If you ask my parents, they might say that I came out of the womb ready to act. I put on talent shows with my sisters, wrote musical numbers, and participated in children’s theatre. When freshman high school registration opened, I decided to try something new. Not only would I keep acting, I would try stage crew as well. This is the best decision I've ever made. Because I chose to try this extracurricular, I found the thing that I want to do for the rest of my life. Over the course of high school, I have fallen in love with every aspect of theatre. Theatre taught me more about life skills and people than any other activity I’ve participated in. Not only did it motivate and enhance my academic learning, it gave me a new perspective on how to engage with the world. Theatre helped me survive high school. It feels odd to say that something that required so much effort made high school more manageable, but it’s true. Stepping into my high school’s auditorium for the first time felt like the moment in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy steps into Oz and sees color. I was in awe at how big the space was and intrigued by all the odd things it contained. To me, this felt like home, and I was motivated to be there. I had several semesters where the only thing getting me through a boring class was knowing I had theatre afterwards. Stage crew inspired me to learn more math because I knew I would use it in set construction. Being in the musical forced me to learn how to keep track of a calendar. Core subjects are important as they teach knowledge and information. Theatre has taught me practical skills like how to conduct a presentation, dance, use power tools, draw a graph, and lead a group. It gave me on-site learning and opportunities to practice acquired skills that I couldn’t get anywhere else. Theatre also helped me grow emotionally and as a person. My experience being one of eleven theatre officers taught me how to compromise and come to a solution as a group. Playing multiple characters over the years helped me better understand different perspectives and gain empathy. Though I don’t always agree with a character’s actions, I can see why they might do those things. I apply this to real people in my life to better understand them. I used to struggle to communicate my needs and emotions. Learning how to analyze a scene made it easier for me to realize and express my feelings. Now, I feel secure in explaining my thoughts or asking for things I need. Before doing stage crew, I preferred to work by myself. If I had the option to do a group project by myself, I would. Now, I enjoy working with a group and don’t force myself to shoulder the weight of a project alone. I’ve met lifelong friends through theatre and become close to people I would have never expected to befriend. Long production hours taught me to push through exhaustion and expand my flexibility when things go wrong. Starring in a musical and winning state level awards for both design and performance gave me the self confidence I needed to try new things. After high school, I plan to major and pursue a career in scenic design. I am excited to use the new tools that college offers and meet more artists. I feel blessed to get an education in something that I am genuinely passionate about.

To me, a community is a group of people who are willing to work together, put in the hours to make the load lighter for all, and create an environment where everyone can be heard and uplifted. I believe that community is the solution to many of the problems faced in everyday life. Creating a community makes life easier for everyone involved, but requires people who are willing to sacrifice and contribute. These people changed my life, and I try to carry on the legacy they are modeling. My first memorable service related experience was when I went to my first punk concert at age 13. Before the music even started playing, the lead singer announced that there was free pizza and a box of records if anyone wanted any. I remember thinking how odd it was that I had paid to be there and yet the band seemed to be determined to give away as many free things as possible. Water was on the house and every ticket sale went to providing free tickets for people who couldn’t afford it. I had never experienced a place like this. I was in a space where people played because they wanted to. They provided opportunities for their neighbors to experience art and get items they may not have had access to. My first open mic was during my junior year of high school. That night I met RJ Walker, a pillar of his community. He runs the open mic with his own time and money, organizes fundraisers, and uses his platform to promote charities in Utah. RJ provided me with an interview for a school essay and recommended places to compete with both poetry and music. He doesn’t have to do these things, but he chooses to put in time and effort because he cares about the people around him and values community. The poetry community of Salt Lake City diligently creates spaces where artists flourish when the arts are underfunded and neglected. In the short term, these community supported art events have helped me connect with people from all walks of life. In the long term, caring spaces like these have given me the confidence to share my creations in public and to pursue a career in art. Inspired by these experiences, I have volunteered in my own community. I’ve worked at a food kitchen, put together meal kits, and collected litter. Now, I’m making a difference in my community by sharing the resources personal to me. I look for opportunities to share things I value with others because I remember how other people’s charity has affected me.To me, this is an act of service through community building. It shows people that if they need something, someone is willing to help. I believe that there can be enough for all of us if we choose to share what we have. I have implemented this mindset into my daily life and if I have something extra that someone needs, I will give it to them. In addition to this, I serve as a mentor and a listening ear in my community. I work in the theatre industry, which means I often work with people who feel like they don’t belong. I know how that feels, because I was that kind of kid. As I enter adulthood, I strive to be the person that I needed back then. I do this by showing up to events, even when I’m tired or not required. I staff theatre club activities, help with department needs, and give advice when asked. It always surprises me how much good you can do simply by listening to people. By making the people around me feel seen and heard, I am building community and helping create a safe space for people who feel outcast. In the short term, people are willing to lend a hand when I need it because I was there when they needed it. In the long term, my idea of service has shifted. I used to think that doing a lot of service meant flying across the world and feeding the hungry. I now know that I am able to create ripples of change in my local community that encourage patience, charity, and kindness in others.

