I had no idea what it meant to be an impoverished Appalachian until I went to the university.  My only thoughts were that I had reached the ivory tower of academia, and, per the American dream, I would now become properly educated, have a career, family, dog… Half way into my first semester, I noticed a stark difference.  My difference.  In classes, people like me were discussed.  I was in shock!  School had always been easy for me.  It was my refuge from a tiny home of screaming children.
   But, the Great White Pillar of college was anything but a sanctuary.  This isolation was broken only by the presence of my, now deceased, husband.  He wanted to drop out.  Being an “outsider”, “a specimen” was too much for him to bear.  It did, finally, get the better of him. He left the university to become an auto mechanic.
   Myself, no, I couldn’t surrender.  It was not because of the promise of career or a higher quality of life.  I had become aware that these were abstractions, and likely unobtainable ones.   No, there were two reasons I couldn’t give up: I am obstinate, and I am thirsty.  Before my mother became pregnant with me, she had a miscarriage and was told she would bear no more children.  Yet, here I am.  I have always held this as testament to my perseverance.  And, when I say I am thirsty, I mean emaciated.  I am emaciated for knowledge.
Hopefully this gives insight into my on-going academic career. There is a part of me that has to believe that all the wisdom and education I have gained will somehow get me out.  Get me out of public housing.  Get me of hunger.  Get me out of this particular struggle.  I implore any in my position, and any not in my position, to follow me on this journey.