Telling someone who I am is like choosing where to eat when you're part of an indecisive couple. Too many options to choose from, nothing sounds good enough to pick, and everything I think of makes me sick. I've lived for 30 years without confidence, drive, or purpose, but I've had passion throughout. I'm passionate about human rights, accepting yourself, and making the world a better place than we were given it. I am always telling my friends to stand up for themselves against people trying to put them down, yet I hardly ever stand up for myself. I always take metaphorical hits on the cheek and keep on moving, and I'm tired of doing that. I want to be the person I tell my friends and loved ones to be, and getting my teaching degree will help me make that happen. With my degree, I will be teaching the next generations the same thing that took me 30 years to learn myself. I will teach them to love themselves, to respect others, and to strive for their dreams. Over those 30 years I have lost my son, lost half of my family, and lost myself, but thanks to my new family, I have been able to bounce back and get back on the right track. I can teach them that love is kind, love is accepting, and love is understanding. This is what I've always been destined to do, and what I've always dreamed of becoming. My plan has always been to either teach or become a doctor, and half of one semester into college my plan has changed. I still plan on teaching math and science, but I also plan on pursuing a psychology degree to better assist students with their depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues. I've struggled with depression my entire life, so I know the struggle of not finding value in yourself, and my job is to make sure no other kids go through the same things I did. I might not be able to change or save all of them, but if I can save one, I'll have succeeded. I am not a confident person. I am not a worthy person. I am not a strong person. I am a loving person, whose entire purpose is to give back. I've got a huge heart, and I've got a ton of love to give so that the next generations don't end up like me.

There are depths to my psyche to which I can never return. I've known since I was 8 that my brain was broken, I just never understood why, but as a now 30-year-old, I can confidently say it doesn't matter why it's broken anymore. All that matters is never allowing myself to fall apart ever again. A few weeks before my 30th birthday, I had the biggest panic attack/depressive episode I've ever had. My uncontrollable sobbing woke my wife up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, and as she sat there worrying about me, trying to check on me, the only thing she could make out between the sobbing, the lip sucking, the whining, and the crying were the words, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." What was I sorry about? I was sorry for being an inconvenience. I still am. For 22 years, my depression went undiagnosed. I told myself every day that I had it under control and that I didn't need medication. I told myself that taking medication for my depression meant that my depression won. The voices in my head told me that I would never amount to anything, that I would never be worthy of love, and that I should end it all to make space for more important people to exist. I eventually learned, through my wife, that those thoughts were caused by the depression and not a reflection of who I am. While I still have feelings and thoughts of self-doubt, self-hatred, and disdain for my existence, they are much less severe than they used to be. I am not the only one going through a mental health struggle in general and daily life. I am constantly in awe of my wife's ability to persevere through the tragedies she has had to endure and maintain her cheerful demeanor. Her story is not mine to tell, but my admiration of her grace is, and it's exactly her grace that has allowed me to start down the path of what I've always wanted to be. She's been through the worst of it, and yet she was still capable of achieving her dreams, striving for a better life for the two of us, and not letting anything stop her from succeeding. Without her love, support, and inspiration, I would not be here typing this essay for a variety of reasons. My experience with mental health and the mental health industry is that when it's really bad, there's nothing that can help, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop the spiral. However, being there for someone unconditionally and making them know they are loved despite the pain they've caused can pull someone from the lowest point they've ever been in their lives. Everyone deserves to give themselves a second chance. I currently am, and I hope anyone else dealing with suicidal thoughts can find someone who will be there for them unconditionally. That's the best gift anyone can give to someone else.

