Growing up as a child with special needs, I witnessed first-hand how challenging the education system can be to those who are neurodivergent. I felt alienated by peers and an inconvenience to teachers, leaving me left behind educationally and socially. While this has left a thorn in my side over the ways teachers educate their students in the most generalized way (to throw a fishnet out over their students and hope they catch more than they leave behind), it has also led me to the decision to become a preschool teacher. In their most impressionable years, children in the three to five-year-old age range are just beginning to become cognitive of the world and people around them. Their curiosity grows, their functions expand, their brains start to blossom and bloom, but most of all, these formative years will impact them for the rest of their lives. With past experiences of growing up neurodivergent and how generalized teaching can do more harm than good, I will be able to reach each child in my classroom and give them what they require to flourish. This can range from detailed instructions, more than one reminder, a set-in-stone schedule to build a routine, or a space in the classroom when a child needs to calm down from sensory overload. With this more attentive teaching style, I know that more children will continue to value their education and learn to celebrate themselves, even if it doesn't fit the mold.

In a single word, I would define my mother as resilient. She is made of stone but has a heart of gold; she came up from dust and rubble, then carved herself from ivory. I look at her, and I hope I am half the woman she is. My mother gave birth to me when she was eighteen, the two people standing alongside her in the hospital room being my grandmother and father. My grandmother came and went as she pleased, filling herself with what she needed to survive. My father smiles in grainy photos, but his blood runs hot like lava. Early childhood memories echo my parent's voices climbing over each other to be heard. The early years of my life were nothing short of harrowing. My mother fled unhealthy, borderline unsafe situations and shielded me as much as she possibly could. She worked when the sky was sun-kissed and into the night until all that was left was darkness. But her voice was tender, her hands were soft, and she loved me more than anyone has ever loved me. To this day, my mother works hard. She comes home tired, but her eyes are always creased with a smile. She's the most beautiful soul I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Everything that she has done is for my future, to give me the opportunity to grow, love, and learn everything she wasn't able to. Because of her, I am getting an education, living in a safe home, and I know who I am. I am strong, independent, self-confident, and healthy. As an Early Childhood Educator, I will do my best to support single parents just like my mother. My past experiences and deep love for my mother give me an understanding of how much they sacrifice and do for their children. My classroom will welcome adults just as it welcomes children, and after-school hours will be available for parents to be heard and receive support. To accomplish this, I have taken a course to become a certified Mental Health First Aider for adults as of December 3rd, 2021. This certification allows me to notice the signs of a parent in need and have the resources ready to support them. My mother is my everything, and I will make sure her sacrifices amount to something: the future of many more single parents just like her and their children just like me.

Growing up as a child with special needs, I witnessed first-hand how challenging the education system can be to those who are neurodivergent. I felt alienated by peers and an inconvenience to teachers, leaving me left behind educationally and socially. While this has left a thorn in my side over the ways teachers educate their students in the most generalized way (to throw a fishnet out over their students and hope they catch more than they leave behind), it has also led me to the decision to become a preschool teacher. In their most impressionable years, children in the three to five-year-old age range are just beginning to become cognitive of the world and people around them. Their curiosity grows, their functions expand, their brains start to blossom and bloom, but most of all, these formative years will impact them for the rest of their lives. With past experiences of growing up neurodivergent and how generalized teaching can do more harm than good, I will be able to reach each child in my classroom and give them what they require to flourish. This can range from detailed instructions, more than one reminder, a set-in-stone schedule to build a routine, or a space in the classroom when a child needs to calm down from sensory overload. With this more attentive teaching style, I know that more children will continue to value their education and learn to celebrate themselves, even if it doesn't fit the mold.

"Be patient and tough, someday this pain will be useful to you." Life is made up of highs and lows, hills and valleys. Understanding that some difficult parts of my life will someday benefit me has helped me push forward through challenges. I gain calluses on my heart and become stronger than before and I learn how to keep my head above water during grief. When you're drowning in hurt, the world dulls and slows, and suddenly you're left feeling empty and without a sense of direction. But if you can learn to withstand the storm, keep your feet planted in the ground, and understand that the pain you're feeling is simply the weakness leaving your body, you will soon begin to learn from your pain. Time heals all wounds, and you'll soon look back and realize that without grief, you'd be in the same spot you were once stuck in.

