I am 28 years old and have served in the military for 10 years. I have struggled with depression for 3 of those years to the present. What started this wave of depression was my adjustment coming back from Iraq as a combat medic serving with the Marine Corps infantry. I had a hard time returning to normal, and my wife at the time got the brunt of that. After struggling, my best friend took his own life, which only added to my already weak heart and mind. This sent me into a two-year spiral of drug abuse, alcohol abuse, stepping outside of my marriage, losing touch with my god, and losing my wife after she had enough. I decided to step out of the marriage as well to hurt myself the way I had hurt her. I was in therapy and was working through a lot of my issues, coming to terms with them and trying to identify the triggers and how to not act on them. I couldn't do it alone, and my ex-wife suggested going on medication; I did so, and for a year, I would cycle on and off different mediations trying new pills to see if it would work, my libido would go down, and it affected our sex life, I was a zombie half of the time at home, and when I wasn't, it was because I was drunk or high sometimes both. It felt like the only way I could have some expression, even though it was almost always depressive, angry outbursts, irritation, etc. I would isolate myself in my garage; I made it my haven. I no longer wanted to sleep in my bed with my ex-wife because she would yell at me that I smelt like beer and climb into the bed with dirty clothes. I bought a pool table, a TV, and a karaoke machine so I could drink as much as I wanted to and not worry about driving home or wasting money on anything other than alcohol. I wasn't taking care of myself, brushing my teeth, showering, gained weight. My ex-wife would go to work early in the morning and leave through the garage to her husband, half-naked, snoring, sad music playing in the background, and empty beer cans scattered throughout the garage. This would go on; I decided I needed to get away from the comforts of home. I volunteered for my third deployment in hopes of forcing myself away from alcohol, getting back in shape, focusing on clearing my mind, and coming back home as the man my wife knew before the depression ruined him. It was too late; she had slept with my friend in our bed and got pregnant with him while I was gone. The pain that I inflicted on her was too deep, and she wanted to make me feel that pain, rightfully so. I attempted to forgive her without success. Months went by when I came home and found out, and she knew I was miserable. We ended up calling it in hopes of moving on to find joy one day. I still struggle with depression, but I don't do drugs anymore. I have a healthy relationship with alcohol again. I am back in college with straight A's, and I decided to change after my divorce. I never want to hurt anyone the way I did with her or put anyone through what she had to endure that turned her against herself and became disloyal to me because of me. I am pursuing my Doctor of Medicine degree and will be the best man I failed to become years ago. I will never allow myself to return to the person I once was, and with my degree, I plan on helping others who struggle with mental and physical health as I have.

I am 28 years old and have served in the military for 10 years. I have struggled with depression for 3 of those years to the present. What started this wave of depression was my adjustment coming back from Iraq as a combat medic serving with the Marine Corps infantry. I had a hard time returning to normal, and my wife at the time got the brunt of that. After struggling, my best friend took his own life, which only added to my already weak heart and mind. This sent me into a two-year spiral of drug abuse, alcohol abuse, stepping outside of my marriage, losing touch with my god, and losing my wife after she had enough. I decided to step out of the marriage as well to hurt myself the way I had hurt her. I was in therapy and was working through a lot of my issues, coming to terms with them and trying to identify the triggers and how to not act on them. I couldn't do it alone, and my ex-wife suggested going on medication; I did so, and for a year, I would cycle on and off different mediations trying new pills to see if it would work, my libido would go down, and it affected our sex life, I was a zombie half of the time at home, and when I wasn't, it was because I was drunk or high sometimes both. It felt like the only way I could have some expression, even though it was almost always depressive, angry outbursts, irritation, etc. I would isolate myself in my garage; I made it my haven. I no longer wanted to sleep in my bed with my ex-wife because she would yell at me that I smelt like beer and climb into the bed with dirty clothes. I bought a pool table, a TV, and a karaoke machine so I could drink as much as I wanted to and not worry about driving home or wasting money on anything other than alcohol. I wasn't taking care of myself, brushing my teeth, showering, gained weight. My ex-wife would go to work early in the morning and leave through the garage to her husband, half-naked, snoring, sad music playing in the background, and empty beer cans scattered throughout the garage. This would go on; I decided I needed to get away from the comforts of home. I volunteered for my third deployment in hopes of forcing myself away from alcohol, getting back in shape, focusing on clearing my mind, and coming back home as the man my wife knew before the depression ruined him. It was too late; she had slept with my friend in our bed and got pregnant with him while I was gone. The pain that I inflicted on her was too deep, and she wanted to make me feel that pain, rightfully so. I attempted to forgive her without success. Months went by when I came home and found out, and she knew I was miserable. We ended up calling it in hopes of moving on to find joy one day. I still struggle with depression, but I don't do drugs anymore. I have a healthy relationship with alcohol again. I am back in college with straight A's, and I decided to change after my divorce. I am pursuing my Doctor of Medicine degree and will be the best man I failed to become years ago. I will never allow myself to return to the person I once was.