I'll sell myself out early, but, aside from seeing the Barbie movie a week before writing this, I genuinely know nothing about Barbie, her Dream House, or anything else related to the world of Barbie. That being said, I loved the movie for a myriad of reasons, and I have a number of ideas for what I would do given the opportunity to create a dream house of my own. First off, it has to be a three-story building with a ground level for vehicles and the remaining two levels for living space. To traverse this huge house, there would have to be an elevator, maybe two, to make things easier on my and my wife's knees. Walking up and down stairs all day, multiple times per day would not be my definition of a dream, and neither would it be hers. I'm not particular about decor or style, but I am big on function, which is why my biggest priority aside from sizing is creating a custom design space for my wife. She adores working with her Cricut making shirts, cups, and all sorts of other things. She also loves to do hands-on, non-Cricut-related crafts as well, which is why it is imperative this dream house would cater to her every desire. I recognize it's not much of an answer, but the truth to the question is that I would give up the opportunity to have my dream house in order to give my wife whatever she wanted. Seeing her happy would make me ecstatic, and she would have a much better use for this opportunity than I would. I am but a loving husband who would do anything for his wife, which, according to the Barbie movie, means I am Ken. As shown by the Barbie movie, Ken would do anything for Barbie, and that is Kenough for me.

I've lived for 30 years without confidence, drive, or purpose, but I've had passion throughout. I'm passionate about human rights, accepting yourself, and making the world a better place than we were given it. I am always telling my friends to stand up for themselves against people trying to put them down, yet I hardly ever stand up for myself. I always take metaphorical hits on the cheek and keep on moving, and I'm tired of doing that. I want to be the person I tell my friends and loved ones to be, and getting my teaching degree will help me make that happen. Specifically, I've always dreamed of becoming a math teacher and/or a physics teacher. I've always had an affinity for math and my senior year physics teacher helped me fall in love with physics by sharing his passion with me. For me, the two are intertwined, as physics makes the world work and math explains how and why physics works in most instances (looking at you, theoretical physics). Both are integral to explaining and teaching the new generations how the world works and should be, but specifically, math allows them to understand how to express themselves. Math has countless ways to find the correct answer to a problem, despite having set solutions that we follow as mathematic laws. Math, quite literally, gives us a box and then tells us to think outside of it. Math gives us the freedom to explore different ways of thinking, different ways of looking at the same problem, and allows us to share our differences and celebrate them together. In short, math is a unifying force that, when taught properly, can show people that we are all the same in the end. Just because we have a different way of doing things doesn't make anyone more right or wrong than anyone else. With my degree, I will be teaching the next generations the same thing that took me 30 years to learn myself. I will teach them to love themselves, to respect others, and to strive for their dreams. I can teach them that love is kind, love is accepting, and love is understanding. This is what I've always been destined to do, and what I've always dreamed of becoming. I am not a confident person. I am not a worthy person. I am not a strong person. I am a loving person, whose entire purpose is to give back. I've got a huge heart, and I've got a ton of love to give so that the next generations don't end up like me.

I wanted to smoke cigarettes from the time I was 7 years old until I took my first drag at 17 with 3 months before my 18th birthday. I saw my mom and dad being secretive by smoking in the garage when I was roughly 5 or 6 years old, saw my aunt and cousin smoke my entire life, and watched my brother smoke from the time he was 16. One would think the fact that that was the only time I ever saw either parent smoke, my aunt almost died when I was 18 due to pneumonia exacerbated by years of tobacco use, and my cousin barely being able to breathe at the age of 25, but I guess I'm a slow learner sometimes. I've always loved the smells of certain cigarettes and was able to distinguish which brand people were smoking at 10 years old. At 21, I found out I was going to become a dad, and wanted to start making strides to not have the nicotine and tobacco scents around my son, which led me to pick up vaping. I quit smoking cigarettes on my mom's birthday when I turned 22 years old and told everyone I used vaping to curb my smoking addiction. I knew in my soul that this was a lie and that the nicotine had fully taken control, but as long as I could lie to everyone else, I was able to lie to myself as well. Whether or not they believed me, I suppose I'll never know, but I know I convinced enough people to convince myself. Until I learned that my son was never my son and was ripped away from me, never to be seen again. That's another story, but the nicotine abuse skyrocketed from that moment on, as I'm sure anyone would understand. I wanted to numb the pain, forget the heartache, and overall feel something, anything other than the emptiness I was feeling, and thanks to nicotine, I certainly felt something, but that something was never good. Fast forward a few years to meeting, falling in love, and being with my now-wife, who was a smoker when we met but very quickly transitioned to vaping. Vaping was less of a void filler, and more of a nervous tic at that point, but the craving and addiction were still pervasive. Both of us were enthralled with vaping, so much so that we not only have wedding pictures of us using our vapes for aesthetic purposes, but my wife forgot her bouquet in her changing room, yet had her vape sticking out of her dress pocket to the point where our photographer "slyly" assisted her in hiding it. Mine was also in my pocket, just not visible. As mentioned, we were very much so addicted, until 2022. In January of '22, my wife said she would stop vaping and urged me to do the same. I told her I didn't want to, and she endured me vaping constantly in her face (non-malevolently) for a year before I decided to quit for my health. I quit all nicotine in January of 2023 and the following 7 months have been a rollercoaster of emotions. Some moments I crave the feeling, but most days I have to remind myself that I used to smoke. I don't miss the feeling of nicotine exciting my cells, but I do miss knowing what to do with my hands. If that's the price I have to pay, I'll forever be Ricky Bobby.