Growing up as a neurodivergent child with obsessive tendencies and a hyperactive brain, I have realized how difficult the education system can be when do don't fit the basic mold. I was bullied and ostracized by peers and overlooked and snapped at by teachers. I felt like I was always sticking out in my classroom, either too rowdy, too annoying, or too anxious to function in a traditional classroom setting. While this has left a thorn in my side over the ways teachers are told to educate their students in the most generalized way (to throw a fishnet out over their students and hope they catch more than they leave behind), it has also lead me to the decision to become a preschool teacher. In their most formidable years, children in the three to five year age range are just beginning to become cognitive of the world and people around them. Their curiosity grows, their functions expand, their brains begin to blossom and bloom, but most of all, what is shown, taught, and explained to them will impact them for the rest of their lives. I believe that with a personal skillset and past experiences of how generalized teaching can do more harm than good, I will be able to reach each child in my classroom and give them what they require to flourish. This can range from detailed instructions, more than one reminder, a set in stone schedule to build a routine, or a space in the classroom when a child needs to calm down from sensory overload. With this more attentive style of teaching, I know that more children will continue to value their education and learn to celebrate themselves, even if it doesn't fit the mold.

A year ago, my dream life would look like me just getting through the day successfully. But now that I've realized my true potential, I know that I'm able to achieve much more. A year ago, I had no inspiration to finish high school, get good grades, be employed, and take care of myself. I was a candle in the wind- swayed easily, no real roots, and almost begging to let my fire be put out because I was simply too afraid to try, too scared to fail. However, I am capable of everything I thought I would never accomplish. I graduated high school with a GPA of 3.6 (I cried over my yellow cord as if it were made of real gold), I'm now employed with a job I love, my self-esteem has never been higher, and I graduated from my mental health outpatient program with flying colors. Now that I know what I'm truly able to achieve, my dream life has bloomed with endless possibilities. In my dream life, I would be a college graduate with a GPA I can be proud of. My education would be something I could carry forward with me into all aspects of life. I would have a career that I love and that I'm thriving in. My classroom would be full of eager children ready to learn. My students would be learning to be kind to one another, celebrating their differences with pride. I would be mentally healthy and continue to be a mental health advocate and erase stigma from my community. For now, I'm pursuing an education, I'm employed, and my mental health is steady. With the help of scholarships like this one, I can continue my education, and my dream life won't be far off from where I am now.

"It gets easier, every day, it gets a little easier. But you gotta do it every day. That's the hard part. But it does get easier." I heard this quote at one of the lowest points of my life. I had shut out all the light in my room, sat upon a throne of dirty sheets and unmade laundry, and despite laying belly-up on my bed, I was fighting for my life. Depression was a battle I had been waging for a few years at that point. Even on my best days, I could feel it tugging on my sleeve, begging to be acknowledged. There was stress from school and missing assignments, the chores that needed to be done, and the shame of gazing upon an unkempt room, the self-care I didn't have the strength to keep up with, and the personal hatred for myself ('why can't I even manage to take a shower?') There was never a point where I sat up and decided I was done with being miserable. It came in baby steps; minimal self care, catching up in my schoolwork, putting myself out there and accepting the possible hardships that could come along with it. I began to love myself, I got my very first job, and my GPA was the highest it'd ever been. Of course, it wasn't always rainbows and sunshine. There were dark points, so dark I swore I'd never see the light again, but I always my way out of the pit of depression. Everyday, the good and the bad ones, I worked. On my education, my wellbeing, my work ethics, and on myself. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But it did get easier.

Chips was a feral farm cat when I first met him. He was filled with anxiety and no one was able to come near him. It took two years of constant love and security to show Chips that his safe place was with me. He sleeps belly-up and with his tongue out; he finally feels safe enough to rest with no fear. This process of healing Chips’s anxieties has shown me I truly have the skill set to work with those with special needs. I can provide consistent patience and understanding- just as I have done with Chips.

