Tammurra Hamilton Legacy Scholarship

Mental health and suicide prevention are more than just topics, they’re urgent realities for my generation. We’ve grown up in a time where pressure is constant and support is inconsistent. Social media often makes it feel like everyone else has it together, while you’re silently falling apart. Expectations from school, family, and society can pile up fast, and many young people struggle with anxiety, depression, or identity issues while feeling like they have no one to talk to. That’s why suicide has become one of the leading causes of death among youth; it’s not just about sadness, it’s about isolation and feeling like your pain doesn’t matter. I’ve seen this up close—not just in friends who battled depression, but in myself. When I first left home for college, I thought the hardest part would be the schoolwork. But it wasn’t. The real challenge was dealing with trauma I hadn’t fully processed. During my freshman year at Tuskegee University, an active shooter opened fire during our homecoming celebration. One person died, and several others were injured. That night changed me. I remember laying on the floor, texting loved ones goodbye, praying my friends were still alive. Afterward, I couldn’t sleep. I was anxious all the time, jumpy at loud noises, and emotionally numb in class. The environment that once felt exciting now felt unsafe. At first, I tried to tough it out. I told myself it would pass. But it didn’t. That’s when I called my mom. She didn’t brush it off—she told me it was okay to talk to someone. That conversation was the start of my healing. I began seeing a therapist and slowly learned that asking for help isn’t weak. In fact, it’s brave. Therapy helped me understand how trauma affects the brain, and it gave me tools to manage my anxiety and rebuild my confidence. That experience reshaped how I think about mental health. I’ve learned that healing isn’t a straight line. Some days are harder than others. But I’ve also learned that mental health isn’t just a personal issue, it’s a community one. We need to make sure our peers know they’re not alone and that there’s no shame in needing help. It also changed how I think about my future. As a computer science major, I want to create technology that supports mental health, apps that connect people to resources, or platforms that provide a safe space to talk without judgment. I also want to speak out more in my community, especially for young Black men like me, who are often told to “man up” instead of opening up. Mental health matters because it affects everything: our relationships, our ability to succeed, and our sense of self-worth. Suicide prevention matters because nobody should feel like ending their life is their only option. I know what it’s like to feel lost, and I also know what it’s like to come back from that place, with the right help. That’s why I’ll keep talking about it, and more importantly, listening.

Mental health and suicide prevention have become increasingly important topics in my generation, and I believe this is due to a combination of factors that make young people especially vulnerable to emotional struggles today. Growing up in a world where mental health is finally being talked about openly, I’ve seen firsthand how the pressures of social media, academic expectations, and the uncertainty of the future have impacted my peers and me. The more I’ve learned and experienced, the more I realize how essential it is to address these issues to improve well-being and prevent tragic outcomes like suicide. One of the main reasons mental health has become such a crucial topic today is the sheer amount of pressure many young people face. Social media, in particular, has amplified feelings of comparison and inadequacy. Platforms that highlight people’s achievements and best moments can easily lead to self-doubt and insecurity, especially when we’re still figuring out who we are. I’ve had moments where scrolling through my feed made me feel like I wasn’t measuring up to what others were doing. These feelings of inadequacy can quickly turn into stress, anxiety, or even depression. On top of that, academic pressures and the demands of the future can feel overwhelming. Trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, combined with the pressure to succeed and be “perfect,” can be draining. It often feels like there’s no room to fail, and this weight can affect not only our mental health but also our relationships and overall sense of self. I’ve watched close friends struggle with similar issues, feeling lost, overwhelmed, or stuck and it’s been clear to me how real and present mental health challenges are for people my age. When I started to understand these issues more deeply, I realized just how important suicide prevention is. I’ve had friends and peers who’ve been open about their struggles with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, and it’s heartbreaking to know how much emotional pain some people experience. The rise in suicide rates among young people is alarming, and it’s a stark reminder that mental health struggles shouldn’t be ignored or dismissed. Suicide prevention isn’t just about offering help in the worst-case scenario; it’s about starting conversations early, providing resources, and creating spaces where it’s okay to ask for help. Personally, my experiences with mental health both my own and seeing others go through their battles have deeply shaped my beliefs. They’ve taught me the importance of checking in with people, of being open about my own struggles, and of creating supportive, empathetic relationships. It’s easy to overlook the emotional toll that everyday life can take on a person, but I’ve learned that even small gestures like reaching out to a friend or having a vulnerable conversation can make a huge difference. Ultimately, mental health and suicide prevention matters because they directly impact how we navigate life, how we support each other, and how we make sure no one feels alone in their struggles. By continuing to break the stigma, offer support, and raise awareness, we can create a world where people feel empowered to take care of their mental health and seek help when they need it.

