Up until this year I had no clue how cunning, controlling, and evil the human mind can be against oneself. I always had the belief that anyone can control their minds. I couldn't have been more wrong. In early 2024 I met the most incredible man I have ever known. I was lucky enough to call him my fiance about 7 months into our relationship. I knew he battled mental health issues and had a history of attempting suicide. A few months into our relationship I knew he was struggling and had him be admitted into an inpatient unit for help. He did so, completed the duration, and came home. He seemed to have improved. Yet just two weeks after surprising me with a trip to California, one of my favorite places in the world, he would walk out the door one afternoon, and out of my life permanently. I could not make any sense of it. He didn't show any of the signs that I had learned through the years to watch for. How did we go from our vacation to this in just two weeks? I blamed myself. I didn't see the signs, I had clearly missed something, and I didn't love him the right way. On top of that, despite having his guns removed from our home a few months prior, I didn't do near enough to secure my own gun from him. In the end he used it to end his life. Since his death I've learned never to underestimate what someone could possibly not only be going through, but be capeable of. I've learned compassion, understanding, and the willingness to try to support those who say they need help. I no longer think that it won't happen. I volunter with the AFSP as well as the suicide hotline in an effort to help others in the same situation as my fiance as well as myself. I ended up on the psychiatric crisis care unit two weeks after he passed away. In being there it opened my eyes to the compassion these people need in order to help those like me. Being a survivor of suicide is an entirely different type of grief. We desperately search for answers that nobody has. Then in time, we learn to live with these unanswered questions despite the pain that follows the rest of our lives. Due to my own experience of being in the crisis unit due to losing someone I loved so much to suicide, I've decided to use my degree to one day do the same for another that was done for me in that unit. I want to work in a crisis care center in order to help another such as myself. I believe shared experience can go far. Nothing can compare to having the ability to relate to what another has going on and making them know they aren't alone. There is hope, and life will continue if we allow it. We just need to decide what to do with the lessons we are taught from these lessons in life that are by far the hardest to learn.

I've always had a passion for understanding human behavior. Why people do as they do and what happened to make that so. This became more so once my son developed mental health issues around the age of 8. However the biggest impact to me now choosing the career I want to pursue came in the form of my fiancé committing suicide with me and my children there with him. It was a normal Saturday that was uneventul. We attended my son's football game after getting up and eating breakfast, Afterwards, we went home and within mintues he said he was taking a walk. He never returned home. Later that night after calling the cops and reporting him missing, we found him about 300 feet from our home. He was gone. To say my world crashed is an understatement. However; despite being one of the most painful life-changing events I've encountered, it also put a fire in me to do more. After his death I signed up to volunteer with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I take classes and training that will help not only myself, but also help others. I do walks and other events to help raise awareness and funds, I also decided to start helping on the suicide hotline in order to help another from the same fate as him as well as survivors of suicide learn coping skills to get through the grief of an event that has no logic to us survivors. About two weeks after his death I ended up in the local psychiatric crisis care unit due to PTSD and grief. Seeing the way the workers there were inspired me. So while I do want to study more indepth to the causes and reasons of suicide, I also wwant to work in a center much like the one I found myself in shortly after he died. I believe that shared experiences can go far. I hope that by someone understanding that I can relate as I've been through it, it will make it slightly easier for them to open up and began to heal. Suicide is a death that leaves behind far more questions than answers. Often those of us who are survivors blame ourselves and try anything to make sense of it. I hope that by sharing my experience, it will be a light to another to follow the same path I have and continue the tradition of helpiing others through one of lifes most difficult circumstances.

Mental health is as essential to our living as our physical health. In fact, our mental health can greatly influence our physical health. If we do not take care of our mental well-being, it can cause physical symptoms such as body aches, fatigue, and other ailments that prevent us from fully participating in our daily lives. Over the years, I have dealt with many mental health issues, both personally and through watching my sons struggle. By learning coping mechanisms such as writing, positive affirmations, helping others, educating myself, going to counseling, and practicing self-care, I have overcome many of my concerns. However, it is a struggle that I know I must maintain if I want to stay mentally healthy. As a Criminal Justice major at Strayer University, I understand the importance of mental health, especially in a field that often deals with high-stress situations. My college GPA of 3.8 and my placement on the President's List for the fall and winter 2023 terms, as well as the Dean's List for the spring 2024 term, reflect my dedication to my studies and my ability to manage stress effectively. This balance is crucial for my mental well-being. One of the ways I maintain my mental wellness is through volunteering. I work with the One Voice organization, which promotes drug addiction awareness and provides resources for those looking to get sober. This work is close to my heart because I overcame heroin addiction and have remained sober since November 25, 2013, after being arrested and serving 18 months in prison. Helping others in similar situations gives me purpose and reminds me of my journey, reinforcing my commitment to mental health. In addition to my work with One Voice, I volunteer with local youth baseball and football organizations. Engaging with the community and mentoring young people brings me joy and a sense of fulfillment. It is a way to give back and stay connected, which is vital for my mental health. Writing is another tool I use to maintain my mental wellness. It allows me to express my thoughts and feelings, providing a release for stress and anxiety. Positive affirmations help me stay focused and motivated, reminding me of my strengths and achievements. Counseling has also been a significant part of my mental health journey. It provides a safe space to explore my thoughts and emotions and develop strategies to cope with challenges. Self-care, whether through exercise, meditation, or simply taking time for myself, is essential for recharging and maintaining balance. In conclusion, my mental health is vital because it affects every aspect of my life, from my physical health to my academic performance and personal relationships. By using various coping mechanisms and staying engaged with my community, I work to maintain my mental wellness every day. This ongoing effort is crucial for my overall well-being and my ability to succeed in my studies and future career.