We Can't Wait To See What You Do Next - Leora A love letter to the past you're leaving behind and the adventure you're ready to begin. A soft melancholy to childhood goodbyes and adulthood hellos. The fear of stepping into the unknown but a creeping excitement of what could come from it. Side A: Finale - AJR ("They wanted heaven from me, I gave 'em hell. Now they want something bigger, I'm overwhelmed.") Outro - M83 ("I'm the king of my own land, facing tempests of dust, I'll fight to the end." Ribs - Lorde ("I've never felt more alone, it feels so scary getting old.") Birch Tree - Foals ("And when we shed our skin and grow, we shed our layers, spread our wings and go.") Side B: Don't Throw Out My Legos - AJR ("Suddenly I'm getting sad, been waiting for today but all I can think to say is, don't throw out my legos. What if I can't let go? What if I come back home?") Take a Slice - Glass Animals ("I shot a bullet through my wallet, gonna go to Pensacola, I'm gonna get my way through college.") Hunger - Florence + The Machine ("At seventeen, I started to starve myself. I thought that love was a kind of emptiness, and at least I understood then, the hunger I felt.)

Growing up, I felt the most radical thing I could do to myself was be cruel. To deprive myself of food and sleep and warmth and happiness because it felt like rebellion. The world was hurting and so was I. But it got old. It got tiring. The hurt didn’t go away; in fact, it got worse and worse until I felt like a shell of my true self. And when I decided I wanted to do the exact opposite, to be so warm I healed the people around me, I bloomed like a flower in the rain. My kindness, joy, happiness, it was so easy to mold into. Smiling at strangers, handing out compliments like they’re going out of style, holding out helping hands with my palms bared and fingers outstretched. Being vulnerable and appreciative and easily impressed. Kindness is so easy to forget in this day and age. Hatred runs rampant and spreads like disease, but even the smallest drop of warmth in an ocean of anger can change the world around you.

There's an unspoken rule when it comes to having a stigmatized mental illness. You become a representation of that mental illness, and you are forced to bear a cross that you never asked for in the first place. The weight of performing and flourishing, to show the people around you that despite your challenges, you will not succumb to the stereotypes that no one is ever courageous enough to speak of. In this unspoken rule, you're forced to sacrifice satire, laughter, exaggeration, and so on as a coping mechanism. To point and laugh at your illness, to make it a spectacle, is a dangerous line to walk. On the one hand, you're opening yourself up and not taking yourself very seriously. It allows those who feel uncomfortable (for no good reason, really) to sigh in relief and relax. On the other, it opens the door of making fun of said illness. On the topic of unspoken rules, it's generally expected that the person with the illness can joke about their weaknesses, but those without it don't have that privilege. Within the abundance of unspoken rules, it can become hard to find which path you'd like to walk. To become an advocate for your illness, to find solitude in humor, to try to paint over it and forget about it entirely. Personally, I have found it difficult to juggle these choices. Instead of picking one and moving on, I've found myself trying to hold them all at once. To speak about my mental illness with pride and intellect to show others that despite the stereotypes they have been exposed to, I am very much different. To find humor and relief within my challenges to fit in with those around me. To not let it control my life, yet also remember that it can and very much will influence it. I haven't been granted the privilege to grow up like others. I've had to adapt and overcome challenges around me and in my own very head. Become an advocate and a teacher without ever asking for such a thing, forced to educate and explain when what I truly needed was to be heard without explanation. Fight tooth and nail for my education, my work, and my identity as a human being that deserves respect and comfort. Despite these understandings and unspoken rules, I have continued to grow and become someone I am proud to be. A strong woman with unbreakable values, a tenacious spirit, and a fighting chance to make it in this world.