It took me a long time to realize that drowning doesn't always look like water in your lungs. When I was ten and my depression and anxiety began to manifest, I had no idea what was happening to me. I’d known sadness before, but never like this. I didn’t know why the world suddenly felt more gray, or why the hardships in my life loomed over me taller than the Wasatch mountains that surrounded me. I needed help, and it felt too big and complicated to explain. I fell behind in school and lashed out at the people I loved. I internalized the idea that there was something wrong with me. I was being smothered by shame and guilt, and I dragged myself into the ground over not being able to function at the same levels I could before. Seventh grade was the worst year of my life. I had lost all control. I didn’t know how to regulate myself so those emotions came out of my mouth. I thought that if I got my act together and wisened up, I could fix the problems in my life. I began to seek out things that I thought I could control. I’d been bullied for my weight and decided that it was something I could change. I began to starve myself under the guise of prioritizing my health. I hung out with an older group, and the vulnerability of being so young led to horrible people taking advantage of me. Eventually, I didn’t care about the red flags I saw when I would pass out or cut myself. This became my reality and I lived in it with numbness and despair. I’d always told myself that even though I thought about ending my life, I never would. That was until I decided that I couldn’t keep going. I cannot express how lonely I felt the night I attempted suicide. I remember waking up in the hospital with a lump in my stomach. I hadn’t planned on surviving, so I didn’t know what to do. I knew that I survived, so I had to start rebuilding my life. It took a lot of guidance to make me want to live, and more to figure out how to do it happily. I was in and out of therapy programs, missing school, family, and friends. It felt like learning to walk again. I had successes and relapses. I had to heal, but also make amends with the people I'd hurt while in crisis. It took years of prying myself up each morning to go to programs and appointments to make progress. Getting diagnosed with ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD made me realize that I was sick, not inherently broken. Through group therapy and the kindness of others, I learned that I wasn’t alone in this fight. Mental health recovery has been the hardest journey I have ever been on, but it made me stronger. I am a person whose sense of self-worth was forged through fire and flames. When times are hard, I remind myself that I will get through because I’ve overcome a literal life and death situation. I can recognize that my mental health challenges are like a physical ailment, and can be treated by medication and therapy. I learned that my relationship with myself is the most important one in my life and that I must make choices to support me. I have the strength to say no to things and prioritize my well being over someone else’s comfort. Sometimes, this means removing people from my life that hurt me. I am happy that I am at a place where I can choose who I have around me. Life wasn’t something that I thought I would get to have, so getting a second chance has helped me search for the most joy I can. I am picking a career that I love, and becoming a theatrical scenic designer because I know that it will be fulfilling for me. I look for simple joys, and do what I can to bring them near me. I used to think the world was a dark place. Now, I surround myself with things that remind me that there is light. My goals used to center around proving to other people that I could be useful. Now, my life goals focus on bringing peace and light to myself and my community. I get to be an example of a happy ending. When I tell people I survived suicide, they see a person they know instead of just a statistic. I hope that people see my successes and realize that they aren’t alone in their struggle, and that it does get better. I am living proof that when given the proper help, people with mental health struggles can flourish and achieve things far beyond what people expect.

They say that life is all about balance. This is true, but I suppose no one specified how much. It takes one flick of a finger to set something off kilter. No one told me how eager depression was to make everything topple to the floor. See, balance takes control. Depression snatches control from your hands and pushes you into the passenger seat. Living with chronic depression feels like watching yourself sprint towards a cliff’s edge. Add to that adhd and anxiety, and you’ve mixed a perfect storm for spiraling if left unchecked. I can sort of remember when everything changed. I was in fourth grade when I stopped doing my homework and talking to my friends. In an effort to understand, my parents had me see a professional. I got diagnosed with depression. Even as a ten year old it felt wrong. I didn’t think one word could encapsulate the shade of grey that had colored my life. I started doing stupid things. I think when you lose control of things that previously felt so natural and easy, you start to reach for it in other, more extreme places. I hid my cries for help behind the idea of youthful recklessness. I didn’t stop to think whether things could hurt me or what effect they had on my future. I just did them. It took me four years to go from what I saw as a perfect, golden child to a complete and utter failure. I felt hopeless, and I didn’t know what to do. It built and built until I couldn’t manage the most basic of functions. It felt like rotting alive. I felt like they didn’t make words big enough to encompass my sorrow. The grey around me became more and more opaque and I finally reached a breaking point and felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t need to tell you that suicide isn’t pretty. Beyond our societal perception of the Shakespearean tragedy and perfect, beautiful dead girls, it’s a lot of waking up. Again and again, waking up until you don’t start dreading mornings. As I sat in group therapy at the hospital, I realized that I didn’t need to die. I needed this. Human connection with people who understood how I felt and wanted to help me. Depression is still a constant figure in my life. Sometimes it curls into bed with me like a puppy and makes waking up feel like a Herculean task. Sometimes it sits at the edges of my vision and taints wonderful evenings grey. I learned that my body isn’t big enough to try and conceal it. so I let it walk beside me; not trying to leave it behind or trample it out, but never letting it step in front of me and lead the way. I gained control of my life again. I learned that control didn’t mean always feeling amazing, but instead sitting with yourself when things get hard instead of hurling yourself at the next thing you think can mask it. After being in and out of mental health programs, I have been free from self harm for four years. Surviving suicide and living with managed depression allows me to be a voice for people dealing with an illness that so often tells you to be quiet. My lived experience has given me empathy and the tools to deal with crisis. It lets me speak loudly about the hard subjects that so many people experience but that we never want to discuss. The road to where I am now has been full of pit falls and blockages, yet I wouldn’t be who I am today without having to journey across them. I’m grateful for the hard lessons I’ve learned because they have made me softer. Me and my depression get to walk side by side, slowly climbing up the mountain, learning and growing as we go.