When I was 6 years old, the first memory I had of red and blue lights was when the police came to take me away from my father when he kidnapped me from my mother. From that moment, my mother uprooted my and my three sisters' lives to run away from state after state as he would get released from prison each time; she was paranoid he would find us. Despite the constant upheaval, we found strength in each other, navigating women's shelters, trailer parks, income-based housing, and four states before finally settling in Texas when he was sentenced to years in prison. In Corpus Christi, Texas, I would meet my two childhood friends, Michael Saldana and Joshua Nino. We were the worst friends mothers could ask for, always getting in trouble and always out late at one of the three houses we would rotate. We experienced many firsts: our first time stealing a candy bar, the first time hitting a cigarette we found in my mom's ashtray that was still lit, our first shot of whiskey from Michael's dad's bar, and our first joint smoked with Josh's older sister. At the age of 18, right before he was able to graduate, Josh Nino passed away from cancer. It was Michael and I after that, and we decided to pursue a medical career. We joined the Navy because I could not afford college and needed the benefits to go the MD route; he went straight to college for Medical school and joined the Navy reserves instead of going active duty like me since he had the means to pay for college with his family. At the age of 18, I witnessed my first death; an older man died from cancer under my care, and I was responsible for watching him and making sure he was comfortable as he passed away. At 19, I would deliver my first stillborn baby; birth, after all, is such a beautiful thing when you have to give a weeping mother her stillborn child that for 9 months she has been carrying. The cries are one of the pain I have yet to experience since. At 23, I would go to Iraq and serve my country as a combat medic with the Marine Corps infantry. It is where I would experience war and the feeling of hopelessness, not knowing enough medicine to save my teammate's life, and holding their hand as they fade away, but still having to go back to the war when he does. At 26, I would get married to my best man, Michael, who, 26, had dropped out of medical school to go active duty, deployed twice, and had been struggling with mental health with a previous suicide attempt. Two days after my bachelor party, a week before my wedding, I would lose Michael to suicide; the effects of this would send me into a two-year dark spiral of grief that my now ex-wife had to endure, resulting in the ending of our marriage. I have overcome many of the issues I have listed through therapy, the support of my family, and cutting alcohol and drugs from my life. I write this not for pity but for awareness. I advocate for mental health by volunteering at my hospital monthly to man a "Mental Health Awareness" table to pass out fliers with information and wearable items to display their support in the crisis that is mental health. I have overcome many of the issues I have listed through therapy, family, and cutting alcohol and drugs from my life.

My brother and best friend Michael Saldana wasn't always my best friend or brother. I met him when we were in 7th grade after I finished moving from three different states due to my abusive father. From the moment we met, we were inseparable; we would spend hours driving to the beach after he would get upset with his abusive father. We would listen to heavy metal with the windows down, smoke cigarettes we stole from our parents, headed to the beach after his parents got into a fight, and my mom was working her third job. Those were my favorite childhood memories, and I visit the beach when I visit home. I would go on to join active duty in the US Navy as a Hospital Corpsman, and he would go reserves as a Seabee while going to med school. He and I were close even though our time separated in the Navy overseas. I was in Japan and convinced Michael to join active duty; he dropped out of med school and went full-time in the Navy as a Seabee. When I got stationed in the same state as him, we could finally see each other frequently, and drinking whiskey and buying cigarettes was always better than stealing from our parents. My favorite memory of as an adult of Michael was when we went longboarding on Venice Beach. The sun was out; we had music blasting from a portable speaker; there was no whiskey this time, but many cigarettes. This was the first time we had seen each other in almost three years because I was stationed in Japan, and he was in medical school back home. It was as if three years went by in the blink of an eye, and the same Michael I left was the same in front of me, just able to buy alcohol. Nothing had changed between us; we picked up right where we left off. It was the only friend I had in childhood who still stayed my friend through the constant moving of schools. He was the only person at my first bachelor party. He planned the whole thing even though I was against it and wanted something small; he was selected as my best man for my wedding from my second proposal after the first ended. From that day of longboarding, we always saw each other; we were both stationed in California for a long time, and he struggled with some demons we both had as teenagers, the same ones we tried to outrun in his mom's old Nissan Altima headed to the beach, he had a suicide attempt towards the end of the year in 2021, I was there for him as he reassured me he was doing better. Fast forward to my bachelor party when it ended. We were driving home, and he kept listening to the song "Message in a Bottle" by The Police, and two days later, I got a call from Melissa Saldana, his mother. The Nissan Altima wasn't fast enough to get away from those demons, and cigarettes weren't killing him fast enough, but the 9mm caliber did. He ended his life a week before my wedding without a note when he was supposed to be my best man. His picture remained at my side, and I volunteer monthly at my hospital to spread awareness for military suicide, and the importance of mental health throughout my hospital.