Public transportation is a dangerous place for a young woman. All eyes are constantly on me. I know that if I'm taking the bus, I need to choose my clothes carefully. Nothing that can be lifted, peeked under, pulled off, and so on. Hair up, hair down? Which is harder to grab and pull? Don't look people in the eye, don't be disrespectful, smile and be nice, don't give people the wrong idea. It goes on and on and on. In short, I never feel safe on the bus or train. I keep my eyes down, I smile politely, and I sit by myself. I've heard too many horror stories and have encountered too many men that take a smile, eye contact, whatever it may be, as an invitation to flirt with me, interview me, walk with me to my stop. Make me uncomfortable. The day I met Ziggy, it was raining. I had gotten off a long shift at work, the kind where my patience was thin, my bones were tired, and I just wanted the world to be quiet. The rain was typical for Oregon, thick and heavy, the sort of rain that almost hurts your skin as it falls. I had boarded my bus shivering. I was tired, irritated, wet, and cold. Somebody needed to get me some cheese with my whine. I took a seat in the front and looked out the window the entire time. Body language basically screaming, 'don't even try talking to me.' But Ziggy caught my attention. He boarded the bus with his eyes crinkled, indicating a great big smile underneath his mask and with a bouquet of pink roses in his arms. He greeted the bus driver like an old friend, with a warm voice that made me smile, even with rain dripping down my back. As he wobbled down the aisle, his gaze caught mine for a beat too long, and suddenly I felt that same old fear creeping in my veins. The kind of fear every woman knows and hates. The fear of a man staring into your eyes and you suddenly realizing he's looking at you, yes, you. But he said, "You have beautiful eyes." It was such a wholesome compliment. After years of hearing sick and degrading comments that made me want to cry, this one shocked me. It took me a few moments of pure bewilderment to thank him and will myself not to tear up in front of his stranger. But then, the man plucked a rose from his bouquet and handed it to me. I blinked away tears and took it into my hands like it was made of gold. I thanked him a million times over and told him he had made my day a thousand times better. His voice was so warm, so comforting. He told me he took the bus every day, and when he did, he took a bouquet of flowers along with him. He was known as 'Ziggy The Flower Man' and had been featured on the local news for his practices. Ziggy expected nothing in return, as some men would. He never pried, never made me uncomfortable, never asked anything of me. His only wish was to make me smile. After that day, I found myself enjoying the bus just a little more. Because I realized it was an opportunity to meet so many lovely people, including Ziggy.

Van Gogh - "Life has become very dear to me, and I am very glad that I love," I stare at Starry Night And I understand.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. Every moment, step, trip, and fall in life brings you to where you need to be. Life is blurry, but once you step back and see the bigger picture, it comes together in harmony. When the pandemic hit, I was lost in my education and career. I had no aspirations, no drive, no goals. My only reason for getting out of bed in the morning was to finish high school, no matter how long it took (I didn't care), so I could move on from that piece of my life. Streaming became increasingly popular during the lockdown. Through services such as Twitch, folks could stream their daily activities or hobbies for others to enjoy. It was the highlight of my day to watch these strangers live their lives, even if they were stuck inside of their homes, just like me. There was one streamer in particular, however, that I began to watch more and more often. Her name was Mallory, and she went under the alias of '5unfl0wer' during streams. Mallory would often chat with viewers during streams, try new clothes, or build farms on Minecraft. I remember one stream very clearly, where she began to speak about her personal life a bit more. She told us, the viewers, how she was going to school to be a kindergarten teacher. It felt like a record-scratch moment for me. I paused, almost zoning out of the stream in front of me, and felt the pieces click into place. I finally had a drive. I had a purpose. I had a goal. I got my first job, got on track to graduate high school on time (once upon a time, it would have been two years later than expected. Now I get to be class of 2021 with my fellow seniors), enrolled in my dream college, and I'm preparing to become a kindergarten teacher. Educating children is my passion; fulfilling curious minds and sparking new interests, questions, and delights in young ones fills my heart with satisfaction and joy. Everything worked out exactly the way it needed to, and even the pandemic was a piece of that puzzle.

They say laughter is the best medicine, and this has rung true through my journey with psychosis. I was diagnosed almost three years ago with an unspecified psychotic disorder that flipped my life upside down and left me scrambling. I faced stigma and sometimes even disgust, horror, or extreme sadness from friends, family, and other loved ones. This left me with a personal hatred for my own mental illnesses and struggles; I felt alien and misconstrued by everyone around me. I was an enigma and got to a point where I didn't even want to be understood. And then, I was able to find something that resonated with me on a deep, personal level that left me laughing for the first time in months. A simple meme that described something I was going through, something that was terrifying, yet this meme was able to provide almost a feeling of empathy and understanding. While no one around me could relate or possibly understand what I was going through, this simple picture could capture my experience and turn it into something somewhat positive.