As a 30-year-old demisexual who has tried to kill himself, takes antidepressants daily, and constantly wants to die, I think I know a little bit about this subject. I have known I was depressed before I knew there was a word for how I felt, and much is true about my sexuality as well. Due to my intimate relationship with all 3 of the aforementioned subjects, I feel like I should be uniquely qualified for this particular scholarship application, but I know that is not the case. According to the Trevor Project, LGBTQIA+ youth are four times more likely to attempt suicide than heterosexual youth. In my youth, I was homophobic due to my ignorance and misunderstanding of what being gay meant, and I deeply regret every single person I hurt by my words and actions from back then. I can never make up for the damage I have done to them, but I can promise never to hurt anyone else the same way ever again. One would think that I would have been more sensitive to their plight, but my selfish and self-centeredness wouldn't allow me to see past my interests. I did always wonder why it had to be straight or gay, and there was nothing in between, but I thought everyone felt like that. Turns out, I was wrong, but I was also right. I came to understand my sexuality after my now wife and I started dating. I had always found men and women attractive, but I never understand why everyone's attraction always led to sex. Sex, while nice, has never been a major factor for me in a relationship. I went along with the intimacy in past relationships because that's what I had seen on TV, heard about in books, and seen in my personal life. After talking to my wife about her sexuality, I was able to properly process my own, and I was able to understand that there isn't anything wrong with me. I'm sure I don't have to tell the person reading this how massive of a weight was lifted from me when I finally realized that. I first tried to kill myself when I was 10 years old. My aunt died the year before and my grandma died the month before I attempted the first time. The attempts escalated to the point where I had decided this was it and I would finally go through with it when my sister called me out of the blue saying my niece wanted to talk. She told me she loved me and that she missed me, and that was all she wanted to say. Minor, in the grand scheme of things, but she genuinely saved my life that day, and she has no idea, 20 years later. Nowadays, my mental health teeters on the fine line of complete and total breakdown to the happiest person on Earth, depending on when I took my medicine last. I spent years telling myself I was stronger than my depression and that I didn't need any help, but, once again, my wife showed me how recognizing you need help is a sign of the greatest strength. She truly is my Rock of Gibraltar, my storm's harbor, and my biggest fan. Depression isn't something I will ever beat, but it is something that I will never let win, thanks to her. As I mentioned, I know I'm not the only one who has experienced these things, and I commend everyone who has gone through them and made it out. We almost didn't, but I'm glad we did.

