents
prematurely. The note arrived quietly on my desk and every muscle in
my body tensed as I peered down. My name was perfectly drawn in
bubble letters and next to it was a carefully colored-in flower. I
proceeded to open it carefully, each movement more deliberate than
the last; for that small moment I was the new surgeon preforming his
first operation with an extra measure of care and precision. Once open,
my eyes devoured its contents like the just awakened hibernating bear,
starving from a long winter.
I can still recite those words to you today.
Im so sorry but I dont like you like that. I hope we can still be
friends? A little heart was drawn next to the word friend.

Boom. My heart hit the floor. My seventh grade soul, stunned

with agony, almost left my body. In my brief life experience, no viler
words had ever been written. I was sure the devil himself couldnt hiss
out anything that would come close to this. To me it was as if the world
had been innocent before that, and was now, after its 4.5 billion years
of life, experiencing heartbreak for the very first time. And then the
embarrassment set in. How was I going to talk with this girl again?
Was she going to tell other people about this so that they could all
have a big laugh? Oh no, how was I going to talk with anyone again? I
was an idiot for ever hoping she would like me back. That terrible yet
colorful note had delivered a Muhammad-Ali-strength gut punch.
(Side bar: Im realizing now that all of the colorful features on the
note were probably written with the same pen. You know, one of those
pens where there are four or five different colors that you can use. The
pen that Im convinced every single girl in middle school had.)
Skulking back home after school that awful day, I returned to the
only place where I knew I could find comfort. The computer screens
glow illuminated my face, breathing life back into me, and I
transformed. Once again I was a mighty hero, the stuff of legends. That
night I spent hours adventuring. Exploring the hidden places of that
virtual realm, I sought refuge. My sanctuary was found in the digital
battles against giants and trolls, zombies and demons. This was a
world I could understand. There were set rules to the game, so I could

predict my outcome. It was a world without pretty girls or decorated

notes, and most importantly, a world without heartbreak.
It would only be a couple more months after this incident that I
would stop playing World of Warcraft. It wasnt because the anxiety
stopped, though. It was just that I found other ways to cope. It is my
sincere belief that the anxiety will never stop, just as I believe that
there will be more heartbreak in my journey. I will just move on from
one strategy to the next. That hero, that dumb game, was just one
mile in my marathon of relief.

Talk-to Letter

I believe this is an excellent essay because I think I did a

particularly good job at making sure all the elements needed for a
successful essay. I believe that I did a particularly good at using
descriptive imagery and figurative language. I also think that I used an
interesting hook to draw the readers attention.
While I do think that this is a great essay I had some difficulties
writing it. I naturally write in a flowing, poetic way, but after review I
had to make it more straightforward. This is a challenge for me
because it goes against how I would naturally write.
I predict that you will like this essay. I gave it to you for a review
and you made a lot of comments on what could be changed. I worked

hard to try and fit these changes into this paper without compromising
my voice as the author.
Something I learned that isnt in my text is that I am always, in
someway or another, distracting myself with technology. It used to be
video games, now it is social media. Whatever the medium, the
premise is the same.
I hope that I conveyed that coping methods might be different
for everyone. For me in middle school, it was video games. For others it
might be art, or music, or exercise. I also hope to convey that now
matter how silly or trivial stories like these are the feelings that they
bring up are still valid. They arent as dumb as the circumstances that
brought them about.
Sincerely,
David Russell