I was in middle school when Snapchat filters became popular. A trend that swept the nation. Cover your nose, enlarge your eyes, and soften your skin. In an instant, your flaws are tucked away, and you are beautiful. Your eyes sparkle, your acne is nonexistent, your cheeks are plump. It was crippling, to say the least. To go through my most formative and most difficult years with such a looming presence watching over me. There was a time where, instead of opening your camera, you'd open Snapchat and pull up the filters. Pictures with friends, of yourself, of your life as a whole. Squeezed and puckered and colored until it was just right. Until it was absolutely perfect. Tearing myself away from the expectations of being perfect was horrific. It was hours of standing in front of a mirror and trying to replicate that perfect look with my fingers by pinching and poking and pulling away, and with makeup, covering and adding and hiding. There was a time where I hated myself—point-blank. No sugar coating it. It took years, therapy, and baby steps to overcome my hatred. Finding little things in myself that I could tolerate and soon adore. Replacing negative quips - 'my teeth could be straighter, my stomach is disgusting, I hate my thighs, I wish my hair were longer' -into something more positive. My hands have touched so many flowers. My skin has absorbed so much sun. My lungs have taken in the air from such beautiful places. I've seen and heard and felt so many amazing things. My body lives, grows, thrives. There are days where I can't help but wish I was different. Where I open the dreaded Snapchat, and I gaze longingly at a perfect girl. But when I put the phone down and look into the mirror, I know that I've come a long way. Because I prefer what I see right in front of me instead.

As a neurodivergent child, I was exposed to the many flaws in the educational system. It felt easy to slip through the cracks and go unnoticed, ostracized from peers and unheard by teachers. My learning style was unique, and my brain worked differently than my classmates, leaving me feeling alone, unnoticed, and a delinquent. I dream of attending college for a bachelor's degree in Early Childhood Education and Development. I hope to create a teaching environment for my young students that emits a sense of companionship, community, and security; I want to create a safe space for children of all learning styles, needs, and backgrounds to help them flourish and thrive. I want to prevent precisely what I felt: children feeling alien among their peers. I want to bring my students together with a sense of community, celebrating their differences and accommodating unique needs.

If I could let go of my worries about finances, there would be a weight off my shoulders. I would feel free, able to explore and dip my toes into any hobby I pleased. I would grow thousands of plants, inside and out—flowers for birds and butterflies, food for cooking, plants for bees and insects. I would buy one hundred cookbooks and spend hours in the kitchen, making food for everyone around me to try (and hope they are not humoring me by saying it is good). I would write endlessly until my fingers just about fell off and publish every work for the world to see, for the people I see myself in to see. I would sing even though my voice is rough, I would dance even though my feet are clumsy, and I would jump even though I am scared of what is below. As someone born into a low-income family, I have lost many opportunities due to financial issues. There were times where I had no place to call home, food was something I was relieved to see, and I wondered if I would ever make it past high school. Now, even though I am getting through life by the skin of my teeth, I am relying on financial aid, loans, and scholarships to achieve my dreams of going to college. I am ready to leap and even more prepared for what is below.

The land of the free, the home of the brave. We are a family, a safe haven, a paradise to all, offering open arms and opportunities to our own and those from other countries. However, in the year 2020, America's veil was torn apart, and we faced challenge after challenge. Despite bigotry, racism, and a multitude of other -phobias plaguing our land for as long as we can remember, the horrors of our roots truly were exposed in the past year. However, there is an America that I dream of, just on the horizon. She sits alongside Lady Liberty and Justice, on the arms of our frontline workers and soldiers, and in the hearts of our citizens. She is the America that legalized same-sex marriage and brought together families and lovers. She is the America that homes police officers who don't flinch towards weapons but instead go down the road less traveled and lend an ear instead. She is the America that protests even when her voice is sore, that marches when her feet are tired, that locks arms with her sisters and brothers when she is weary and tired. She is the America that sings with her neighbors, fighting to protect their loved ones, which works endlessly to eradicate a virus that picks off our weak. She is my America, and she is the America that I am proud to be apart of.