A bet made to my oldest son is how I found myself in online college at 38 years old which means I’m literally paying $60,0000.00 just to watch my son graduate high school. When he started struggling with social pressure and wanted to drop out of school, my brain scrambled trying to find anything to keep him from that family tradition. So made him a bet that if I could go back and graduate college at my age, he could graduate high school. We would do it, together. We are set to graduate a few months apart in 2028. Now know that making this bet with my child means one thing, I never make a bet unless I know I can win. So I enrolled and here I am a year later completing my first year and it’s been anything but easy. I’ve found I’m a much better college student now than back when I was younger but the demands of being a single parent of two boys and going to school while working full-time definitely take its toll on my sleep and social calendar. Yet for the first time in my life, I’m also maintaining a 4.0. My GPA is something I’m extremely proud of. Maintaining my spot on my school president's list each term is my goal and so far I’ve reached it every time. I’m not sure if it’s that I’ve got more patience, or I’ve just collected more life experience but either way, being a non-traditional college student has made it far easier to retain knowledge than when I was in my twenties. Not only is my son my reason for getting enrolled, but he's also the driving force behind my degree of choice. Due to a long battle with our inadequate mental health system due to his mental health issues, I’ve chosen to pursue a degree to help children and adults like him. One that will in enable me to be the one changing the way that mental health care is approached. It may not be something I see happen in my lifetime, but I will start that change. Going back to school at almost 40 means I’m more confident in myself and in my choice of what I want to do. When you’ve done as much as I have, it makes that choice easier. I think my age also gives me the upper hand in my bet with my son. While yes, in a way I technically lose money by winning this bet, which is the drive behind applying for scholarships, I gain so much more. I'm showing my sons that it doesn't matter how old you are, where you come from, or when you start. All that matters is that you start, where you are, with what you have, and you never, ever give up.

October 9th, 2013 is a day that will forever be ingrained into my core. It marks a day that changed my life forever. It was the day I overdosed while driving and hit another vehicle head-on at 55mph which led to a chain of events that put me where I am today. I don’t recall much of the day from actual memory. I’ve only put together pieces that have been told to me. The wreck was so severe that the following morning I was told to prepare myself for manslaughter charges as they didn’t expect the victim to survive. Thankfully he did. A month later I was arrested at 1:00 in the morning. The charge was a felony OWI causing serious bodily injury. Despite the fact I’d never been in trouble prior had no impact whatsoever. The judge showed no mercy and sentenced me to 18 months in prison, followed by a year on house arrest and then 18 months probation. Time for me dragged on because up till that point, I had never been away from my 5-year-old son, not even for a day. I remember calling home from the maximum security prison which was the Rockville Department of Corrections facility that I was in and talking to my son, to him the 3 months I had left felt like four years. It shattered my heart to know I had hurt my son so badly. I knew when I was released no matter what, I had to do better. The day of my release I was surprised by my family when my mother, my grandmother, and my son came to pick me up. The sergeant who escorted me out looked at me as I had tears flowing down my face once I grabbed my son up for a hug and said, “Don’t ever forget this feeling and you’ll never come back.” I nodded and said, “I won’t.”, and to this day I’ve kept that promise to him and my son. Looking back now I know that wreck ultimately saved my life. Had it not been for that and my promise to my son I don’t think I’d have maintained being able to abstain from heroin use. This November marks 10 years of sobriety from it for me. In my eyes, even though detained, it was in those prison walls I found freedom from such a horrible drug. It also taught me that it doesn’t matter what happens to us in life. What matters is how we react and use it to become a better person than before. It’s taught me to show compassion when others won’t and that I believe, will go a long way in my choice to pursue my psychology degree, to maybe help another from straying down a path similar to mine. Showing them by example, there is a way out. I intend to be a light for those lost and looking for their way home.

“I bet if I can go back to college and graduate, you can complete high school.” This was the bet I made to my oldest son who was struggling socially and wanted to drop out. This is also the bet that landed me in online college at almost 40 years old pursuing my Bachelor's degree. Life raising my two sons alone, working full-time, going to school full-time, and transporting them from one sporting event to another has been anything other than easy. Yet my determination to watch my oldest walk across the stage for his graduation keeps me going at times when I need it most. I've always been a firm believer in leading by example for my children. I want them to understand that in life it doesn't matter what cards we are dealt, it is how we play them that ultimately determines where we end up. We've gone from being homeless in a shelter just three years ago, to moving into our own place, me securing a job as a supervisor at the local international airport, and being enrolled in school with a graduation date just a few months shy of my oldest. Nothing but sheer determination to show my kids a better future has been the reason for this. I want so much for my children. That starts with me and setting that example for them. Despite the difficulty, I wouldn't trade being a single parent for anything. They are my motivation to do better, despite where we originated. So when my oldest said he wanted to drop out of school my brain scrambled for a solution. The only one I found was to set an example in front of him. I've now completed my first year almost and I've maintained a 4.0 GPA the whole year. I'm currently enrolled in honors courses and strive to maintain my place on the president's list at my school each term. In 2028 I will receive my Bachelor's degree, and my son will receive his high school diploma. My son is excited to see me graduate, and I am him. We will do it, together, just as I bet we would. From there I will pursue my master's, reminding my children to never stop reaching for the stars because there is nothing we can't achieve in life. We just have to be determined enough to never let anything stand in our way.