I sat there staring out at the thin line of trees between my car and the CalSag. I watched the cars pass in front of me, trying to prepare to face the day ahead. When the clock struck 8 AM, I dragged myself up the steps of my high school. I hated who I was and had so much anger and pain, but I held it all in. I faked smiles and kept my grades up so as not to raise any suspicion. As the youngest kid, I had to be okay. I had to do my homework and have friends. I had to be the best athlete like my brothers before me. My head was screaming, but I did it. When it came time to pick a college, I waited as long as I possibly could without it being suspicious. I didn't want to pick because I didn't think I would be alive long enough to get there. But I did. I finally sought help in my second semester after barely making it through the first semester. I put in the work. My mental health journey has been hard, and some days it feels like I've been swimming backward underwater. As I learn to cope with and battle my depression and suicidal ideations, I lean on my friends, who are more family than friends, and depend on my Lord to guide me through the deep waters. Like every other kid, I wanted to be a teacher, a doctor, or a vet. As I grew up, I lost any idea of a future. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. Playing soccer and running were the two things that I knew brought me a little joy, and I had always been fascinated by medicine. For good or for bad, I tend to put my own issues aside and lean into helping those around me. I found the perfect career, athletic training. I spent my fair share of time in my high school's athletic training office with my own injuries, and I saw how much of an impact a good athletic trainer makes for a team or for an athlete. I want to work with high schoolers who are in a pivotal time of their lives. So many high schoolers are like me. They are hiding who they are and how they are feeling. They feel like their whole worth is what they can do, the grades they get, or the points they score in a game. I want to be there to tell them that that little voice in their head is wrong. Mental health and suicide have for so long been stigmatized as not real or something to just suck it up and move on from. Suicide is seen as weak and a cop out for going through a hard time. But the truth is that suicide is the result of an internal war. Suicide occurs when the voices in your head become louder than the voices of everyone and everything around. My generation has started to break the stigmas. We have started to shout over the voices that tell us that we are making things up. If we started to care for our mental health the way we care for our physical health, the world would become a better place. We would find be more understanding and compassionate to each other. We would find joy in the mundane. Suicide can be prevented, but we have to take notice. My mental health is important. My mental health deserves to be cared for.

Mental health and suicide prevention are critical issues among young people due to the increasing academic, social, and personal pressures they face. Despite growing awareness, stigma often prevents individuals from seeking help, leading to severe consequences. My personal experiences with mental health have profoundly shaped my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations. The prevalence of mental health struggles among young people is alarming. Many face immense academic pressure, social media comparison, and family expectations, all of which contribute to anxiety and depression. Despite more open conversations about mental health, many still suffer in silence due to stigma or misunderstanding. Suicide remains a leading cause of death among young adults, highlighting the urgency of addressing these concerns. By normalizing mental health discussions and providing accessible resources, society can reduce stigma and encourage individuals to seek help before reaching a crisis point. My experiences with mental health have shaped my beliefs. My first semester of college was challenging. As a first-generation student, the pressure to succeed and make my family proud felt overwhelming. No matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t achieving the results I expected, leading me to question my abilities. I felt as though my grades defined my worth, and the stress and self-doubt consumed me. This made it difficult to focus or enjoy activities I once loved. However, this experience ultimately taught me resilience. I learned that struggling didn’t mean I was incapable—it meant I was learning. Seeking support from professors, friends, and family helped me regain confidence and taught me that mental health is just as important as physical health. These lessons have shaped my relationships. Understanding mental health has made me more empathetic and supportive toward others. I’ve learned to listen without judgment, offer help when needed, and encourage open conversations about emotional well-being. This awareness has strengthened my friendships and family connections, as I strive to be someone others can turn to in difficult times. It’s also helped me recognize the importance of surrounding myself with people who uplift and support me, rather than those who contribute to stress and negativity. My experiences with mental health have also influenced my career aspirations. As someone pursuing a career in veterinary medicine, I’m aware of the mental health challenges veterinarians face, such as compassion fatigue and emotional burnout. The veterinary field has a high rate of mental health struggles due to the emotional demands of caring for animals and the difficult decisions that come with the profession. Understanding these challenges has reinforced my commitment to prioritizing mental well-being in my future career. I hope to advocate for mental health awareness within the veterinary community and contribute to a culture that supports emotional resilience and self-care among professionals. In conclusion, mental health and suicide prevention are critical issues for young people today. My personal experiences have shaped my beliefs, strengthened my relationships, and influenced my career path. I’ve learned that struggling doesn’t make me weak; it’s part of the growth process. By continuing to raise awareness and promote support systems, we can create a society where individuals feel safe seeking help and prioritizing their well-being. Through my future career in veterinary medicine, I hope to contribute to this cause and ensure that mental health remains a priority for both myself and those around me.

Throughout the years, I attended a lot of assemblies that talked about how important mental health is, and people or places you could contact if you were ever worried about your mental health. While being young the meaning, or importance, of mental health never meant much to me. I thought sadness was a feeling you had for only a short period of time, and it only occurred every so often. Getting older, and seeing people around me say that they were depressed, I started to understand more about people’s feelings, and that depression can show in many different ways. It doesn’t always wear the face of sadness; sometimes, it’s anger, withdrawal, or numbness. Many of my friends were going through tough situations with their family, or friends, and I would be there to assist them. I would make sure to let them know their feelings are valid, and they can talk to me during any time. I was available. I never wanted anybody to feel alone, because feeling alone was a feeling that I did not like. Time and time again I would find myself almost being a therapist to my friends, and listening to their problems. I was the friend I never had. I told people their feelings were valid, but when it came to my own, I invalidated them. I would come up with an excuse like, “Oh I’m just being dramatic.” or “It must be that time of the month!” It was, and still is, hard for me to process my own feelings. My mindset told me that the way I felt was not serious, and that other people have worse things to worry about. I didn’t have a person to tell me that it’s ok to be sad, and to not be ashamed to reach out for help. Because I feared loneliness, I clung to relationships that didn’t serve me. I allowed people who didn’t truly support me to remain close, simply because the idea of being alone felt worse than the pain they caused. I was surrounded by “friends,” but I often felt like an outsider, excluded from group chats, left out of plans, and ultimately left feeling invisible. Despite recognizing that those relationships were unhealthy, I struggled to walk away. I ignored the signs—even when I felt deep down that God was urging me to let them go—because I didn’t know who I was without them. And that caused more drama than peace. It’s been a journey, but with time, I’ve found strength in solitude. I’ve started to focus on myself, to honor my own feelings the way I once did for others. I’m no longer everyone's therapist, I’m finally becoming my own.