To this day, no anime series has captivated me as much as Attack on Titan. The series explores themes of survival, freedom, and the human condition while delivering the message through some of the most loveable and well-crafted characters in media. The story begins with a simple, yet harrowing premise: humanity is confined within enormous walls to protect themselves from the giant, man-eating monsters called Titans. The protagonist, Eren Yeager, along with his friends Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert, witness the catastrophic breach of these walls by colossal Titans. From there, the trio sets out on a mission of revenge. Eren Yeager swears that he will kill all the Titans, and bring peace to their world. This seemingly simple premise quickly expands into a complex and multilayered narrative, rich with political intrigue, moral ambiguity, and shocking revelations. One of the most remarkable aspects of "Attack on Titan" is its air of mystery. The series delves deep into the origins of the Titans and the secrets of the walls, gradually revealing a grander plot that intertwines the fate of humanity with ancient conflicts and hidden truths. This meticulous attention to detail not only enhances the story’s realism but also keeps me constantly engaged, and eager to uncover the next piece of the puzzle. I can't tell you how many theories my sister and I argued over as we watched the series for the first time. The character development in "Attack on Titan" is another standout feature. Each character is meticulously crafted, with their own arcs and transformations, making their struggles and triumphs deeply resonant. Watching Jean Kirstein grow from a cowardly bully to a responsible leader always brings a tear to my eye, and seeing simple, kind Eren evolve into a complex anti-hero whose motivations and actions challenge the viewer’s perception of right and wrong is mind-boggling. Sometimes I rewatch old seasons just to catch a glimpse of what the characters used to be. It's incredible how the series creates characters who can change so drastically, and yet make the change feel organic and deserved. The series examines the cyclical nature of violence and the cost of war, all while delivering an incredible story. The ethical dilemmas faced by the characters—whether it’s the justification of mass destruction for the greater good or the moral implications of vengeance—add layers of complexity that elevate the series beyond a mere action narrative. Visually, "Attack on Titan" is stunning. The animation, especially in the later seasons produced by MAPPA, is top-notch, with dynamic action sequences and breathtaking landscapes. The depiction of the Titans, both terrifying and fascinating, adds to the series’ unique aesthetic. Additionally, the soundtrack, composed by Hiroyuki Sawano, complements the intense and emotional moments, enhancing the overall viewing experience. He is truly one of my favorite composers. I keep coming back to Attack on Titan because of its remarkable storytelling achievement. Its compelling narrative, rich world-building, complex characters, and thematic depth have captivated a global audience, making it a landmark series in the anime and manga industry, and for good reason.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing everything supposedly wrong with my brain. The papers listed Autism spectrum disorder, panic disorder, OCD, depression, psychosis, and severe anxiety. Basically, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. And yet, when I received my diagnosis, I nearly cried with relief. Finally, I had an explanation for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey and lifeless. Now I understood why I could never decipher social cues and couldn't look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me medication that helped me function, but that was all it did--help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Even with my new medicine, there were bad days when I'd vomit during a test or pass out in school because of panic attacks. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. But I refused to give up. With the support of my family, especially my endlessly patient and loving mother, I was able to not only survive but thrive. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I refuse to let my diagnosis hold me back from what I want to do and accomplish. If there is one thing my mental health issues have given me, it's a strong work ethic. I can't give up, because if I do, that means I've allowed the demons in my mind to win. I've always been competitive, and losing simply isn't an option. My experience with mental health has taught me the value of compassion and understanding towards others. Additionally, my own journey has made me more selective in my relationships, prioritizing those that are nurturing and positive. My struggles and victories in mental health have reshaped my worldview, fostering a deep belief in the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and resilience. I've come to understand that mental health is as crucial as physical health and deserves the same attention and care. This realization has led me to advocate for mental health awareness and destigmatization. As a proud member of the school speech and debate team, my speech on the destigmatization of PTSD in veterans won 2nd place at the State Speech Championships. I believe that everyone should have access to mental health resources and that seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness. For many, the pursuit of higher education is not just a matter of personal ambition, but a desire for self-improvement. That is certainly the case for me. I never thought that I would be able to move away and attend college, not with my various mental health issues. But I want to pursue higher education so I can get a job that I love. I want to learn all about the subjects I adore and learn how to make friends among my peers. I've always wanted to be a history professor, but a couple of years ago, I was too afraid to step outside my house, let alone go to school. But through hard work and no shortage of miracles, this year, I managed to apply and get accepted to my dream college, where I plan to get a major in history and a minor in creative writing. I'm attending college so that I can one day provide for the family I so desperately want. I am a good candidate for this scholarship because I want to show that just because I have a mental disorder diagnosis, I still have what it takes to succeed in this world. From an early age, I knew that my life would be difficult. But that doesn't mean that I'm just going to lie over and let bad things happen. No, I'm going to work hard and plan accomplish great things.