In 2013 my life was altered forever. I overdosed on heroin while driving and hit another driver head-on at 55 mph. I have no memory of that day, only pieces tied together to somewhat put the events in order. I never dreamed I would become a drug addict. For most of my life, I was against them but in my late teens and early twenties, I began using. I noticed it would quiet my mind and I would feel “normal”. I didn't realize it was all self-medication for my severe ADHD and my bipolar disorder. Years of sexual and mental abuse would also contribute to that path. Yet after serving 18 months in a maximum security prison, and being separated from my child the entire time, I knew coming home things would have to be different. So I made sure to do so. I started volunteering in a local organization that promotes addiction awareness, I became an active member of the church, but mostly, I became a mother for the second time. When I left prison holding the hand of my oldest, who at the time was 5, I made him a promise no matter what he would never deal with me behind those walls again due to heroin. It's been almost 11 years and I have kept that promise. Through a lot of hard work, a change of lifestyle, changing friends, redirection of my mind, attending meetings, and helping others I have stayed clean from heroin since November 25, 2013. The day I was arrested. It's not easy and life is not perfect. Today I'm a supervisor at the international airport I live near. I'm now almost finished with my first year of my bachelor's degree in criminal justice with a concentration on criminology. I don't want to be a cop. The mental health career holds a place in my heart for many reasons and so I'm pursuing my degree to reform the laws that surround our system. I want to be a light for those battling mental health and related issues in hopes that I can guide them out of the darkness, and help them learn to believe in themselves. I hope by setting the example and them knowing my story, they too can find the courage to love themselves and see they matter and they can make it. I know one day I'll meet someone just like me and be the inspiration they need, to find their way home.

I’ve been an EMT, a firefighter, a mom, a volunteer for a local organization that raises awareness on drug overdose and addiction and many other roles within my community in the last twenty years. Yet through it all I never found what I felt was my calling. All I knew is I want too make a difference. While yes, within those many positions I helped many people within my community it never quite satisfied me. It would take a mental health diagnosis for my oldest son for me to see what my calling in life is. I want to be a social worker, an advocate, and a voice for the mental health community. I want to speak up for those who are unable to for themselves. I am a loud advocate too, and I know this because Children's Hospital told me so. Their exact words were, "We have never met a louder advocate for their child before you." I told them to get used to it because I wasn't going anywhere. Yet before my son's admission into the unit at children's, it seemed all my words fell upon deaf ears and closed doors. Even when he tried to stab himself in the chest in third grade it was overlooked and he was sent home. For two long years after I fought for my son to get the help he needed to no avail. It wasn't until he committed a violent act that I had warned the mental health system would happen did anyone finally step in. At that point he was put into the psychiatric unit until they had him stabilized. I found myself wanting to know why? Why did it come to this when it could of been avoided? What's wrong with our healthcare system that I can get a shot for an illness I "might" get, yet these individuals who have made known of their thought to harm themselves or others have to act on it to get help. The discovery that our mental health system is a reactive one wasn't an easy pill to swallow. Due to this approach thousands find themselves incarcerated within our justice systems all across the country because nobody would listen to their cries for help. I want to change that. I want to be an advocate and a voice for those who find themselves in similar situations as my son once was. I want to show them someone cares, and someone is listening. Yet my ultimate goal is to start the change to rewrite our healthcare system surrounding the mental health approach. My dream is to make it a proactive system, one that people don't have to hurt themselves or another before someone listens. It should never come down to this moment when it's too late. I will be the loudest advocate for my son till my dying day, but after I receive my degree, I will be for many others as well. I'm sure somewhere, someone will say,"You're the loudest advocate we've ever encountered." To which I will smile and tell them they may as well get used to it, I'm not going anywhere.

You know the really “country” type of folk you see in movies and television shows? They have country accents, wear overalls and a toothpick in their mouth while spitting tobacco. That’s my family in a nutshell. So there aren't many high school degrees hanging on our walls and college diploma’s are nonexistent. I'm a first gen student. Yet one of the rare ones in my family that do have a diploma is my father. Despite the fact it was simply to get rid of him, he graduated high school. Yet not before putting his principles car up on blocks after taking the tires, running the principles suit jacket up the flag pole and turning the senior hall into a huge slip and slide and that was only the start of his antics. After graduating, he went on to be an airplane mechanic in the Air Force. He is also my biggest inspiration and fan outside of my boys. That hasn't changed even though he passed away in 2022 from a long battle with cancer. He believed in me so much he bought a Chromebook for me just months before he passed away. He wanted me to go back to school and get my degree. Even though my dad wasn't apart of my life in my early years, since our reconnection he was a constant rock and safe place for me. Someone I could call with any news and know he would be proud or if needed, my light in the dark, to guide me and show me what I couldn't see alone. Right before he passed away he made me promise him that no matter what his baby girl would be okay. So I made that promise and I've kept my word. Since he's passed I've enrolled in college, and I even made the president's list at my university for the fall 2023 term. I know he would be so proud. I wish I would of done these things when my dad was alive but with that, at least I can say I've kept my promise. Even though he's gone it's that promise that drives me and inspires me to push forward on the days I want to quit. Even though my family is about as country as country can get, I am proud of my roots. Yet more than anything I am proud to say I am my fathers daughter. He may be gone but his spirit is still with me, cheering me on, rooting for me and supporting me the same as when he was still alive. His ashes sit on my table, by my bed and every night I talk to him about the things going on in life or different accomplishments I've made and I thank him for his love and support that he gave me. In my mind, I picture him standing there with his hands clasp in front of him twirling his thumbs and smiling from ear to ear, so proud of me and telling me he knew I could do it. This small town country girl couldn't ask for more.