To say I want to work in the field of substance abuse is quite misleading. I desire to become a teacher/coach/counselor to high school students, where I can shower them with love and understanding, and help them achieve their dreams. 1 in 7 students in America will drop out before completing high school. That leads to approximately 1.3 million dropouts every year, primarily among the 16-24 age groups. As a prospective high school teacher, this age range puts me right in line to immediately address the most at risk for dropping out of high school. Numerous reasons have been given among those who have dropped out, such as financial burden, race-related struggles, and illiteracy. I can't help with all of those issues, but I know I can make a difference in other ways. I can give these at-risk students a new lease on life and show them that they can do anything to which they set their minds. Working as a teacher in the southern United States will give me the ability to connect with a wide variety of students who need help. In my area, drugs, gangs, and racial inequity are heavy impositions given to students. I can't physically stop them from joining gangs or doing drugs, and I certainly can't help them overcome any racial inequity they will experience outside of my classroom, but I can show them how life is supposed to be. I can give them a small glimpse into a world that doesn't value them as less of a person because of their background, hopefully giving them the courage to venture out into the world to make the rest of the world like the classroom I will have given them. The world, right now, is unfair, unjust, and cruel, especially to women and people of color. My classroom will show them how the world should be, and it is my duty to push them to create a fair and just world. As mentioned, I'm not interested in working directly in the field of substance abuse. I care much more about showing those most at risk of succumbing to drugs that there's a better life out there for them and everyone in the United States. That better life doesn't just start with them, but with their kids, and the best way to get us to the world we need is to pour all of our love into the next generations. They are, have always been, and always will be our future. I just want a small part in facilitating their dreams.

Math has been my love since I was 8 years old, because, to me, it is the fairest of all the subjects. Math has countless ways to find the correct answer to a problem, despite having set solutions that we follow as mathematic laws. Math, quite literally, gives us a box and then tells us to think outside of it. Math gives us the freedom to explore different ways of thinking, different ways of looking at the same problem, and allows us to share our differences and celebrate them together. I can think of several instances throughout my school years in which my best friend and I would arrive at the same answer to a math problem and then argue about who was right about how they got the answer. It took me a long time to realize that it doesn't matter which method you use, it matters that we were able to learn from one another about our differences. In short, math is a unifying force that, when taught properly, can show people that we are all the same in the end. Just because we have a different way of doing things doesn't make anyone more right or wrong than anyone else. Math allows for self-expression, understanding, and commonality, and those are the messages I will strive to bring out of every student that I teach.

Many people claim to have had superhero parents, but none fit the bill more so than my mom. She was a high-risk pregnancy with me, her only child, having given birth to me 4 days before her 38th birthday. She then raised me practically alone, as my parents divorced when I was 6 years old, all on a single income as a grocery store employee. I've seen her struggle, I've seen her stress about paying bills, and I've seen her starve to make sure I had everything I wanted and needed, so when I say she is a superhero, it's truth, not hyperbole. She didn't tell me about her first cancer diagnosis, as I was younger than 10, nor did she tell me about her second one until after they had removed the cancer via chemotherapy medication (pills, not injections), which caused a rift between us. I was a spoiled kid, not in the sense that I got everything I wanted, but in the sense that I had no concept of responsibilities until I was much later in life. My mom made sure my childhood was exactly that, a childhood. When she told me about her diagnosis after the fact, I was selfishly hurt. I made her feel guilty for not including me when I should have had nothing to do with any of what she was going through. I should have been loving and supportive instead of being a bratty kid who didn't like that his mom was keeping things from him, but she didn't see it that way, either. She saw a scared teenager, afraid to lose his mom, and she said she wouldn't keep it from me if it ever happened again. The next time she got cancer she was living with me. As fate would have it, her diagnosis was given to her in the same two-week period as us losing her only grandchild, and she felt guilty for telling me that she had cancer again. My 63-year-old mother felt guilty for getting cancer around the same time that we lost my son, which is not something any parent, nor person, should ever feel when they receive a cancer diagnosis. Twice, I have made my mother feel bad for something she should never have felt bad about, and I can never forgive myself for that, but she already did before I could even understand that's how she felt. She's in remission right now, but that doesn't erase our memories of me shaving her knee-length hair in my dining room, her breaking down and telling me she doesn't want to fight the cancer anymore, or of the many nights I would get her extra blankets to keep from freezing to death during the summer, thanks to the cancer/chemo. I may not know cancer personally, but I am intimately familiar with what it looks like when cancer loses. I am uniquely aware of what cancer does to a person you love, and I am even more aware of what it looks like to have the strength to persevere. I hope some of her strength has been passed on to me, for if I can claim a modicum of that strength, I can change the world.

