In my childhood, I felt that I did not exist as an emotional being--only physical. I can only remember this part of my life as good and jubilant, because I'd never been forced to experience anything particularly negative such as the death of a family member or major illness. This remains true, but school caused me to undergo an emotional metamorphosis. 6th grade marked a completely new educational and social landscape for me. I began attending the school I graduated from at this time, and on the whole, it was an important experience. I spent my entire adolescence with the same group of classmates, and I transitioned from child to teenager entirely in this time frame. Having been a "gifted" kid in elementary school, I subconsciously developed the tendency to tie my worth to academic success from a young age. Good grades would earn me compliments from parents and teachers, and that was enough to keep me going. Middle and high school were much of the same, although they were made even more complicated by heavier coursework loads, competitive classmates, incorrigible teachers, and of course, being a teenager. This quality of myself--the part of me driven by extrinsic motivations like praise from others--I never cared to think deeply about. This changed my senior year of high school. The environment at my school has always been quite cutthroat. Many people were silently in competition with others. Getting a single B could make your class rank drop over 10 spots. Existing in this environment bred a somewhat neurotic, tunnel-visioned version of me that was not present before. When it came time to apply for scholarships and colleges senior year, I wanted to put myself out there. As such, I applied for the selective Questbridge scholarship. I was ecstatic to learn I received the title of finalist after submitting my application. Then came the first day of December, "Match Day" as we called it... and nothing. At the time, I tried to shrug it off and keep my head up. The coming months were simply rejection, after rejection, after rejection. I felt as though I'd failed at some point. My classmates and peers were receiving admissions to top universities left and right, and I couldn't crack anything close to that. I almost drove myself insane with the questions "Was I not candid enough in my essays?" "Did I seem too one-dimensional in my interviews?" over the next month. Before I knew it, I effectively slipped into a major depressive episode. The world effectively became grey--I had no appetite, no motivation for simple tasks like cleaning my room. School, which I'd always thoroughly enjoyed, became difficult to attend. Being there reminded me of my perceived "failure" to get into a top university. I became restless, and I became listless. My attendance was poor, and I couldn't enjoy anything I normally did because I spent so much time stressing over college admissions. I would think about how much I'd changed, how much I'd deteriorated in a few short months over something I ultimately never had control over. Even then, I could not stop myself. At this point in time, I hated existing, because existing allowed me to think, and when I would think, my thoughts would only go in a single direction. When the end-of-year festivities came, we got our yearbooks back. We all got to submit a senior quote, and a classmate simply wrote "Run your own race." Graduation was cathartic, because it signified the end of an era, and a change of environment for me, who was functioning but depressed at the time. Even as I write this now, I think of her quote. I think of it almost every day, because I realize how unkind it is to compare yourself to others with different circumstances, different goals, and different lives to your own. I'm still "recalibrating," so to speak, but this mental health experience ultimately helped me, because it showed me what kind of person I become under acute emotional distress. Should I stay the course, and dedicate myself to my mental and emotional wellness, I will never become her again.

Drug abuse is an incredibly pervasive, longstanding, and misunderstood facet of public health. Coming from an area in which organized crime is quite rampant and predatory, I am no stranger to this. Many kids my age are often encouraged to smoke or consume edible gummies recreationally, not knowing that casual usage of these marijuana-based substances can snowball into an even bigger problem down the line. It acts as a sort of "gateway drug," appearing relatively innocuous initially and then becoming the first real addiction many are exposed to. I have seen people's livelihoods, futures, and most importantly, happiness stolen away by these substances. When users of drugs eventually develop conditions such as substance use disorder, their families, their communities, and society at large often turns their backs on them. They are simply left to battle their addiction alone, with little assistance, in a manner that becomes increasingly dangerous to their own wellbeing. One thing that makes this such a common occurrence is the fundamental misunderstanding of addiction by others who do not struggle with it. It is not simply "a choice," nor is it particularly pleasant for anyone involved. Those who find themselves addicted to a substance often reach a point where they use it in order to simply not feel sick from withdrawal symptoms, or to maintain some semblance of equilibrium and normalcy as opposed to simply chasing a high. If I were to suggest a solution, I would start with education. The issue with programs like DARE is that they do not portray drug usage with fidelity. They frame it as something that will cause you to be hooked immediately upon first use. When teenagers eventually try these drugs, they are often pleasantly surprised by the mild nature of them compared to what they were taught to expect. They grow curious about other things they may have been "lied to" about, and they eventually develop an addiction because they were never truly taught the realities of drug abuse. This could be rectified by giving students a more mellow, less dramatized, and honest version of events. What makes addiction particularly insidious is how easily it creeps up on you; there are both highs and lows, and then you eventually hit lows trying to chase the highs. Additionally, I would like to emphasize the more systematic aspect of solving this problem. The healthcare infrastructure of the metro-Atlanta area is quite extensive, boasting numerous hospitals and hospital systems in and around the city. However, it is stretched incredibly thin. Following the finance-driven closure of the Atlanta Medical Center in 2022, Grady became the only Level 1 trauma center in the city, and Emory Midtown saw major stress on its carrying capacity. Simply put, the issue of addiction cannot be solved without adequate resources being poured into healthcare. These hospitals also frequently provide inpatient and rehabilitative care to those who struggle with addiction, and the increased pressure on them has affected their ability to serve those who are recovering or would like to recover from their condition. Substance abuse crises can be alleviated, but they require continued attention and care of everyone in our communities to make this happen.