May 21st, 2019. One day before my first suboxone appointment and two months before I found out I was pregnant with my first child. This day will always resonate with me for two reasons. On this dreadful night my father, Aaron took his own life but on the brighter side, it made me more determined to conquer all of the demons I knew I was about to encounter. Addiction and depression have embedded their roots deep within my family's history. Like most of the people around me, my father wasn't any different. Aaron didn't have an easy upbringing. His mom struggled with extreme mental illness and died when he was just a boy. His father, on the other hand, couldn't handle the reality of it and left the ugly world to rest on his shoulders to carry alone. My mother met Aaron when I was just six months old. Still carrying the distressing weight of loss, depression, PTSD from serving our country, and addiction, he took it upon himself to take me in as his own; along with his two other boys. With time my stepdad became my only dad and a partner to my mom to drown themselves deeper into drugs and abuse only to hide it for so long. By 2005 drugs had a tight grasp on both of their mortalities. Soon after, Aaron would disappear. Abandoning my mother, myself, and now his 2-year-old son for six months. Leading us to believe he had committed suicide. Backed up by haunting and threatening voicemails on our answering machine. Another sign of his deteriorating mental health. After a whirlwind of events and trauma Aaron's mental health only worsened. He tried to be a good father to my brother and me. His illnesses made it hard for him to express too much love, compassion, or attention. He was in and out of our lives but I'll never forget how I yearned to have that father-daughter relationship you see in movies or social media. He refused to get any professional help or take prescription medications. It got to the point where he was hallucinating, hearing, and seeing shadow people. Refusing to have a phone because he was scared that the magnetic waves would get him caught by these "shadow people". "I wish you had a phone. I miss you and just want to spend more time with you. I love you, see ya". Those were the last words I said to Aaron before he hung himself. I still went to my suboxone appointment on the 22nd of May. I stuck to my program and never relapsed. I went to his house to collect some belongings, including the multiple empty packaging of sleeping pills scattered across the bathroom floor. Those were the last physical items he touched. I keep them in my dresser to feel closer to him. Witnessing firsthand what mental illness and drugs can do to the mind. I used that as encouragement; to help me stay strong throughout my recovery. I've learned having positive attributions on my own life can affect the ones around me positively too. My daughter was born the following year. When I look at her, I see the future. Something my dad could be proud of giving her a deserving life of love and possibilities. By furthering my education, I know I can make that happen. I want to help others that need it the most, like Aaron. I'll always have a certain emptiness but just because someone important is gone today, doesn't mean someone or something just as important won't come tomorrow.