War, camaraderie, death, and pain. Those are the words I'd use to describe the 2022 film All Quiet on the Western Front. But why would such a sad movie have such an impact on a young high schooler's life? The answer is rather simple. My great-grandfather served during World War 2, although he never liked talking about it. My grandfather committed suicide after serving in Vietnam. In a sense, war has always been a part of my life, but I never really understood it. Watching All Quiet on the Western Front, a movie following the experiences of a German soldier during World War 1, I was thrust into the trenches myself, standing amongst young soldiers marked by death and exploring their fears, camaraderie, and the psychological toll of warfare. This focus on the humanity of war made it emotionally resonant. It was the first movie I'd ever read where the main character died. And yet, you almost felt a sense of peace as you watched Paul Braumer die. If Paul had lived, he would have returned to Germany as an outcast, just a speck in the sea of PTSD-riddled boys with no direction or hope. And only twenty years later, Germany would be at war yet again. While watching this film, you get a sense that Paul dying in 1918 is the best possible fate for our protagonist. He will join his comrades in death, and hopefully find the peace he's yearned for since first stepping foot on the Western Front. And that in itself is war's inherent tragedy. This was a lot for a teenager like me to take in as I sat on my couch, watching the credits roll. I mean it when I say that this movie changed my life. I was in a sense of melancholy for a week afterward, silently mourning the death of a fictional character. It made me think of my grandfather, who chose that dying would bring less pain than living. All Quiet on the Western Front doesn't just humanize the soldiers who fought in World War 1, but all of our broken soldiers. The film emphasizes youth, innocence, and struggles with fear, trauma, and disillusionment. The main character was a German soldier, the stereotypical "bad guy" and yet I found myself sympathizing with his pain. By portraying the soldiers as complex individuals rather than mere combatants, this film is one of the first truly "anti-war" movies I've seen. The themes of this movie still ring true, especially today as conflicts continue to ravage countries, communities, and individuals. While most war films I've seen could be watched as cocky, adventure flicks, All Quiet on the Western Front explores the human cost of war. And that is something I think everyone needs to see and understand.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing everything deemed wrong with my brain. Autism, panic disorder, OCD, depression, and anxiety, the works. I nearly cried with relief. Finally, I had an explanation for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey and lifeless. Now I understood why I could never decipher social cues and couldn't look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did--help me function. Just popping a few pills wasn't going to help me thrive. And even with my new medicine, there were still bad days where I'd vomit during a test or pass out in school because of panic attacks. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared I'd mess up some arbitrary social rule and lose all my friends. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. I couldn't have done it alone, but I was lucky to have family, friends, and counselors who helped me every step of the way. One part of my life that I always felt I had control over was my education. While I never could go to school dances or football games because they were too chaotic, I was able to join book clubs and take classes that expanded on my interests. School had strict rules and rigid schedules that made my autistic brain sing. I loved school so much that during Summer I was miserable. Most of my social interaction came from school, a controlled environment where I felt safe. By the time I reached senior year, I was stronger, smarter, and more socially adept than I ever imagined I could be. I've always wanted to be a history professor, ever since I was six years old and watching history documentaries with my dad. A couple of years ago, I was terrified of leaving my town, let alone leaving my family. But this year, I managed to apply to my dream college. I still can't believe my application was accepted and this is actually happening. I've always wanted to travel the world and visit the places I've read about in my books, but I was too scared to even step outside my house. This year, I'm planning to visit sites of the American Revolution with my dad and sister. Granted, anxiety still strikes as I read up on travel scams and pack my pepper spray, but I booked the tickets without fear and I'm going to check a box of a bucket list I never knew I could even have. I feel alive. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I know what helps me, and I'm no longer going to cower in fear. I refuse to let my diagnosis hold me back from what I want to do and accomplish.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing everything wrong with my brain. Autism, panic disorder, OCD, depression, and anxiety, the works. I nearly cried with relief. Finally, I had an explanation for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey and lifeless. Now I understood why I could never decipher social cues and couldn't look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Even with my new medicine, there were bad days when I'd vomit during a test or pass out in school because of panic attacks. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. I've always wanted to be a history professor. A couple of years ago, I was too afraid to step outside my house, let alone go to school. This year, I managed to apply and get accepted to my dream college. I'm going to study history. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I refuse to let my diagnosis hold me back from what I want to do and accomplish. For many, the pursuit of higher education is not just a matter of personal ambition, but a desire for self-improvement. That is certainly the case for me. I never thought that I would be able to move away and attend college, not with my various mental health issues. But I want to pursue higher education so I can get a job that I love, I want to learn all about the subjects I adore and learn how to make friends among my peers. I'm attending college so that I can one day provide for the family I so desperately want. I am a good candidate for this scholarship because I want to show that just because I have a mental disorder diagnosis, I still have what it takes to succeed in this world. From an early age, I knew that my life would be difficult. But that doesn't mean that I'm just going to lie over and let bad things happen. No, I'm going to work hard and accomplish great things.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. I'd never had much of an interest in history (or in anything school-related) but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke asked us to write down a subject on a piece of paper that we wanted to learn most about. By the end of the year, she had visited each of our passions, and I was blown away. She taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One memorable lesson was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, there were riots against the king and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up in a flurry of revolution. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval common folk had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Even after I left her class, Mrs. Duke's love of history and teaching stuck with me. She presented world history like a gripping epic; full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. I had a lot of medical challenges during my sixth-grade year, but her classroom was always a safe space for me. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. Growing up, I had many physical and mental health issues. When I was feeling lost or alone, I could find solace in history. Why? Because I was able to research people who had suffered the same way I had and read about how they overcame their struggles. It gave me hope that I could do the same. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. History changed my life, and I hope it could someday do the same for someone else like me.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. I'd never had much of an interest in history before, but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke asked us to write down a subject on a piece of paper that we wanted to learn most about. By the end of the year, she had visited each of our passions, and I was blown away. She taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One memorable lesson was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, there were riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Even after I left her class, Mrs. Duke's love of history and teaching stuck with me. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented our world's history like a gripping epic, full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. Studying and teaching history makes me feel happy. The fact that I can make teaching history my job makes me giddy with happiness. It's a dream come true. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. History changed my life, and I hope it could someday do the same for someone else like me.

War, camaraderie, death, and pain. Those are the words I'd use to describe the book All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Remarque. So why is it my favorite book? It's quite simple really, no other book has stuck with me as much as the World War 1 novel. The final words of the book: "He fell in October 1918 on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front. He had fallen forward and lay on the earth as though sleeping," had me in shock. It was the first book I'd ever read where the main character died. And yet, you almost felt a sense of peace, seeing the main character Paul die. As stated earlier in the book, if Paul had lived he would have returned to Germany as an outcast, a PTSD-riddled boy with no direction or hope. And only twenty years later, Germany would be at war yet again. You get a sense that Paul dying in 1918 is the best possible fate for our protagonist. He will join his comrades in death, and hopefully find the peace he yearned for. And that in itself is war's inherent tragedy. This was a lot for a fourteen-year-old like me to take in. I mean it when I say that this book changed my life. I was in a sense of melancholy for a week afterward, silently mourning the death of a fictional character. Remarque's narrative humanizes the soldiers who fought in World War I, emphasizing their youth, innocence, and struggles with fear, trauma, and disillusionment. The main character was a German soldier, the "bad guy" but I found myself sympathizing with his plight. By portraying the soldiers as complex individuals rather than mere combatants, Remarque's novel fosters empathy and understanding. This rings true, especially today when conflicts continue to ravage countries, communities, and individuals. While most war books I've seen read as adventure novels, All Quiet on the Western Front explores the human cost of war. And that is something I think everyone needs to read and understand.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. The first thing I noticed was her walls, covered with timelines, posters depicting historical figures, and photos of real-life trips she'd taken to various historical sites. I'd never had much of an interest in history (or in anything school-related) but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke asked us to write down a subject on a piece of paper that we wanted to learn most about. By the end of the year, she had visited each of our passions, and I was blown away. She taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One memorable lesson was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, there were riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Even after I left her class, Mrs. Duke's love of history and teaching stuck with me. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented world history like a gripping epic; full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. I had a lot of medical challenges during my sixth-grade year, but her classroom was always a safe space for me. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. My dream is to show my future students that by studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. From the rise and fall of civilizations to the struggles for social justice, history provides a guide for understanding the world around us. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. Mrs. Duke's love of history changed my life. If I could do the same for someone else, that would be a dream come true.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. The first thing I noticed was her walls, covered with timelines, posters depicting historical figures, and photos of real-life trips she'd taken to various historical sites. I'd never had much of an interest in history (or in anything school-related) but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke asked us to write down a subject on a piece of paper that we wanted to learn most about. By the end of the year, she had visited each of our passions, and I was blown away. She taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One memorable lesson was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, there were riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Even after I left her class, Mrs. Duke's love of history and teaching stuck with me. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented world history like a gripping epic; full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. I had a lot of medical challenges during my sixth-grade year, but her classroom was always a safe space for me. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. From the rise and fall of civilizations to the struggles for social justice, history provides a guide for understanding the world around us. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. History changed my life, and I hope it could someday do the same for someone else like me.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing my autism diagnosis. To the surprise of my parents and doctor, I began to cry with relief. I finally had an explanation for why I could never decipher social cues or look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Even with my new medicine, there were bad days when I couldn't control my self-stimulatory behavior or interact with people properly. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house and surround myself with loud noises and confusing social cues. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. But I kept going. I couldn't have done it alone, but I was lucky to have family, friends, and counselors who helped me every step of the way. One part of my life that I always felt I had control over was my education. While I never could go to school dances or football games because they were too chaotic, I was able to join book clubs and take classes that expanded my interests. School had strict rules and rigid schedules that made my autistic brain sing. I loved school so much that during Summer I was miserable. Most of my social interaction came from school, a controlled environment where I felt safe. By the time I reached senior year, I was stronger, smarter, and more socially adept than I ever imagined I could be. And it was all thanks to school. I've always wanted to be a history professor. A couple of years ago, I was too afraid to step outside my house, let alone go to school. This year, I applied to my dream college. I'm going to study history. I've always wanted to travel the world and visit the places I've read about in my books, but I used to be too scared to leave what I know and understand. But this year, I'm planning to visit sites of the American Revolution with my dad and sister. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I refuse to let my diagnosis hold me back from what I want to do and accomplish.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing everything wrong with my brain: autism, panic disorder, OCD, depression, and anxiety. I nearly cried with relief. Finally, I had an explanation for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey and lifeless. Now I understood why I could never decipher social cues and couldn't look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Even with my new medicine, there were bad days when I'd vomit during dance class or pass out in school because of panic attacks. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. But I kept going. I couldn't have done it alone, and I was lucky to have family, friends, and counselors who helped me every step of the way. It took a while to figure out which medicine worked best, but I've finally gotten to a point where I feel like my mental health is in check. I've always wanted to be a history professor, even though I was scared of teaching because of school shootings. A couple of years ago, I was too afraid to step outside my house, let alone go to school. This year, I applied to my dream college. I'm going to study history. I've always wanted to travel the world and visit the places I've read about in my books, but I was so scared, that I refused to go to Disneyland because I was certain someone would shoot me in the back. I was eleven at the time. This year, at age seventeen, I'm planning to visit sites of the American Revolution with my dad and sister. Granted, anxiety still strikes as I read up on travel scams and pack my pepper spray, but I booked the tickets without fear and I'm going to check a box of a bucket list I never knew I could even have. I feel alive. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I know what helps me, and I refuse to cower in fear.