In 2019, I was working for an automotive company as a Foreman for a crew of about 10 people. We primarily changed the oil, rotated and changed tires, and applied new wheels and tires to the vehicles when called for, so it was a very physical job to do. I also used to bowl recreationally as a member of a men's league, and my bowling style is that of a two-handed bowler. Imagine the surprise and inconvenience involved when I woke up one morning genuinely unable to move out of bed without screeching in pain. This day coincidentally fell on the same day as my weekly bowling league, and I was forced into calling into work and to my league that night to try to take care of myself. For years I have taken a cocktail of medication to just move around, and for a while, it wasn't working. All I could do for the better part of a year was lay in bed, take medication that felt like it did practically nothing, and suffer. It turned me into a gross person, both by limiting my ability to clean myself and by corroding my mind to the point where I started pushing my then-girlfriend-now-wife away. Fast-forward 4 years, and I can no longer bowl in my league, and I no longer work for that automotive company due to being diagnosed with a degenerative disc disease. Four of my discs are degenerating between my T11 - L4 spinal column in opposing directions. A related problem not directly caused by the disease is that I was born with a congenital spinal column defect where my column is slightly smaller than normal. The defect combined with the degenerative disc disease has made moving around excruciating at times. Today, I usually don't have to take as much medication as I used to to be a normal person, but now and then my back will prove to me that I am not a normal person anymore. Seemingly out of the blue, my back will seize and send pain throughout my body to the point where if my medication is not nearby, I will have to be carried to the car to make it home. This has caused me and my wife to miss out on family functions, fun plans we have made with each other, and general everyday things like going grocery shopping or driving to get fast food. The limitations I know how to abide by generally don't make a large impact, but when the pain rears its ugly head, the impact is inescapable. I try not to let it define me anymore, and I desperately try not to become addicted to the medication, but it's hard to accept that you're not who you used to be. It's hard to give up passions you used to have because you physically can't move anymore, but it's the reality I live in, now. I want to prove to myself that this disease is not who I am and that I can live with it instead of being lived through it.

In high school, I used to be part of a church group that would hold annual retreats in the middle of the woods for high school students. I am currently shy, but I was even more shy back then, and I have always had trouble connecting with people on a personal level. The first time I went, I only had one other person at said retreat that I knew personally, which made my need to rescind into the background overwhelming. One of the tasks we had when we arrived was to decorate a bag for people to put "warm and fuzzies" in, which were nice things that people wanted to say to you but didn't dare to do so, or messages they wanted you to leave with. Being shy, knowing only one person at the retreat, and being as artistically creative as a rock, I knew my bag would remain empty by the end, but I put forth my best artistic effort for that bag to pass the time. Then I learned that we would have to publicly explain all of the decisions we made on the bag to the rest of the campers, and my stomach dropped. That wasn't part of the plan, that wasn't what I had prepared for, and that wasn't something I was good at. My anxiety was palpable as I stood up to reveal the meaning behind my silly drawings, but I made it through it relatively unscathed. As we left that particular area and went into the more open area of the campsite, someone approached me and started talking to me about my interests, my hobbies, and wanting to get to know me. Being the introvert I am, I asked the most logical question, "Why?" "You're funny, that's why," the stranger smiled at me. We talked more and more, and eventually, more people started to walk up and join in on the conversation. Strangely, though, when we all went our separate ways, the first stranger didn't. They stayed close to me and even asked me to wait for them to catch up. This was my life for the next 3 days. Those 3 days are irrelevant, but the 4th day is when I learned who I am as a person and as a Potterhead. The stranger, me, and everyone else at the camp were sitting and laying down watching church-related movies, and my not-as-much-of-a-stranger-anymore was getting some unwanted attention from some of the other campers. They even specifically moved away from the other campers who were causing them physical pain and discomfort and moved near me and asked me to help them. I told them I would try, but I didn't know how to help this situation. At that moment, my not-so-stranger's assailants followed them over to me, and I was now caught up in something I had no business being in. Normally, I mind my own business, I stay out of trouble, and I keep to myself, except for that moment when I saw them being physically and sexually assaulted and saw none of the adults doing anything to stop it. Suddenly, I was reaching over and grabbing the assailant by the arm, saying in a hushed growl, "Let. Her. Go." The assailant's eyes grew wide as they removed themselves from our vicinity, and as my new friend started thanking me, I wondered why I had stepped in and done anything. I didn't understand then, but I do now. Gryffindors aren't always brave, but when they need to be, they find the courage to do what's right.