When I was 6 years old, the first memory I had of red and blue lights was when the police came to take me away from my father when he kidnapped me from my mother. From that moment, my mother uprooted my and my three sisters' lives to run away from state after state as he would get released from prison each time; she was paranoid he would find us. Despite the constant upheaval, we found strength in each other, navigating women's shelters, trailer parks, income-based housing, and four states before finally settling in Texas when he was sentenced to years in prison. In Corpus Christi, Texas, I would meet my two childhood friends, Michael Saldana and Joshua Nino. We were the worst friends mothers could ask for, always getting in trouble and always out late at one of the three houses we would rotate. We experienced many firsts: our first time stealing a candy bar, the first time hitting a cigarette we found in my mom's ashtray that was still lit, our first shot of whiskey from Michael's dad's bar, and our first joint smoked with Josh's older sister. At the age of 18, right before he was able to graduate, Josh Nino passed away from cancer. It was Michael and I after that, and we decided to pursue a medical career. We joined the Navy because I could not afford college and needed the benefits to go the MD route; he went straight to college for Medical school and joined the Navy reserves instead of going active duty like me since he had the means to pay for college with his family. At the age of 18, I witnessed my first death; an older man died from cancer under my care, and I was responsible for watching him and making sure he was comfortable as he passed away. At 19, I would deliver my first stillborn baby; birth, after all, is such a beautiful thing when you have to give a weeping mother her stillborn child that for 9 months she has been carrying. The cries are one of the pain I have yet to experience since. At 23, I would go to Iraq and serve my country as a combat medic with the Marine Corps infantry. It is where I would experience war and the feeling of hopelessness, not knowing enough medicine to save my teammate's life, and holding their hand as they fade away, but still having to go back to the war when he does. At 26, I would get married to my best man, Michael, who, 26, had dropped out of medical school to go active duty, deployed twice, and had been struggling with mental health with a previous suicide attempt. Two days after my bachelor party, a week before my wedding, I would lose Michael to suicide; the effects of this would send me into a two-year dark spiral of grief that my now ex-wife had to endure. Her unwavering support and understanding during this challenging time were invaluable, but the weight of my grief was too much for our marriage to bear, resulting in its end. I am 28 now, and my heart is heavy; my mind has been cloudy with grief and how to process sadness. I write this not for pity but for awareness. Thank you for reading my story, and if you know someone, sometimes a simple call can save a life.