Before I started high school, my therapist handed me a thick stack of papers detailing everything wrong with my brain. Autism, panic disorder, OCD, depression, and anxiety, the works. I nearly cried with reilef. Finally, I had an explanation for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey and lifeless. Now I understood why I could never decipher social cues and couldn't look people in the eye. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? What do I do now? Doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Even with my new medicine, there were bad days when I'd vomit during dance class or pass out in school because of panic attacks. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. One day, my dad pulled me aside and offered me his favorite coping strategy for stress. Running. When he brought this up, I immediately threw the idea out the window. How could running a couple of laps around the neighborhood improve the tangled mess that was my brain? Did sports even count as a coping strategy? But he convinced me to give it a try, and I realized how wrong I was. When I went on my runs I found the stress of the day melted away. I felt...healthy. Fresh air and sunlight on my skin rejuvenated my soul. I got back home happier, ready to play with my younger siblings and laugh with my parents. A couple of runs in, I started to appreciate the woods that grew behind my house and the secluded running trail that allowed me to think in peace and quiet. My mom helped with another, but just as important, aspect of mental wellness. Self-care. Spa days, hot baths, or even just sitting together with Ben & Jerry's and Jane Austen flicks. From my personal experience, when you have a mental health diagnosis, taking a mental health day can prevent even worse situations, like major depressive episodes or panic attacks. Finding ways to cope is important, if not vital. My parents helped me discover what helped me, and I still use these strategies to this day. I've always wanted to be a history professor, even though I was scared of teaching because of school shootings. A couple of years ago, I was too afraid to step outside my house, let alone go to school. This year, I applied to my dream college. I'm going to study history. I've always wanted to travel the world and visit the places I've read about in my books, but I was so scared, that I refused to go to Disneyland because I was certain someone would shoot me in the back. I was eleven at the time. This year, at age seventeen, I'm planning to visit sites of the American Revolution with my dad and sister. Granted, anxiety still strikes as I read up on travel scams and pack my pepper spray, but I booked the tickets without fear and I'm going to check a box of a bucket list I never knew I could even have. I feel alive. There are still bad days. There always will be. But I know what helps me, and I refuse to cower in fear.

Ever since I was little, I knew something was wrong with my brain. My grip was like a limp fish when I held someone's hand. I couldn't look people in the eyes when I spoke. I had a high vocabulary, but my hand-eye coordination was abysmal. And as I grew older, things got worse. I couldn't walk home from the bus because I'd get stuck stepping on the same sidewalk crack over and over. I refused to go to school because I was terrified there would be a school shooting. Finally, my incredibly patient mother took me to a psychologist and I was diagnosed with OCD, panic disorder, autism, and depression. I was relieved to find out what was wrong with me and that there were ways it could be helped. But soon the relief of my diagnosis faded, and the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? Yes, I knew what was wrong with me, but what could I do now? Amazing doctors prescribed me medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. I owe all my success to my family. My mother and father bought countless books explaining my diagnosis, sat in on every counseling appointment, and attended seminars explaining how they could help. My siblings were confused at first. I was just their sister, doing the things I always did, like running back and forth when I was stressed or crying when things got too loud. But soon they did everything they could to help me, and to understand what I was going through. My understanding of the world changed as I grew older, especially when I realized the stigma that came with mental illness. There were people worried about me babysitting their kids because of my diagnosis. Some kids in my class would make fun of my obsessive cleanliness or fear of loud noises. I kept my mental health a secret, coming up with flimsy excuses for why I couldn't attend dances or slumber parties. But time has passed, and now I know who I am, and that's not a piece of paper with a list of disorders. Despite my anxiety, I joined the Speech and Debate Club and got 6th at State. Despite my OCD, I'd attend service projects with my youth group, cleaning houses and tidying gravesites. I know what I want to be, and that is a history professor. It will be difficult, I know that, but as the years have passed, I've gained the tools I needed to succeed, even if my brain's a little wonky.

