Personal statements. What a joke.
How do I sum up my entire college experience (eight years! let's try and make it ten!) in a two page, double spaced paper? Here's how: I fill it with weird jokes about sitting behind potted plants and use phrases such as "metaphorical potassium." Yeah, this statement is about as personal as it gets (what?).
Enough about personal shmersonal statements... Let's talk about the past! No, let's not. Let's bury the past instead! No, let's not. Then what the hell do we do with the past? Leave it in the past? I do not know, honeys. Honies? Honeys. I do not know. Is the past really a "dead end" like you say it is? Or is it just that scab on your knee that you really shouldn't pick at because then it will never heal, but you can't stop picking at it because it's, well, there (and you must admit that you kind of like the pain)?
Is this what the past is? A scab on my knee? But the past was so bad that I think it left me without a knee. Yeah, it wasn't an oops-I-scraped-my-knee incident. Oh no-- it was most definitely an oops-my-entire-knee-just-exploded-and-now-I-have-this-gaping-hole-where-my-knee-used-to-be incident. And how do you recover from something so painful (and unexplainable) as an exploding knee?
Maybe you don't. Maybe you accept that you won't. Maybe you don't move on, but move in a different direction with the past tied to your leg. Maybe you run around trees and bushes and mountains, trying to tangle up the past so that it eventually snaps and releases you from its strings. You'll forget about the strings, most likely, but you'll always have your phantom knee.
And you'll smile outwardly, saying it's okay.