My family thinks I’ve gone crazy. I’ve gone from being another number in a crowd of inmates to studying criminal justice in college. I’m the first in my family to go to college. In my family, your high school diploma is equivalent to a college degree. So as I’ve said, they think I’m crazy. In 2013, I committed a felony that would land me in the Indiana Rockville Correctional Facility for 18 months. This would be only the start of that sentence. It was then followed by a year on house arrest and then 18 more months of probation. All because I reside in a county that in 2014, made the New York Times for sending more people to prison per capita than anywhere in the rest of the country. I was one of those people that year. I don’t believe I was unfairly punished nor think my sentence was too harsh. It saved my life. Once I was released my son, who was 5 then and my pride and joy, drove me to be better. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I just knew I wanted to make a difference. I wanted my time to all mean something, especially to him. If you would, fast forward about 5 years, and after several years of battling the system I found myself facing the fact my now 10-year-old son, could face serious consequences for something that, if someone had answered my calls to help him at mental health all those years, it could of been avoided. Then I asked, “Why?” Why do these people HAVE to commit acts of harm before they get treatment? Why do we react to a group of individuals who want to self-harm or harm others? Why are we not being proactive in our approach to prevent harm, much like we are to COVID-19 or the flu? Why must we allow them to fill up our prisons, and jails versus getting them the treatment they need by placing them in the right system? I don’t want my son to be like his father and I. I don’t want him to be another number in the prison system. I want him to see me succeed and know he can too. My goal in going into the criminal justice program isn’t to be a cop. It’s to be a social worker, and an advocate. I want to advocate change to our justice system in order to rewrite the laws surrounding our mental health system as well as our justice system. I want to make our system proactive. One where people like my son, or even myself, can go and know they can get help without fear of judgment or sentencing. The prison system is full of people who’ve done horrible things. Yet among them are those who begged for help for sometimes years, and were ignored. My goal is to help save those people, be a voice for them, and start the change to our laws that will do just that. So yes, my family thinks I’m crazy, and I admit I may be, but guess what, all the best ones are.

I call my oldest son my “earth angel”. Despite raising him alone for the last 14 years while his father was incarcerated, he’s been the biggest inspiration I’ve known. We share a bond that’s indescribable by anyone we meet. I won’t sit and say raising him alone has been easy. Once his littler brother came along, I found myself the raising two boys. My youngest has the advantage his father was at least involved. It became increasingly more difficult once my oldest hit his teenage years. The only thing he wants is a father to look up too. Yet it’s been through raising my oldest I’ve found the career I want to pursue which is by helping out juveniles who battle mental health issues, those who don’t have an advocate to speak up for them. Due to my son’s mental health, he battles depression and suicidal tendencies. He now wants to drop out of school. It’s a fight to get him to go. So last year I made a bet to him, I would go back to college and we would graduate together. Our graduation dates are just months apart. Being a single mom to him has pushed me to be better as my goal is to make him proud of me. He once asked me what my biggest fear was and I replied, “letting down you and your brother.” He said it wasn’t a real fear and I told him one day he would understand it very much was. So through him inspiring me, and my desire to show him we can do anything we set our hearts upon, I’ve found myself back in college at almost 40 years old. I made the presidents list at my school for the fall term of 2023, my son made the honor roll. We truly are doing it together. Through my degree I intend to help juveniles much like my son who have nobody. I want to be their voice. So I’m pursuing a degree in criminology in order to work with juveniles in the justice system, to show them that with faith, there is hope and someone does care. I also want to start the change of the laws that govern our mental health system. I want to make it a more proactive and less reactive system. I know that had circumstances been different for me, I never would have found the courage to follow my dreams. Without my oldest, I’d never realized my own potential while pushing him to see his. Being a single mom is hard, yet it’s also the greatest achievement I’ve ever made. Today my son is 14, and becoming this incredible young man who I couldn’t be more proud of. In the summer of 2028 I will fulfill my dream of making my son proud of me. In June of 2028, we are both set the graduate. He is from high school and I will from college. That’s the biggest accomplishment a mom could ask.

Ever since I was little I’ve known my passion is helping others. Whether it be humans or animals it didn’t matter. I think part of this comes from the moral my grandparents instilled in me which is to always leave someone better than you find them. It’s taking me a long time and many failed routes to decide upon a career in mental health. Actually, it took hitting extremely close to home in the form of my oldest child to get a grasp of how the mental health system works and wanting to change it. At the age of 10 he was placed in a psychiatric unit but not before being ignored for two years after attempting to stab himself in the chest with scissors in third grade. That’s when I learned we had a very reactive system and not a proactive one. This made no sense to me. I’m not expected to get the flu or Covid prior to getting vaccinated for them. So why is it that people with mental health concerns are expected to act upon their thoughts prior to getting help? Especially when they are at a greater risk of harming themselves or others. Yet because my child told the doctors in third grade that he didn’t want to self harm while in my care, he was released only to commit a violent attack on my nephew two years later in psychosis. Had he received the help he needed before it would have never came to that. My son is stable now, but we still battle mental health. There are times I fear walking in and finding he has committed suicide or harmed him little brother due to his mental health issue. Yet it’s fueled my passion of helping others, but especially my child. I’ve chosen on a career in social work. I’m currently studying criminology because more specifically I want to help juveniles much like my son who had been placed into the wrong system. Kids that didn’t receive the help they needed because nobody would advocate for them. I want to be a voice for someone lost in the dark before it’s too late. Having been to prison I know all too well the realities of that world, and I don’t think any child should wrongly be subjected to it. I also want to change the laws, or at least start the change in my lifetime. I want to change our approach at care for mental health patients making it a proactive and not reactive system. There has to be a better way and I intend to find it. I’m now 37, and due to my son’s mental health battle he’s now wanting to leave school. So I went back to college on a bet with him. I would get my degree and he would get his. We would do it together. He’s set to graduate in June of 2028. I’m set to I September of that same year. By receiving this scholarship it would help me to show my son that we can do this. It doesn’t matter what’s against when there’s something greater inside of us. I’ve got all I need in life to succeed right now. Yet this would help tremendously in the financial situation for me. Especially as my oldest will start into college when I intend to pursue my masters. Nobody should be left behind for any reason, and as my grandparents taught me, you always leave someone better than you found them. I intend to for the rest of my life.