Writing and art have been my therapy for as long as I can remember. I have stacks of journals and sketchbooks scattered throughout my home, filled to the brim with poetry, short stories, sketches, and fully finished artwork. When my emotions become too much to handle and keep within myself, I throw up my feelings onto a piece of paper. It gives me a sense of peace, finally, to have whatever is hurting me on the outside rather than inside. Despite my dreams of becoming a teacher, the arts will always be a huge part of my life. I have a half-finished novel, pieces of art that I hope to get in galleries, and so many more ideas sitting in journals, waiting to be brought to life. I dream of getting to a point in my life where my education is completed, and I have my dream job of being a preschool teacher and working on my craft in my free time. To me, that is a perfect life where I would feel accomplished. With Nervo's Revolution scholarship's help, I can focus on my studies and make my way through college smoothly. After I've graduated, my dreams are only a hop, skip, and a jump away, and I'll be ready for the world to know my name.

My favorite movie is 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. The first time I saw this film, I felt like I had been exposed to a work of art. The themes and emotions in this movie are explosive and discrete at the same time. Simple moments in the film hold weight, and important scenes are careful and deliberate, keeping you up at night to pick it apart. "This is it, Joel. It's gonna be gone soon." "I know." "What do we do?" "Enjoy it." A metaphor for love and heartbreak, a message to those who wish they could forget their grief, 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' is my favorite movie because of the unforgettable concept of 'what if we could erase what hurts us?' (A close runner-up for my favorite film is 'Deadpool' but I'm not sure how great that'd look on a scholarship essay!)

The first thing I see when I wake up is Pickles. Her long green body cranes upwards, donning dark spots up along her stem. She reaches towards the sunlight peeking in through the cracks in my blinds. The first thing I do after opening my eyes is to reach over and pull open the curtains to get her morning sun. She was my first cactus, tiny and dying, in a pot too small for her roots and soil that was overwatered. I nursed her back to health, and soon she began to grow at a spectacular rate. Now, she's almost a foot tall and sits in a pot that perfectly suits her healthy roots. My morning routine is to open the rest of my curtains, check on the plants and flowers around my room, then venture outside. The plants outdoors are checked on, sometimes sprinkled with mint leaves to deter pests, then I refill the bird feeders and baths. The outdoors is not only a crucial part of my routine but also my mental health. The sunlight, caring for my plants and the local birds, and having a set routine makes my brain function healthily. I want to carry my value of nature into my teaching career. Setting up compassion for the outdoors, wildlife, and plants will create excellent morals in my students. Structuring my teachings around nature, such as bringing their studies outdoors, bringing in wildlife experts, and caring for a classroom pet, will plant (no pun intended) personal ethics into my students that they will carry on into their lives, and perhaps their future careers.

I come from a home that, to some, could be described as broken. Parents that were always at each other's throats, low-income, and a neighborhood that was home to gang violence and drugs. After my parents separated, things were tough. My mom, brother, and I moved into my grandmother's condo in an even worse part of town. The nights were filled with strangers knocking at our door, cars screeching down the street, and the local market held up with the police after a robbery. It was a difficult time, to say the least. When my mom finally moved us out into our own apartment, things started to look up. My mom started school, and while it took loans and scholarships to put food on the table, we were warm, had a roof over our heads, and my mom was pursuing education for her dream job. Our financial situation continues to be an issue in the household, but we're together, happy, and healthy. However, I'm ready to spread my wings and follow in my mom's footsteps to pursue a bachelor's degree. But with no college savings to fall back on, I'm relying entirely on scholarships. I dream of going to college to become a preschool teacher. My future is bright; with scholarships, I can focus more time studying and putting the money towards tuition, textbooks, and other personal finances such as rent.

As a neurodivergent child, I was exposed to the many flaws in the educational system. It felt easy to slip through the cracks and go unnoticed, ostracized from peers and unheard by teachers. My learning style was unique, and my brain worked differently than my classmates, leaving me feeling alone, unnoticed, and a delinquent. I dream of attending college for a bachelor's degree in Early Childhood Education and Development. I hope to create a teaching environment for my young students that emits a sense of companionship, community, and security; I want to create a safe space for children of all learning styles, needs, and backgrounds to help them flourish and thrive. My main goal for teaching is to prevent precisely what I felt: children feeling alien among their peers. I want to bring my students together with a sense of community, celebrating their differences and accommodating unique needs.