When I was 6 years old, the first memory I had of red and blue lights was when the police came to take me away from my father when he kidnapped me from my mother. From that moment, my mother uprooted my and my three sisters' lives to run away from state after state as he would get released from prison each time; she was paranoid he would find us. Despite the constant upheaval, we found strength in each other, navigating women's shelters, trailer parks, income-based housing, and four states before finally settling in Texas when he was sentenced to years in prison. In Corpus Christi, Texas, I would meet my two childhood friends, Michael Saldana and Joshua Nino. We were the worst friends mothers could ask for, always getting in trouble and always out late at one of the three houses we would rotate. We experienced many firsts: our first time stealing a candy bar, the first time hitting a cigarette we found in my mom's ashtray that was still lit, our first shot of whiskey from Michael's dad's bar, and our first joint smoked with Josh's older sister. At the age of 18, right before he was able to graduate, Josh Nino passed away from cancer. It was Michael and I after that, and we decided to pursue a medical career. We joined the Navy because I could not afford college and needed the benefits to go the MD route; he went straight to college for Medical school and joined the Navy reserves instead of going active duty like me since he had the means to pay for college with his family. At the age of 18, I witnessed my first death; an older man died from cancer under my care, and I was responsible for watching him and making sure he was comfortable as he passed away. At 19, I would deliver my first stillborn baby; birth, after all, is such a beautiful thing when you have to give a weeping mother her stillborn child that for 9 months she has been carrying. The cries are one of the pain I have yet to experience since. At 23, I would go to Iraq and serve my country as a combat medic with the Marine Corps infantry. It is where I would experience war and the feeling of hopelessness, not knowing enough medicine to save my teammate's life, and holding their hand as they fade away, but still having to go back to the war when he does. At 26, I would get married to my best man, Michael, who, 26, had dropped out of medical school to go active duty, deployed twice, and had been struggling with mental health with a previous suicide attempt. Two days after my bachelor party, a week before my wedding, I would lose Michael to suicide; the effects of this would send me into a two-year dark spiral of grief that my now ex-wife had to endure. Her unwavering support and understanding during this challenging time were invaluable, but the weight of my grief was too much for our marriage to bear, resulting in its end. I am 28 now, and my heart is heavy; my mind has been cloudy with grief and how to process sadness. I do not say these things for pity, only awareness in the hopes it can save a life. Not understanding my mental health is how I got here, and understanding it now Is how I will heal.

The professor and public intellectual, often known as "The father of modern linguistics," once said, "If we don't believe in free expression for people we despise, we don't believe in it at all" - Noam Chomsky. This translates to many things and can be interpreted in double that way. What it means and translates to me is medical; many things can create a bias when treating a patient as a medical provider. Is this person a criminal or sex offender, has different political views, etc? They are sick, and you have been trusted with their health. When diagnosing a patient in the medical field, the most important thing is obtaining a clinical history and interviewing them to gather information to uncover why they are presenting with these symptoms. As individuals trying to diagnose, how can you obtain a proper patient history if they feel uncomfortable expressing themselves freely with you? It all starts with compassion, keeping an open mind, and listening. As medical providers, we can bolster and help create that environment by protecting those rights and creating a safe space where medical and emotional needs can be met through the comfort of care and maintaining an active listening environment where the center is your patient and personal opinions do not cloud or judge who the focus is: a sick patient who needs you. My route is MD; the Doctor is the leader in medicine. Techs, nurses, physician assistants, and nurse practitioners follow doctors' orders. With that level of leadership and exposure, we as doctors can set an example, provide training, and advocate for our patient's free expression. When more nurses, techs, etc., work with you in the future, they know how you expect treatment of your patients and will follow the lead and slowly, over time, the medical field will be better where the ability to freely express yourself knowing you are safe in a room with a white coat, can lead to better and more accurate medical diagnosis. We have all been "shy" about telling our doctors something. Suppose you have ever felt judged or embarrassed by your Doctor when you have had to share that vulnerability. In that case, you know the importance of this topic and how it all starts with the building block of being able to express yourself freely without fear of judgment.