Schizophrenia, which the true translation is, “split-reality”. Its’s also a diagnosis that has forever altered my reality. I’ve dealt with mental health issues and the system most of my life. However, getting into the depths of it, the in-patient stays and being treated as a lab-rat due to one medication change after another began when my oldest son was in the third grade. I received a phone call from his school that he had tried to stab himself in the chest with scissors. After taking him to children’s, and being released that same day, I felt frustration few could understand. This would continue for two, very long years. It would take a serious act by my child to get the help he needed, in the form of choking my autistic nephew to the point he was almost unconscious. After being placed on the in-patient unit for a few weeks to stabilize I brought him home again. Reflecting back over the last two years I had to ask, “Why did it have to come to this?” Why in a group of people that feel they must harm themselves or others, must they do so before people take them seriously? By that point the law generally gets involved and they end up in the judicial system verses the health care system. I knew then what I wanted to do. Even though I’ve been obsessed with psychiatry for as long as I’ve known, I knew my life would from now on, be committed to helping my son and those like him. I now want to start the process of changing the way our mental health system is designed. I want to change it from a reactive approach to a proactive approach. So I’ve began my degree in criminal justice in order to do so. I have decided upon social work as my career in hopes to work with troubled kids much like my son and to be a voice for the hundreds of thousands of kids much like him, and get them the help needed before they commit drastic, life-changing actions. Today my son is 14, he’s healthy, but his mental health is an ongoing process. He’s since been hospitalized one more time for psychiatric care, had multiple medications and had more case workers than I care to remember. This all began when he was 9 years old. We’ve dealt with more violent acts, shed more tears, and heard more ridicule than needed. Yet through it all I stay as strong as ever for my son. One day I intended to do the same for every child I meet that battles similar situations as him. In hopes they find a light out of the darkness and their way home.

“Split-Reality”. This is the true definition of schizophrenia. This is also the condition my oldest son, who is 14 has shown signs of since the age of 5. That’s when he said, “Mom, I have a banshee attached to me. I hear it in my ears all the time.” I didn’t understand then the significance that statement had on mine and his life. As time progressed he seen shadow people and the voices became more distinct until at the age of 8, he attempted to stab himself in the chest with scissors in third grade art class. After rushing to children’s we were sent home because he felt safe and didn’t want to self-harm when with me. This began a two year process of having one door after another slammed shut on me when seeking help for him. It would take a very serious act to finally get someone to listen. This time, he choked my autistic nephew to the point of being almost unconscious. After a small stint in the children’s hospital psychiatric unit, we were sent home with medication and several new programs he was now enrolled into which months prior had been denied due to a waitlist. It still would take several more violent acts and another stint in the unit as well as multiple medications to get him where we are today. In fact one of those acts was holding a loaded gun to the head of his brother who is 6 years younger. Why? The voices said he had to, that his brother was plotting against him. It’s heartbreaking as a mother to have to protect my youngest son from my oldest, who he idolizes. However, he has been the driving force behind me pursuing my college degree. I was told by children’s they’d never met a louder advocate for someone than me. I told them to get used to me. I wasn’t going anywhere. Except now to college. To complete my degree in hopes that one day I can help someone much like my son. I want to reconstruct the mental health system. To change it from a reactive one to proactive. You would never expect me to get certain vaccines until I had what it was for. So why must the ones who are at highest risk act upon harming themselves or others prior to receiving necessary treatment? I plan to help make this change happen. It may not happen in my lifetime, but I will start the process. Just as I will advocate for my son till my last breath. He’s not a monster. The monster lies in his head. It’s dormant at time yet when it wakes it brings fire burning everything in its path. Yet I will never give up on my child or my dreams.