Stigma plagues the world around us. In my case, the stigma of psychosis-ridden illnesses runs rampant, causing freshly diagnosed people to feel unwanted and broken. I've made it my personal goal to educate folks on psychosis and schizophrenia by speaking about my personal experiences of having a psychotic disorder. I share my story at in-person or online panels at my local EASA (early assessment and support alliance), social media, and mental health forums or boards. If we can create a safe environment for those with mental illnesses, especially those with heavily stigmatized illnesses, our community and society will benefit greatly.

Suicide is a word that's played like a broken record in the back of my mind. It's a word that holds many different meanings, so many definitions, every way you turn it. On one side, it's a family curse. There have been three successful suicides in my family and many more attempts on top of that. It feels like a ticking time bomb, looming over me and reminding me that somewhere in my blood, there's something sick and hurting that could one day infect the rest of my body and brain. On another side, it's a relief. I considered suicide on multiple occasions through my high school years. Once in my freshman year, when the world around me was dull around the edges, and I felt like I was running on a treadmill towards a carrot on a stick. When I was a junior, after my first psychotic break, I felt that I was damaged goods because of my psychosis diagnosis. It continues to run through my head like a tune that won't leave, a reminder that if things are heavy, there's one permanent solution. On a different side, it's a fear of mine. Friends, and of course family, around me have struggled with the big S-word. I remember once sitting on my bed, tears sitting on the brim of my eyes, as I dialed the suicide prevention line because my best friend had told me that she loved me, but she was going to kill herself. My loved ones are plagued with the same voice in their head that reminds them, begs them, urges them to give in to relief. Although suicide rings in the back of my mind as a reminder that my world could change at any given moment, I've decided to fight the monster that sings the tune I can't let go of. I've sought out professional help, began medication that makes me feel whole, and started a healthy lifestyle that makes me feel awake again. My relationships with loved ones are always plagued by the fear that I could lose them one day, but I do my best to check-in with them as often as I can and lend an ear that listens or a shoulder to cry on. My own struggles ebb and flow, but with the help of therapy, medicine, and loved ones, I feel that my career and educational goals are just within reach.

Two years ago, my life was flipped upside down. I experienced my first psychotic break and was admitted to EASA (early assessment and support alliance). I was surrounded by stigma and felt helpless; psychosis and schizophrenia were daunting illnesses that ran rampant in horror movies, serial killers, and unruly minds. I felt like I had been branded with a disease that would ruin my future and prevent me from ever accomplishing anything more than expected. I could feel my inner perseverance and strength slip through my fingers like sand. I felt crushed. However, helping hands came from all around, from friends, family, and at EASA. The weight of the world on my shoulders was lifted, bit by bit, and I felt less and less isolated. With the support of others, I was able to rebuild my courage to face the future. Learning coping skills, finding myself amid unwanted change, and adapting to how my brain is wired was a difficult journey, but I never quit. I want to use my experience as a beacon of hope for others going through the same journey as mine. I share my story with everyone willing to listen, with hopes that I can help others identify the signs of psychosis in themselves or a loved one, be fit to get themselves or a loved one the help they need, and how to assist someone they know during a psychotic episode. Breaking down stigma is another goal of mine, to show the world that psychosis and schizophrenia aren't reserved for horror flicks, but instead, a valid mental illness that can be easily treated with professional help and support from loved ones. In the end, my mental health battle will always be a struggle, but my dream is to use the struggles I endured to help others.

When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with psychosis. I felt like I was then branded with stigma; I was diagnosed with the same mental illness that thrived in horror movies, killers, and 'crazy' people. My world turned upside down, and I felt hopelessly alone. I was admitted to a local program for teens with schizophrenia and quickly began to bloom once again. My hope returned, slowly but surely, and I hit the ground running. I was hit with the realization that I wanted to help young children from all backgrounds, mental abilities, and cultures. As a neurodivergent child, I was ostracized and felt like a misfit amongst my peers. I want to use my background of feeling like an alien in a school setting to prevent any student from feeling like I did.