Before I started high school, a therapist handed me a thick sheet of paper detailing everything wrong with my brain. Autism, panic disorder, OCD, depression, and anxiety. I almost cried with happiness. Finally, I had scientifically proven explanations for the constant stomachaches, the desperate need to step on each sidewalk crack on the way to school, and why some days just felt grey. Finally, I understood why I could never decipher social cues and why I couldn't look people in the eyes. But as the relief of my diagnosis faded, the first thought that came to mind was: What's next? Yes, I knew what was wrong with me, but what could I do now? Amazing doctors prescribed me amazing medication that helped me function, but that was all it did...help me function. Just popping a few pills wouldn't help me thrive. Mental Health is important because our brain decides whether we enjoy life. It encompasses emotional well-being, psychological resilience, and the ability to enjoy life's pleasures and pursue meaningful goals. Mental health directly influences how we think, feel, and act in our daily lives. Good mental health enables us to cope with the stresses of life, adapt to changes, and make the most of opportunities. Trust me when I say that having bad mental health can screw you up mentally, emotionally, and even physically. I remember vomiting during dance class or passing out in school because of anxiety. I remember canceling fun activities because I was too scared to leave my house. I remember thinking I didn't want to live anymore because it was all too much to handle. So how did I decide to maintain mental wellness? Running. Granted, when my dad first suggested this to me, I was ready to throw the idea out the window. How could running a couple of laps around the neighborhood improve the tangled mess that was my brain? But I soon realized how wrong I was. When I went on my runs (or if I was feeling tired, walks) I found the stress of the day melted away. I felt...healthy. Fresh air and sunlight on my skin rejuvenated me. I got back home happier, ready to play with my younger siblings and laugh with my parents. A couple of runs in, I started to appreciate the woods that grew behind my house and the secluded running trail that allowed me to think in peace and quiet. My mom helped with another, but just as important, aspect of mental wellness. Self-care. Spa days, hot baths, or even just sitting together with Ben & Jerry's and Jane Austen flicks. Mental Health days are important. If you feel unable to go to school, you shouldn't push yourself so hard you'll snap. Taking a day off to relax can relieve stress and allow you to regulate your emotions. It's important to let your body recharge. From my personal experience, when you have a mental health diagnosis, taking a mental health day can prevent even worse situations, like major depressive episodes or panic attacks. Maintaining your mental wellness is the key to building a fulfilling and balanced life. By prioritizing mental health and seeking support when needed, even those with crippling disorders can thrive.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. I'd never had much interest in history before, but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One of my favorite lessons was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, we'd staged riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented our world's history like a gripping epic, full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. As an autistic student, sometimes I found it difficult to go to school. The changing schedules, loud noises, and indecipherable social cues were overwhelming. Adapting to new classrooms, teachers, and routines each year was anxiety-provoking. I was the only one in class who didn't want group projects and wanted a seating chart. Waking up each day was a daunting task, and if felt like no one understood my pain. And yet when I entered history class, all my exhaustion melted away. I found people like me, hidden away in history textbooks and charts. When I entered my history classroom, it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. (And it certainly helped that Mrs. Duke kept a strict seating chart.) That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. From the rise and fall of civilizations to the struggles for social justice, history provides a guide for understanding the world around us. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. History changed my life, and I hope it will do the same for my students, especially those who struggled like me.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. I'd never had much interest in history before, but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One of my favorite lessons was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, we'd staged riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented our world's history like a gripping epic, full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. From the rise and fall of civilizations to the struggles for social justice, history provides a guide for understanding the world around us. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. History changed my life, and I hope it could someday do the same for someone else like me.

In sixth grade, I walked into Mrs. Duke's history class for the first time. The first thing I noticed was her walls, covered with timelines, posters depicting historical figures, and photos of real-life trips she'd taken to various historical sites. I'd never had much of an interest in history before, but on the very first day, Mrs. Duke asked us to write down a subject on a piece of paper that we wanted to learn most about. By the end of the year, she had visited each of our passions, and I was blown away. She taught history in a completely different way than what I was used to. One memorable lesson was when she gave each class a bag of M&M's, then appointed a king and his advisors. We had to give the king our blue and green M&M's and each advisor our yellow, red, and orange M&M's. We only got to keep our brown M&M's. Some of us had two M&M's left in our packet, while some had one, and many had zero. Those who had zero wouldn't survive the winter. By the end of the class period, there were riots against the king, and a makeshift Magna Carta was drawn up. In a seventy-minute class, she perfectly showcased the problems Medieval peasants had to endure and the way they attempted to solve them to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Even after I left her class, Mrs. Duke's love of history and teaching stuck with me. She didn't portray history as a boring, old textbook. She presented our world's history like a gripping epic, full of twists and turns, alliances and betrayal, love and loss, and life and death. That year, I started checking out history book after history book, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. I'd watch documentaries with my dad, and write historical essays for fun. I drooled over books covering the Romanovs or thick tomes explaining Genghis Khan's exploits. I studied maps of Mesopotamia and visited Washington D.C. to see the museums and memorials. History, a subject often dismissed as dull and irrelevant, gave me new life, and my dream is to do the same for other students as well. One of the greatest lessons I wish to pass on to my future students is the way studying history allows us to comprehend the present through looking at the past. By studying the triumphs and downfalls of previous generations, we gain insight into the roots of modern-day issues. From the rise and fall of civilizations to the struggles for social justice, history provides a guide for understanding the world around us. Together, I hope to improve my students' understanding of human experiences across cultures and time periods. History changed my life, and I hope it could someday do the same for someone else like me.