A bet to my oldest is how I landed in school studying psychology at the age of 37. He’s halfway through his eighth grade year and already saying he wants to follow in the path of the rest of our family and dropout when able. So I made him the bet I would go back to college and complete my degree while he completed his high school degree. We would do it together and now, our graduation days are a month apart. I’ve had a love of psychology for as long as I can remember. I’ve been fascinated by people and the why behind the things they do. Yet in the last couple years my love for it becomes slightly more personal. My oldest, the one whom I bet, started experiencing mental health issues at the age of 5 unbeknownst to me, then at the age of 10, he was placed on the children’s psychiatric unit for treatment. Shortly following he was diagnosed as having schizoaffective tendencies. His comes with bipolar. The last 4 1/2 years have been nothing short of interesting and unpredictable. Unfortunately when my son goes into a psychosis he becomes violent, but only towards one person, his younger brother. As big as my oldest is, my youngest is the small, and at times I’m forced to place him my room until he is through the storm and my oldest is out of the psychosis. This is my challenge in going back. It’s challenging as a mother to experience this and to know I must protect one of my children from the other. I envy those who deal with “sibling rivalry”, as this goes far beyond that. So I want to study and understand more in order to stop my child from becoming a statistic in our society justice system. However, dealing with this, and studying it, makes it hard to know my child can’t control the monster he becomes. It leaves me broken and devastated to know it’s not something we can fix. While most parents fight time restraints, I fight having to restrain or placing my son on another unit. It’s a feeling you can’t describe. As I said, I am due to graduate a month after my son. Our first stop is going to be a vacation to celebrate making it. After that, I intend to follow up with my masters as I want to specialize in abnormal childhood psychology. I want to work with kids much like my son to get them the help they need early enough, to not get lost in the cracks of our judicial system. I want to show my son no matter where we come from, what cards of life we are given, if we play them right, we will achieve what our hearts desire. Follow your heart, not your mind as the mind gets distracted easily, yet the heart will hold on forever is what I tell my kids. Yet mostly, I want to rewrite the laws of our mental health system, and protect the future generations of falling through the cracks of society due to a messed up system. In doing this, I can hopefully help those of today into the right place to seek treatment needed to stop future crime. I may not see this change in my lifetime but I fully intend to make the start in hopes one day, of protecting a child like mine from going into the wrong system. We shouldn’t be reactive in this system. I know I can start that change.

Much like Luna Lovegood, I would be in Ravenclaw. With intelligence, creativity, learning and wit being the core values of Rowena Ravenclaw, I would be a perfect match to be sorted into when I receive my letter, or in this case scholarship from Hogwarts. I've had a love of Harry Potter since its inception. Everything from books and movies, (two copies of each), Christmas ornaments, games such as Scene It, and Universal Studios wands, which is Luna's of course, laptop stands, and even a feather quill that I use to practice my dip pen obsession, I have procured throughout the years. Even at 37, my love of Harry Potter has never faded. If Harry Potter's world truly existed and the sorting hat placed on my head, it would take it no time to say, "Ravenclaw!" as I possess the values of the house of the Hogwarts founder. I'm creative and constantly find new ways to express it. Whether it be new crafts to learn or ways to implement things into my life that make it simpler, I use creativity every day, especially to make money in my small business of B&B Design, which is named after my two sons, Bryson and Brantley. I do everything from graphic design, photography, painting and more. Intelligence, wit and learning are the core of who I am. I wish I had the same love of learning back in high school as I do now. These days I strive to learn something new every day. My brain is more of a sponge than ever. I don't think intelligence applies simply to being "book smart" either. Whether it be in an education format or learning a new life skill, such as credit building, I want to know more. I work at platform 9 3/4, or at least it seems like it. I work in an international airport as a supervisor. However, I oftentimes tell my passengers that I assist that I feel like my work is a real-life Harry Potter scene and it's partially why I love my job so much. With the decor set up throughout the airport, the train that takes you from one concourse to another, and my employees wearing Hufflepuff-like ties, It's almost as though Harry Potter's world has become real for me. I don't think Hufflepuff is for me as I don't possess patience, nor is Gryffindor as I don't possess chivarly. Just as Slytherin isn't a good fit since I lack cunning and I'm not the strongest leader at times. However, I do know I am a perfect fit for Ravenclaw because I possess creativity, wit, intelligence and the desire to continue learning which is why at 37, I'm in pursuit of my Bachelors.

With faith the size of a mustard seed you can move mountains, and that’s why I wear a necklace that has mustard seeds in it. I have the same faith my father did that I will no doubt, at the very least start the change of how our mental health system is ran in my life time. My son is almost 14 and at the age of 10 almost 11 he was one of the 1% of the population to be diagnosed as being schizophrenic with bipolar tendencies. Also know as schizoaffective disorder, but not before he had to commit a violent attack that was very preventable. At the age of 8 almost 9 his school called to tell me my son was attempting suicide. We rushed to children’s where it was dismissed and he was sent home because he felt safe and didn’t want to self harm with me. This began a long two year battle to have him evaluated psychologically. Having him placed on the unit for evaluation was by far the hardest thing I’ve had to try to accomplish because we have a very reactive instead of proactive approach to mental health concerns. This means that anyone who wants or has thoughts to harm themselves or other must actually do so in order to get treatment. How is it that people must commit such violent and life altering acts in order to get help yet you won’t expect me to have the flu before I got the flue shot. In order to get my son evaluated it took two years of battling with our local system, several rude remarks on my parenting abilities and seeking attention, and my son choking my nephew to the point of almost unconsciouses. It is never should have came to that. My goal by pursuing criminal behavior and criminology as well as psychology, I will one start the change of how to help those in need to avoid being place in the wrong system. When they escorted my son (who was 10) from the main campus to the unit, the had 8 armed city cops surrounding him. He’s not a monster! Was all I could tell them. He’s my sweet baby and needed help. Thankfully today we have it regularly. One day I want to have it made available to all people who suffer from mental illness so that they don’t have to commit horrific acts to get help. Our jobs are to protect, and I will start the change to do that not only for my son, but all who suffer the same fate due to a very lacking system.

