Elijah's Helping Hand Scholarship Award

I have never wanted to kill myself. Here I am, sixteen years old and preparing for college, doing better and worse then I ever have before, and I don't want to kill myself. It's a good thing. It's wonderful thing. Yet, I am sixteen years old with a diagnosis of anxiety and depression, and it feels alienating to be okay with that. There's this culture around mental health, and it is to do everything you can to not kill yourself. What about when you have never been to that low of a point? What happens when you are on this cliff, this brink of existence, teetering between a magnificent, glowing hope and the anger and deep sadness that spirals into a breakdown? My name is Sarah Garrison, and this is a balance beam I have been wobbling along for a long time. Growing up, I was the kind of kid teachers discussed as being 'sensitive'. I was in the gifted program and got good grades, so no one was too concerned. Sure, I cried at the drop of a pen, and sure and sure, I spent all of my waking hours making my way through the school libraries selection, but what did it matter? I wasn't disruptive. Reading was an escape for me. Books were something I understood. My siblings teased me all the time, and as a sensitive kid who couldn't understand tone, it usually ended in yelling and tears. It's always been frustrating to me, feeling like I have so much to say but there is no one who will listen to me. It's like my issues have always been just fine enough to be brushed off. I may have been a child who didn't like being home because of the fighting, but it wasn't my parents who fought. It was my siblings, who are all within five years of age. I may have always struggled with anxiety attacks, executive dysfunction, alienating mood swings, and social ineptness, but I have never been suicidal. I thought that there was something wrong with me for a long time. In middle school, everyone was struggling as well. It was the times of the Covid-19 lockdown, and it felt like I was one of many struggling. I didn't feel as alone. Afterwards, it felt like everyone else had moved on and I was there, stuck knee deep in sticky, depressed molasses that I couldn't pull myself out of. A major turning point for me was meeting my best friend. They are a mental health advocate studying psychology, and they are someone I have admired for as long as I've known them. Eventually, I found out the depths of their own mental health issues. They struggled with an eating disorder and OCD, and I tried my best to help as much as possible. Eventually, they were hospitalized, and later, institutionalized. It was not a great experience for them, but afterwards, I saw how much better they were doing. They were the reason I got help. If they could work hard to make it through rehab, I could work hard too. I talked to my mom, who also struggles with anxiety, and I got diagnosed. I found a therapist, and I've worked hard. I learned coping skills, I learned how to cling to that little spark of hope amidst the dark days and the days where it feels like my ribs are collapsing. I know that I have lived through every single thing I thought I wouldn't survive. I know that I will make it through whatever comes my way.

If I could tell 13-year-old, closeted Theo, that we are alive and thriving in dental school, and that we're out and proud, they would not believe me. Even 19-year-old Theo, struggling to get through college during a pandemic, would not believe that we are in dental school. I first started to question my sexuality around the end of middle school; I tried to write off this crush I had on my friend as a "friend crush", but once I got to high school, I couldn't deny it anymore. When I was a sophomore in high school, I tentatively came out to my friends over text as bisexual, and they were very supportive. Over the next few years, I started coming out to more and more people, except for my family, who I knew wouldn't be supportive. During my freshman year of college, I started dating my first girlfriend. I am so grateful that I was in this relationship; I learned so much about myself, who I was, and what I wanted out of my life. I came out as a lesbian when I was a sophomore in college, and also came out as non-binary. Figuring out my identity was something absolutely essential to my well-being. As wonderful as being myself was, it was made more difficult by some of the people in my life. I was not out to my parents; the only people in my family that I had come out to at this point were my sister, younger cousin, and one of my aunts. I went through an incredibly tough couple of months during my sophomore year of college, and this culminated in a mental health crisis. In March of 2021, I tried to take my own life. It was a scary time, and I don't like to think about it too much, but it was an alarming time for me and my girlfriend at the time. I never told anyone about it except my close friends and my girlfriend; I knew that the backlash I'd receive from my family members would only harm me more. I started therapy after this experience, and my queer therapist was one of the people who saved my life. I owe him so much, and I have never been more grateful for a human being. Things seemed to be getting better, but in the fall of my junior year of college, I was outed to my parents. The 44-minute phone call with my dad, after my parents learned this information, drained everything out of me, and I felt physically ill for weeks on end. Thank god for my friends, my therapist, and my girlfriend at the time, because without them, I would not have made it out of that situation alive. I experienced some of the worst verbal and emotional harassment during that year of college; I even experienced my first breakup. But I made it out alive, and now, as I'm writing this, I can confidently say that I have never been prouder of myself. Being a lesbian and being non-binary sometimes makes me feel like I'm an outsider; like there's no place I belong. But with the support of my friends, I have been able to live authentically in a way that makes me so happy. I wish that 13-year-old Theo could see me now; they would be so incredibly proud of me. I hope they know I'm proud of them too.

As a lesbian studying school psychology, mental health, and LGBTQIA+ experiences are intertwined aspects of my personal and professional life. I have been impacted by both in profound ways, and they have influenced my aspirations and career goals. Growing up in a small town, I felt like I was the only one struggling with my sexuality. I didn't know many other people who were openly LGBTQIA+, and I was constantly afraid of being judged and rejected by my peers and community. I tried to suppress my feelings and blend in, but it took a toll on my mental health. I felt isolated, anxious, and depressed. I didn't have anyone to talk to about my struggles, and I didn't even know how to articulate what I was feeling. It wasn't until I went to college that I started to explore my sexuality and find a supportive community. I came out to my friends and family, and although it wasn't always easy, I felt a sense of relief and freedom. However, my mental health struggles persisted, and I realized that being LGBTQIA+ comes with unique challenges that can exacerbate mental health issues. Discrimination, stigma, and lack of support can lead to feelings of shame, self-doubt, and anxiety. I also learned that LGBTQIA+ youth are more likely to experience depression, suicidal ideation, and substance abuse than their heterosexual peers. Fortunately, I was able to access mental health support in my adulthood. Therapy, medication, and self-care practices have helped me manage my anxiety and depression and improve my overall well-being. However, I know that not everyone has the same access to resources and support. In particular, LGBTQIA+ youth in rural areas and communities of color face significant barriers to accessing mental health services. They may not have a safe space to express their identity or a provider who understands their experiences. As a school psychologist, I want to provide extensive support and community to the LGBTQIA+ population. I want to create a safe and inclusive environment where students can feel seen and valued for who they are. I want to advocate for policies and practices that promote equity and reduce discrimination. And I want to provide individualized and culturally responsive services to students who may be struggling with mental health issues. I believe that mental health and LGBTQIA+ advocacy go hand in hand. By addressing the unique needs of LGBTQIA+ youth, we can promote positive mental health outcomes and foster a more accepting and compassionate society. I am committed to this work and inspired by the resilience and courage of the LGBTQIA+ community. In conclusion, my experience as a lesbian and my struggles with mental health have shaped my perspective and aspirations. I am grateful for the support and community I have found and determined to provide the same for others. As a school psychologist, I hope to be an advocate for LGBTQIA+ youth and to help them thrive academically, socially, and emotionally.