At a young age, I have always struggled in academia. Every year, I was placed in summer school to make up for failed classes. I always thought college was not for me due to my lack of confidence in my academic performance. I joined the US Navy at 18, upon graduation from High School. I joined as a Hospital Corpsman, commonly known as a "Combat Medic." My first duty station was a hospital in Okinawa, Japan, where I served three years in Emergency Medicine, Labor and Delivery, and the Surgical Ward. After that command, I was stationed with the 1st Marine Division. I served three years in the US Marine Corps infantry units: 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, and 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. My time in the military, particularly in active combat zones like Baghdad, Iraq, has honed my ability to work under pressure, make quick decisions, and provide immediate medical care. These experiences have shaped my character and prepared me for the challenges of a medical career. After completing those orders, I was assigned to Naval Hospital Camp Pendleton for three years. There, I taught Combat Medicine. I then deployed on a humanitarian mission, where I taught combat medicine and basic lifesaving skills to eight different third-world countries for six months. During that time, I found a passion for medicine. Consequently, I was diagnosed with ADHD. As an adult, I felt uncomfortable, and I thought I was misdiagnosed. Having been prescribed Adderall, my grades went from Cs and barely passing in college to straight As and earning a spot on the Dean's List. I then realized that the issue was my undiagnosed ADHD as a kid. I assumed I just wasn't smart enough for college, let alone to one day be a Physician. Growing up poor and struggling in school, I thought college would never be a goal I could achieve. I have always wanted to be the first in my family with a college degree and make my single mother of four children, who was a domestic violence survivor, proud. I am 28 years old, with a burning passion for knowledge and medicine. My obsession and quest for knowledge originated from treating injured marines in foreign lands and applying all the knowledge I was taught. I have witnessed some marines' condition decline and exhale their last breath. I knew I could have saved them if only I knew more. I walked away from Iraq with one dark, deep-rooted thought I have been unable to shake - "I couldn't prevent these deaths, but If only I knew more, maybe I could have." This event is one of many that have sent me relentlessly on the path to becoming a Doctor of Medicine. This scholarship will help me towards my goal, as my GI bill will not cover medical school or my final educational destination. I want to use everything I learn from medical school and residency to give back to low-income communities, as that's what I was raised in. In the attached photo is the grave of my best man, friend, and brother. His dream was to pursue the same route. We enlisted in the Navy together, and both had the same goal of becoming M.D. together; he took his life due to PTSD and depression two years ago. I visit his grave every year and reflect on my life, and I like to track the progress of how close I am to our goal. In a way becominga an M.D. and continue on living feels like I am keeping his memory alive, it gives me more drive.

A stranger to most, My brother and best friend Michael Saldana wasn't always my best friend or brother. I met him when we were in 7th grade after I finished moving from three different states due to my abusive father. From the moment we met, we were inseparable; we would spend hours driving to the beach after he would get upset with his abusive father. We would listen to heavy metal with the windows down, smoke cigarettes we stole from our parents, headed to the beach after his parents got into a fight, and my mom was working her third job. Those were my favorite childhood memories, and I visit the beach when I visit home. I would go on to join active duty in the US Navy as a Hospital Corpsman, and he would go reserves as a Seabee while going to med school. Him and I were close even through our time separated in the navy overseas I was In japan I convinced Michael to join active duty, he dropped out of med school and went full time Navy as a Seabee. When I got stationed in the same state as him, we could finally see each other frequently, and drinking whiskey and buying cigarettes was always better than stealing from our parents. My favorite memory of as an adult of Michael was when we went longboarding on Venice Beach. The sun was out, we had music blasting from a portable speaker, no whiskey this time but a lot of cigarettes. This was the first time we had seen each other in almost three years because I was stationed in Japan, and he was in medical school back home. It was as if three years went by in the blink of an eye, and the same Michael I left was the same in front of me, just able to buy alcohol. Nothing had changed between us, we picked up right where we left off it was my only friend I had as a childhood that still stayed my friend through the constant moving of schools. He was the only person at my first bachelor party he planned the whole thing even though I was against it, and wanted something small, he was selected as my best man for my wedding from my second proposal after the first ended. From that day of longboarding, we always saw each other; we were both stationed in California for a long time, and he struggled with some demons we both had as teenagers, the same ones we tried to outrun in his mom's old Nissan Altima headed to the beach, he had a suicide attempt towards the end of the year in 2021, I was there for him as he reassured me he was doing better. Fast forward to my bachelor party when it ended, we were driving home and he kept listening to the song "Message in a bottle" by The Police, and two days later I got a call from Melissa Saldana his mother. The Nissan Altima wasn't fast enough to get away from those demons, and cigarettes weren't killing him fast enough, but the 9mm caliber did. He ended his life a week before my wedding without a note when he was supposed to be my best man. His picture remained at my side, and I wear his name on my wrist on a black memorial band. Michael taught me many things; in his death, he taught me the importance of mental health and how to be an advocate for those who struggle with it. "22 A Day"