Most mothers do not need to worry that they will walk in and find their child has taken his own life or the life of their younger sibling. Yet this is my reality not everyday, but some days. My oldest is one of the 1% to be diagnosed as having schizoaffective disorder with bipolar tendencies prior to the age of 18. He has both mental health issues and a personality disorder. He hears voices, he has delusions and hallucinations. He has highs and he has lows. He can stay up for days at a time or he will sleep days at a time. He’s been suicidal, he’s been placed on the children's unit, he battles being depressed, violent, happy, scared, suicidal and confused but above all else and most importantly, he’s my son. Due to all this he’s been on several different medications, been to one psychiatrist after another and in one program or another all in hopes to help him. Yet when a psychosis comes on, he’s not the only one needing saved. His little brother is often times the target of his violence. It’s hard to know I have to at times protect my youngest from his older brother whom he idolizes and it’s hard to process the resentment and guilt I feel. I love my oldest and to me he isn’t a monster yet when people know of his disorder it’s met with quiet whispers or rude questions. He’s 13, and he has a disorder he never asked for. One that turns him from Jeckle to Hyde and back again. He hates who he becomes probably more than anyone as he doesn’t understand. He’s held a loaded gun to his little brother’s head because voices told him to along with more acts of violence. Yet still I say, he’s not a monster. He’s the sweetest, respectful, loving and kind hearted person and he will defend me and his brother till his last breath, most days. Having to live with this and experience it brought the mental health and more specifically the schizophrenic stigma to a personal point for me. My son is so often unfairly judged thanks to movies and Hollywood’s lies. Yet he inspired and still inspires me daily to be better and to keep pushing, especially for him. I became a member of the Indiana Substance Abuse and Mental Health Awareness board, and I’ve been told more times than I can count I’m the loudest advocate mental healthcare providers have seen. It’s never changing. In fact, I’ve chosen my degree based around all this because had I been listened to back when it all began, so many acts of violence could have been avoided. Instead, we live in a society where people must harm or self-harm before getting help. I intend to change that. If not in my lifetime then start the change at least. In order to help the ones today that unfairly end up in our justice system instead of getting mental healthcare, and to prevent the future from having to endure that same fate. No parent should fear finding their child has self-harmed or harmed another before getting help. No person should feel shame in seeking that help and it’s my lifetime commitment to my son to fight this till my dying day.

I come from a long genetic background of mental health issues. My grandmother, my mom, me and now, my oldest son. However, his is much different than ours. He’s been diagnosed as having schizoaffective disorder with bipolar tendencies. He’s 13 years old. That’s incredibly rare but incredibly real. My journey deep into the world of mental heath truly began with my son when he was only 9 years old. When he was in third grade his school called me to inform me he had attempted to stab himself in the chest with scissors. I immediately took him to children’s only to be sent home because he didn’t want to self-harm with me. This began a long two-year battle, a lot of ridiculed statements about my parenting, and a violent act that truly could have been avoided. Watching my son grow in his early years, I never would have fathomed he would have the same condition his father’s family had. Not even when at 5 he told me he had a banshee attached to him because he could hear it in his ears all the time. I didn’t grasp what he was saying and blamed the cows on our road. Yet that should have been the first sign of what was going to happen. After the incident in third grade I spent the next two years having one door after another shut in my face, being told my son was fine and the issue was me. I was overreacting or wanting attention. Nobody would listen when I said my son needed help. It’s not “normal” for an 8 year old child to be suicidal, or to commit different acts of violence and yet my words fell on deaf ears for two long years. The summer of 2021 altered our course when a phone call came in from my brother. My son had been spending a week there and had choked my autistic nephew to the point he was almost unconscious. He had just had surgery on his heart as well and battled lung issues. My world stopped. My son, truly isn’t an aggressive child unless in psychosis. Yet my brothers voice said different. I told him meet me at children’s where my son was given the option to walk in willingly or go to 20/20 the local juvenile detention but he couldn’t come home with me. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever said to him. Looking back, I’m grateful for that incident and so thankful my nephew was okay. However, that was the turning point for us that people finally took me serious and my son was placed on the unit for evaluation. He doesn’t remember it. Which is normal in psychosis. Due to medication changes, weight gain, more psychosis episodes, more violence, my son has battled depression and desire to take his own life many times over even at a young age. As a mother, I’m terrified I’ll find him dead one day. It hasn’t been easy and it’s incredibly hard at times because we have a system designed that people who want to self-harm or harm others must due so in order to get treatment. Yet, you wouldn’t expect me to get the flu before I was cleared for being eligible to get a flu shot. Why do they play with the lives of so many instead of stopping it before it begins? It’s my desire to do just that. I may not change the mental health care system in my lifetime. I fully intended to start the change. I don’t want my son falling through the cracks of society and ending in our justice system or dead as so many have. So I’ve chosen to pursue psychology. More specifically, abnormal behavior and criminology. To help who I can in the system today, and to re-write the laws for the people of tomorrow. We shouldn’t have to wait till our loved ones do drastic, life altering actions to get treatment. I intend to fight till my last breathe to change it.

