<p>Someone Please review my essay everyone that I wanted to give me feedback is bailing on me and I'm really worried. I think my essay kinda sucks and I have some serious concerns. I NEED HELP GREATLY APPRECIATED THANKS :))))</p>
<p>Essay below:</p>
<p>"The Person behind the Wall
“You’re a midget!”
“You’re so short!”
“Let me crouch down so I can see what it’s like to be your height.”</p>
<p>Since elementary school, I suffered through Q&A about my height as if I was a circus act. When I responded to these infuriating and insulting remarks in kind, they’d only further degrade me. “Why are little people so angry?” they’d ask (I’m still waiting for scientific research that shows a correlation between height and a person’s temperament).</p>
<p>By the time I entered high school, I decided that enough was enough. The four foot eight fourteen year-old me, with the big head and little body was officially fed up. So what if I couldn’t reach the sugar in the top cabinet? Isn’t that what step stools are for? There was no way I could continue to let something that I had no control over define who I was. I decided I would live up to every bit of potential I had within me.</p>
<p>School became my intellectual playground. In the classroom I let my thoughts run wild and didn’t hesitate to raise my hand. Class discussions and group work allowed me to broadcast my thoughts to the world that no one knew about. I started talking about anything and everything, as and when I pleased. Serious matters, education, the minutia of life, and even my dislike for Starbucks were all fair game. Every time I spoke my opinion I learned to value my own words, my point of view, my worth, my place in this world a little bit more, and felt as if I were teaching everyone around me how to do the same. For the first time in my life, I was making a name for myself for a reason other than being a “midget”.
Once I stopped caring about my height, the wall of self doubt began to crumble to pieces. Amidst the rubble, I discovered an overabundance of interests. </p>
<p>Clothing used to be just clothing: basic fabrics stitched together that people use to cover their bodies. My definition of clothing changed dramatically and clothes turned into a form of expression. My outfit was my mood ring: it changed based on how I was feeling. If my hair was rejecting the heat of a flat iron completely, I would find a cute cap to wear, a nice pair of jeans and I was good to go. New York Fashion week became an unofficial holiday. I locked myself away in my room and became enchanted by the glitz and glamour of the catwalk. My eyes lit up as I watched the models strut in ten inch Alexander McQueen stilettos and beautiful, embellished gold Balmain dresses. </p>
<p>I kept digging through the debris and stumbled on debate and politics. Model Congress made me think about issues I had never thought of. I grew up begging my uncle if I could change the channel when he watched political programs. Words like “incumbent” and “bipartisan” were a foreign language to me. To me, it was pompous vocabulary meant to confuse the public and I would have rather watched the MTV awards. The very shows I despised during my upbringing became the very shows that I watched. I turned to the Colbert Report and the Daily show if I wanted a comedic take on current events. Various news Stations and websites kept me updated during the Syrian crisis and the alleged chemical weapon attack. When I got wind that Scotland might declare their independence, I was so stunned I had to rub my eyes twice. And to think that all these issues used to mean nothing to me. </p>
<p>When I shattered the mirror that was constantly before me and locked the insulting comments in a box, I discovered who I really was. I discovered the person who I truly was and I found the person who I wanted to be. To this day I am still digging through the rubble, still finding all these different aspects that define who I am. And my height is not one of them. "</p>