Tuesday, May 5, 2020

lesson learned Essay Example For Students

lesson learned Essay Lesson LearnedAs I was standing in front of the judge many emotions proceeded to give me a nudge, my heart sank and the tears rolled down my face as if I was trying to fill a river. I knew I was going to be jailed for the bad decision that I had made when I decided to get behind the wheel of my vehicle. After my sentencing I was escorted to the booking room where they proceeded to take my fingerprints, height, and my photo. After this procedure was finished I was lead down this long gloomy hallway where the noises was most frightful to me since I had never experienced anything like this. I could hear a jingle sound comingfrom the jailors keys that he was carrying, the rattle of the handcuffs that seemed to be tightening around my wrists, and the heavy door slamming behind me. The noises sent echoes off the concrete walls and shivers down my spine. This experience of being incarcerated seemed to me to be the most horrible, scariest, and loneliest place to be. I often remember how being incarcerated made me feel. I hope to never be in thathorrible place again. As I entered the cell there were four slabs of metal attached to theconcrete walls one of these slabs were my bed. On that bed was a thin green mattress that was only an inch thick maybe two and a pillow that showed no comfort at all. The one blanket that the jailor had given to me was not enough to keep me warm in a place so cold. The privacy I had was very little. The shower and toilet was located in the corner of the cell but they were not isolated enough to where the other inmates could not see me. I undressed and dressed inside the shower to have some privacy. I even tried to haveprivacy by hanging up a blanket from one corner of a wall stand to another but I got introuble by the jailor. All of these things just seemed so horrible and degrading to me. My first few nights being in the cell called J-1 was scary. There were three otherwoman in the cell that was always yelling or fighting over ridiculous things like the television. Around the corner I could hear the accused killer Cowboy Mike always singing the country songs that he liked so much or the banging of his coffee cup against the bars of the cell when he was angry. One time he even used the shower curtain rod to try to escape from his line cell. Even further down the line there was an accused rapist and of course he had to put his two cents in by always screaming that the devil was coming after him. All I could think is how scary this was and I wanted out. Not twodays from now nor thirty days I wanted out right then!I was separated from the outside unable to touch or hold the people that were so dear to me. It was a lonely feeling; I would hate to see anyone experience such loneliness. Even though we did have visits it was never the same as being on the other side. When my family did come to visit the jailor would escort me to the visiting room. It only consisted of an outside lawn chair, a glass window, and a phone. The visiting periodswere only fifteen minutes, which seemed like only two. Sitting behind the window was hard to cope with since the only time I could even get close to my family is when I put my hand on the glass where there hand would meet mine. Yes, just like in the movies. The most painful part was seeing how much I hurt my children and not being able to hold or take care for them like a parent is supposed to do. I will never allow this empty feelingto enter my life again or my families. .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .postImageUrl , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:hover , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:visited , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:active { border:0!important; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:active , .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u61092f7b6255e13db9036f93aa90d9dc:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Hall Essay Life is definitely an experience being incarcerated. I know now that I do not want to enter that cell called J-1 ever again because life is to important to feel horrible, scared, or lonely.

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