My mom has always been my rock, my inspiration, and my guidance. When I experienced my first psychotic break, she was the first person I confided in. When I broke up with a toxic partner, she was by my side and was a shoulder to cry on. When I felt everything was against me and I contemplated suicide, she cried alongside me and held me until I felt the tiniest bit of weight lift from my shoulders. When she decided to pursue an education, it was my turn to lift her up. The whole family made several personal sacrifices to keep her head above water, and in the end, it was worth it. She is now on her way to complete her bachelor's degree in social work at George Fox University. I cannot describe how infinitely proud I am of her. Of her work dedication, her sacrifices, and the effort she has poured into her education. After seeing my mom reach milestone after milestone in her education, a light inside of me began to shine, and now I'm ready to follow in her footsteps. My dream is to graduate with my bachelor's degree, just like my mom, and carry on her legacy of tenacity, determination, and willpower. With the help of scholarships like this, I can achieve my dreams and make my mom proud.

Chips was born a feral barn cat out in the rainy Sherwood, Oregon. When we first brought him and his brother Fish home, the two of them were bundles of trembling fur that hissed, hid, and huddled together like a pair of fuzzy magnets. While Fish has flourished, Chips has stayed feral and anxious. I'm the only one he trusts. Wherever I go, Chips follows. We spend the mornings together and at night, sleep side-by-side. When I go through my psychotic episodes, he keeps me tethered to reality. Chips and I help each other be the best we can be.

“Every day, it gets a little easier… But you gotta do it every day — that's the hard part. But it does get easier.” That quote is from BoJack Horseman, a Netflix original show that has changed my worldview. I've struggled my entire life with crippling anxiety, social and general. Speaking to anyone, going outside or in public, doing anything that involved myself being perceived by others, or putting myself out there, was always a struggle. A struggle I have overcome. Those words resonated with me, deep inside of my soul. I realized I had two options for the rest of my life: sit back and watch my life pass me by, or get up, get my hands dirty, and work towards what I wanted. And what I wanted was to live, not just survive. Every day, it did get a little easier. Walking the dog, going to the grocery store, speaking to strangers. Up, up, and away. Public speaking, advocating for myself, getting up and raising my hand, saying 'me first' or 'I'll volunteer.' While my anxiety still preys on me, I've managed to get it under control. I am now confident, self-assured, and my heart is filled to the brim with tenacity and courage. In the end, it did get easier.

I dream of attending Portland Community College for an associate’s degree in Early Childhood Education and Development. My goal is to create a teaching environment for my young students that emits a sense of companionship, community, and security; I want to create a safe space for children of all learning styles, needs, and backgrounds to help them flourish and thrive. As a neurodivergent child, I was exposed to the many flaws in the educational system. It felt easy to slip through the cracks and go unnoticed, ostracized from peers and unheard by teachers. My learning style was unique, and my brain worked differently than my classmates, leaving me feeling alone, unnoticed, and a delinquent. My main goal for teaching is to prevent precisely that: children feeling alien among their peers. I want to bring my students together with a sense of community, celebrating their differences and accommodating unique needs.

Writing is my deepest passion. I dream of expressing myself to the world, a shout into the void, through writing. It's incredibly important to me that someday in the future, my work is published and out there for the world to see. I have a partial biography written and almost an entire book finished as well. Both pieces are dear to my heart, one about my life story and the other a creative piece inspired by my trials and tribulations as a young girl with psychosis. Scattered along the way like breadcrumbs are short stories, anecdotes of my life, poems, song lyrics, and so on. Writing has grown to be much more than a hobby for me; it is my way of life, my therapy, and my art. If I am able to touch at least one human being with my stories, my job is done and my heart will be full. To become famous for my work isn't my goal, but instead to have my words out there, with the intent of helping at least one soul feel a little less alone.

Two years ago, my life was flipped upside down. I experienced my first psychotic break and was admitted to EASA (early assessment and support alliance). I was surrounded by stigma and felt helpless; psychosis and schizophrenia were daunting illnesses that ran rampant in horror movies, serial killers, and unruly minds. I felt like I had been branded with a disease that would ruin my future and prevent me from ever accomplishing anything more than expected. I could feel my inner perseverance and strength slip through my fingers like sand. I felt crushed. However, helping hands came from all around, from friends, family, and at EASA. The weight of the world on my shoulders was lifted, bit by bit, and I felt less and less isolated. With the support of others, I was able to rebuild my courage to face the future. Learning coping skills, finding myself amid unwanted change, and adapting to how my brain is wired was a difficult journey, but I never quit. Through this endeavor, I found that I have more resilience than I could ever imagine. I took the weight of grief, depression, fear, and change and made it out on the other side.