At a young age, I have always struggled in academia. I was placed in summer school every year to make up for failed classes. I always thought college was not for me due to my lack of confidence in my academic performance. I joined the US Navy at 18, upon graduation from High School. I joined as a Hospital Corpsman, commonly known as a "Combat Medic." My first duty station was a hospital in Okinawa, Japan, where I served three years in Emergency Medicine, Labor and Delivery, and the Surgical Ward. After that command, I was stationed with the 1st Marine Division. I served three years in the US Marine Corps infantry units: 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, and 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. My time in the military, particularly in active combat zones like Baghdad, Iraq, has honed my ability to work under pressure, make quick decisions, and provide immediate medical care. These experiences have shaped my character and prepared me for the challenges of a medical career. After completing those orders, I was assigned to Naval Hospital Camp Pendleton for three years. There, I taught Combat Medicine, known as Tactical Combat Casualty Care (TCCC), Advanced Trauma Life Support (ATLS), Basic Life Support (BLS), and Trauma Nursing Core Course (TNCC). I then deployed on a humanitarian mission, where I taught combat medicine and basic lifesaving skills to eight different third-world countries for six months. During that time, I found a passion for medicine. Consequently, I was diagnosed with ADHD. As an adult, I felt uncomfortable, and I thought I was misdiagnosed. Having been prescribed Adderall, my grades went from Cs and barely passing in college to straight As and earning a spot on the Dean's List. I then realized that the issue was my undiagnosed ADHD as a kid. I assumed I just wasn't smart enough for college, let alone to one day be a Physician. Growing up poor and struggling in school, I thought college would never be a goal I could achieve. I have always wanted to be the first in my family with a college degree and make my single mother of four children, who was a domestic violence survivor, proud. I am 28 years old, with a burning passion for knowledge and medicine. My obsession and quest for knowledge originated from treating injured marines in foreign lands and applying all the knowledge I was taught. I have witnessed some marines' condition decline and exhale their last breath. I knew I could have saved them if only I knew more. I walked away from Iraq with one dark, deep-rooted thought I have been unable to shake - "I couldn't prevent these deaths, but If only I knew more, maybe I could have." This event is one of many that have sent me relentlessly on the path to becoming a Doctor of Medicine.

At a young age, I have always struggled in academia. I was placed in summer school every year to make up for failed classes. I always thought college was not for me due to my lack of confidence in my academic performance. I joined the US Navy at 18, upon graduation from High School. I joined as a Hospital Corpsman, commonly known as a "Combat Medic." My first duty station was a hospital in Okinawa, Japan, where I served three years in Emergency Medicine, Labor and Delivery, and the Surgical Ward. After that command, I was stationed with the 1st Marine Division. I served three years in the US Marine Corps infantry units: 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, and 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. My time in the military, particularly in active combat zones like Baghdad, Iraq, has honed my ability to work under pressure, make quick decisions, and provide immediate medical care. These experiences have not only shaped my character but also prepared me for the challenges of a medical career. I was assigned to Naval Hospital Camp Pendleton for three years after completing those orders. There, I taught Combat Medicine, known as Tactical Combat Casualty Care (TCCC), Advanced Trauma Life Support (ATLS), Basic Life Support (BLS), and Trauma Nursing Core Course (TNCC). I then deployed on a humanitarian mission, where I taught combat medicine and basic lifesaving skills to eight different third-world countries for six months. During that time, I found a passion for medicine. Consequently, I was diagnosed with ADHD. As an adult, I felt uncomfortable, and I thought I was misdiagnosed. Having been prescribed Adderall, my grades went from Cs and barely passing in college to straight As and earning a spot on the Dean's List. I then realized that the issue was my undiagnosed ADHD as a kid. I assumed I just wasn't smart enough for college, let alone to one day be a Physician. Growing up poor and struggling in school, I thought college would never be a goal I could achieve. I have always wanted to be the first in my family with a college degree and make my single mother of four children, who was a domestic violence survivor, proud. I am 28 years old, with a burning passion for knowledge and medicine. My obsession and quest for knowledge originated from treating injured marines in foreign lands and applying all the knowledge I was taught. I have witnessed some marines' condition decline and exhale their last breath. I knew I could have saved them if only I knew more. I walked away from Iraq with one dark, deep-rooted thought I have been unable to shake - "I couldn't prevent these deaths, but If only I knew more, maybe I could have." This event is one of many that have sent me relentlessly on the path to becoming a Doctor of Medicine. The money I receive in scholarships will propel me toward my goal; medical school is costly, and my educational benefits obtained from the military will only carry me so far. I was born in California, but due to my abusive father, we fled to Texas and have been living here since the age of 8. I am from Texas. I am a patriot who loves the state and my country and wants to pursue the path god has set forth for me as a healer.