The morning light streaming through my window was supposed to feel comforting, but for years it felt more like an interrogation. Why couldn’t I just get up? Why did every small task feel like climbing a mountain with weights tied to my ankles? Anxiety gnawed at me before I even opened my eyes, and by the end of each day, depression left me drained and hollow. I told myself it was temporary, that if I ignored it, the feelings would go away. They didn’t. My mental health journey began early, shaped by loss and upheaval. When I was seven, my father passed away—a heartbreak that I couldn’t fully understand but felt deeply. The man who introduced me to art, who encouraged me to create, was suddenly gone. His absence became a shadow that followed me, growing darker with each new challenge. By the time I was 15, the grief of losing my great-grandmother—another anchor in my life—added to that weight. Then came March 2022, the breaking point. Midway through ninth grade, I was forced to transfer schools, leaving behind the small private school I had known since kindergarten. My life, already teetering from grief and the aftermath of COVID-19, felt like it had been uprooted overnight. I was thrown into a public school where I knew no one, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and towering expectations. My sanctuary of lifelong friends and supportive teachers was gone. Suddenly, I was invisible, struggling to keep up in a world that seemed to be moving without me. The anxiety hit like a wave in that first week, tightening my chest and making it hard to breathe. I remember sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, overwhelmed by the noise, staring at my untouched lunch and willing the tears to stay back. At night, the silence was even louder. Depression made it impossible to focus. I stopped doing things I loved, like sketching or journaling. My grades slipped, and so did my confidence. But rock bottom has a strange way of forcing you to look up. One day, after yet another sleepless night, I realized I couldn’t keep living like this. I needed to fight for myself, even if that fight felt impossible. I picked up my sketchbook, channeling my emotions into art that helped me process the chaos inside. One night, I drew a self-portrait—not how I looked, but how I felt: fractured lines for my anxiety, dark shadows for my depression, and a soft light peeking through. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to see that light, however small, and I vowed to nurture it. With time and effort, I began to rebuild. I sought out connection, even when it scared me. I discovered that my struggles gave me a profound empathy for others. It’s why I want to pursue a career in nursing—so I can be a source of comfort for people facing their own battles. Today, I carry my experiences not as burdens but as badges of resilience. They’ve taught me to persevere, to embrace change, and to find beauty even in the midst of pain. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that life doesn’t always get easier—but we get stronger. I’m ready to take this strength with me to college, where I’ll continue to grow, heal, and help others find their own light.