There are depths to my psyche to which I can never return. I've known since I was 8 that my brain was broken, I just never understood why, but as a now 30-year-old, I can confidently say it doesn't matter why it's broken anymore. All that matters is never allowing myself to fall apart ever again. A few weeks before my 30th birthday, I had the biggest panic attack/depressive episode I've ever had. My uncontrollable sobbing woke my wife up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, and as she sat there worrying about me, trying to check on me, the only thing she could make out between the sobbing, the lip sucking, the whining, and the crying were the words, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." What was I sorry about? I was sorry for being an inconvenience. I still am. For 22 years, my depression went undiagnosed. I told myself every day that I had it under control and that I didn't need medication. I told myself that taking medication for my depression meant that my depression won. The voices in my head told me that I would never amount to anything, that I would never be worthy of love, and that I should end it all to make space for more important people to exist. I eventually learned, through my wife, that those thoughts were caused by the depression and not a reflection of who I am. While I still have feelings and thoughts of self-doubt, self-hatred, and disdain for my existence, they are much less severe than they used to be. I am not the only one going through a mental health struggle, both in general and in my daily life. I am constantly in awe of my wife's ability to persevere through the tragedies she has had to endure and maintain her cheerful demeanor. Her story is not mine to tell, but my admiration of her grace is, and it's exactly her grace that has allowed me to start down the path of what I've always wanted to be. She's been through the worst of it, and yet she was still capable of achieving her dreams, striving for a better life for the two of us, and not letting anything stop her from succeeding. Without her love, support, and inspiration, I would not be here typing this essay for a variety of reasons. My experience with mental health and the mental health industry is that when it's really bad, there's nothing that can help, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop the spiral. However, being there for someone, unconditionally, and making them know they are loved despite the pain they've caused can pull someone from the lowest point they've ever been in their entire lives. Everyone deserves to give themselves a second chance. I currently am, and I hope anyone else dealing with suicidal thoughts can find someone who will be there for them unconditionally. That's the best gift anyone can give to someone else.

When I look to the future and see the best version of myself, I am happily married to my amazing wife with our one or two kids, teaching kids how to love themselves and each other, and making the world a more fair place.

"Just because you have rights today does not mean you will have rights tomorrow," actress Sheryl Lee Ralph proclaims to a large crowd at an event for the Human Rights Campaign. The actresses' words were a slap in the face, as I once thought I knew more of the world than I truly did. Now, with new eyes, a revitalized heart, and a dream for a better future, I look to fight for the marginalized and make the future brighter than today. I have always had two passions: teaching and medicine. My initial dream was to become an ophthalmologist, but I chose to devote my time to being a parent instead. I put my dream on hold for the next generation, because I truly believe that the youth can make the world a more just and fairer place. Today, 12 years after putting my dream aside, I am looking to take a new step forward and teach a new group of kids to love one another, love themselves, and break the cycle of unfairness in today's world. The main two issues I would love to see improved upon are the healthcare industry and the education system. Right now, several states are looking to ban access to books and stories written to help "weird" kids understand that they have a home. As a former weird kid, I can't explain to you how much these stories would have helped me understand that I wasn't broken as a kid. I would have understood that it's okay to like the things you like and love who you love. The current and future generations have that opportunity, and I refuse to sit back and not try to help them understand what it took me 25+ years to understand. The earlier they understand they're not alone and that they are loved, the less likely they are to try to take their own life. Human rights are supposed to be unalienable. They're supposed to be universal, and they're supposed to be fair. 'The world isn't fair,' some will proclaim, but to that, I have always wondered, "Why? Why can't it be fair? What is stopping us from making it fair?" After 30 years of living in an unfair world, I may not know why it has to be unfair, but I know I want to change it. I believe that the current generations have done irreparable damage to the planet and to society as a whole, which is why the next generations are the ones who are forced to save us all. If I can help teach the next generations that life can be fair, then I'll have made the only impact that anyone could ask for in the world. I will have left it better than I found it.