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My college personal statement Hey, I just found this subreddit. When I was applying to schools two years ago I used this personal essay in my applications. I honestly think that without it, I wouldn't have gotten into majority of the schools I applied to. My stutter has limited and tainted so many aspects of my life, but it can bring some good too. I was sixteen at the time, my writing was (is) not the best, but I think the message is still cogent. ~ I get splinters from talking. It's true. The words that stumble and stagger out of my mouth are so fragmented and uneven that when feebly strung together they leave little, painful shards - little, painful reminders that I have a stutter. I choke out words chopped and severed like diced vegetables, but if I mix and fold them together they don't make savory dish, but rather a distasteful jumble of sharp syllables and rough edges. For as long as I can remember I've had a stutter. When I was younger, stuttering was cute. I coughed out some w-w- words and suddenly I was getting my hair ruffled and cheeks pinched by intruding fingers. Hard candies would miraculously slip into my hands, always with a comment along the lines of "to help the words come out easier". People would cock their heads and cluck like sympathetic mother hens, and I swallowed every golden moment of it. But, to my dire surprise, a stutter does not age well. As I entered middle school, I slammed into my new reality like thick and unforgiving cement. I was stunned by the bottomless amount of cruelty and judgment eleven year olds contained. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, a surge of snickers and ominous whispers fluttered about the classroom. My haphazard and irregular flow of speech, once quirky and unique, was now shameful and weird. So, I did what any other kid would do to someone that was bothersome - I gave my stutter the silent treatment. My voice died down from explosive, vibrant flames to a low simmer. Unspoken words clattered and rattled upon the backs of my teeth, but I clenched my jaw and pressed my mouth shut to not let my stutter seep through and stain the image that I was desperately trying to keep immaculate and free from the filth of being different. I often wondered why I ended up with the burden of a stutter. What had I done so wrong to not be able to speak my mind freely, without restriction? Why was everyone, everyone I know able to talk fluidly and effortlessly without the gnawing, aching fear of not being able to pronounce a word? Why was I so alone? Although my impediment has devised countless episodes of discomfort in my life, it has also allowed me to discover outlets where my expression can flow and course in uninterrupted streams, and ultimately triggered my interminable zeal for visual arts. For this sole reason, I am endlessly grateful for my stutter – it gave my life a purpose. Through art, I do not hesitate to speak my mind. Words stale and dusty from disuse unfold from cramped positions and tumble on paper, flopping and quivering with the impatient desire to finally be heard. My voice screams raw and true through throbbing reds and electric blues, smoky purples and stormy grays. I craft sentences and paragraphs and novels with slabs of pastel and chunks of charcoal and tubes of thick paint. With the fluid dance of my hand, my story blossoms. What I will grow and evolve into is still obscure, but I know that I will not remain unheard.