On a bookshelf in my room sits a computer that collects nothing but dust. Even though it isn’t updated enough to use it holds more value than any computer I have ever owned. It’s the computer my father purchased for me just months before he passed in my home with the hopes I would use it to complete my college degree. See, growing up my dad was a figure of my imagination. A man whom I daydreamed of often, wondering what he looked like, where he was and what he did as he wasn’t a part of my life. My earliest memories of him are nothing more than a voice on the other end of the phone line telling me he would see me soon yet never following through. So it’s no surprise through out my early years I developed a sense of hate for him. In my eyes, he wasn’t my dad. He was nothing more than a sperm donor. It would take years, a stint in rehab and a serious diagnosis to alter my thoughts and feelings towards him. In 2019, after battling an addiction to meth, I called up my father (with shaking hands from fear not drugs) and said, “Dad, I need help.” The next day he picked me up and we met with the person who took me to the inpatient rehab I would be in for 30 days. After quick goodbyes I was on my way. Every weekend the facility had family education meetings as well as an hour visit. My father, who was nonexistent in my early years, and had no sympathy for addicts never missed a single weekend. He attended every family class and every visit. Driving 2 hours one way while fighting his own battle against cancer. The same man who once told me every addict deserves to die knowing I was one, was now sitting by my side learning how to help me in my battle against addiction. It was more than I could ask. I graduated 30 days later and my father was there to pick me up, smiling and hugging me telling me how proud he was. Just short of a year later he would be diagnosed with cancer for the second time, this time, his colon. After two failed rounds of chemo he opted to stop the treatment. Just a few months before he passed he purchased a Chromebook for me. His reason was that I would go back to school and complete my college degree. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too outdated to use. On April 22 2021 he passed in my home. The computer sat on my shelf. A year after he passed I happened to pick it up and make a bet to my oldest. I would complete college and he would high school. We would do it together. See, even though my dad’s gone, my last promise to him was that no matter what I would be okay. He had so much faith and confidence in me that he bought me that computer which though it isn’t able to be used, holds more value than anything. It reminds me of his faith in me that I could do this. To keep pushing even on the hard days and I got this. I know when I get my degree my father will be right there with me in spirit. Smiling and saying, “That’s my babygirl.”

“Split-Reality”. The true translation of schizophrenia. When you put that with either bipolar disorder or depression, you have what they call schizoaffective disorder. You also have my sons (extremely rare as he is under 18) diagnoses we were give when he was only 10 years old. He is now 13, almost 14. Most parents biggest fear when it comes to their children isn’t that of one killing the other literally. Yet it is one of mine. Due to my oldest child’s mental health issues it is in fact a subject that is always in the forefront of my mind. He hears voices. He has delusions. He sees shadow people, and he has his highs and lows. He will be okay one day and the next, holding a loaded gun to the head of my youngest because the voices tell him he has to. He’s heard them since he was 5 years old. At first he described them as “having a banshee attached to him because the noise in his ears”. As the years progressed they became increasingly more distinct and far more violent. In third grade I received the phone call from his school that in art class he had attempted to stab himself in the chest with scissors and rushed him to the hospital. Because he felt safe and didn’t want to self harm with me they released him home. At the age of 10 and after servers failed attempts at having him evaluated, he was hospitalized on the children’s psychiatric unit due to choking my nephew to the point of being almost unconscious. That’s how our system works, it’s reactive not proactive. Stupidity is what it is. A system that works with people who are at high risk to harm themselves or others shouldn’t have to act on this in order to receive treatment. I’ve always been fascinated with why people do the things they do. There is always a why behind it all. So I’ve always had a love of psychology. However, once my oldest was diagnosed with severe, lifelong mental health issues I knew in my heart instantly what I wanted to do. I wanted to pursue a degree in psychology in order to not feed my passion of understanding people but now to understand my son better. Due to the violence surrounding his first admission into the unit he was escorted by 6 armed police officers to the unit which is about 10 moles from the actual hospital. To see my baby (who was 10 then) surrounded by them all broke me. He isn’t a monster. He has a disorder that is severely stigmatized in today’s society in a horrible manner. If I don’t try to understand him better, who will? So I am now studying psychology. My degree will be in criminology. So many mental health patients slip through the cracks, and often times end up institutionally in our prison system instead of treatment. I don’t know ant my son the be one of those statistics. I hope with my degree i can prevent my child from ending ip in the wrong system as well as help those who are wrongly placed in it, get out and get the help needed. My son isn’t a monster, no mental health patient is. The monster is inside their brain and they fight to slay it daily. His battle is my battle for life. We may not beat it but we will control it, with faith and love, one day at a time.

I’m an addict. I’m a convicted felon. I have a prison I.D number. I was a troubled kid. I’m a mental health patient. I’m a single mom of two kids. I’ve lived in a homeless shelter for battered women. I’ve received state assistance for years. I was unemployed for years. I’m a statistic of society that is destined to fail. Yet, I will succeed. Why? It’s simple. I’m a wonderful mother. I’m a huge advocate for my son who’s been diagnosed as having schizoaffective tendencies. I went from unemployed and living in a shelter to being a supervisor at an international airport and preparing to move to the west coast is just under two years. I’m a first generation student that comes from a family of high school dropouts. I lead by example. I treat others the way I want to be treated and how I want my children to treat them because I know they are always watching. See, on paper, looking at my past you wouldn’t give me a second look. I’m full of mistakes and failures. Yet what isn’t on those papers, my drive to succeed and show my children we can be anything we wish, regardless of where we began. I didn’t come from a picture perfect family and I’ve never lived a perfect life. I struggle to make ends meet at times despite working three jobs. To look at my past you would never know that for one of my jobs, I have 5 star ratings on google review due to my ability to be understanding and patient with customers in the airport. You would never connect who I was with who I am. Yet, who I was is a very large part of who I am. It’s driven me to succeed in life and especially at college in order to show my kids it can be done, as well as make them proud of me, which is my life goal. I’ve never had a road named after me, only a prison number. I’ve never had a huge award presented to me, but I’ve been blessed with two amazing kids. I’ll never receive a Grammy but I will receive my degree, no matter what. My drive to show people we can change if we remain set on doing so leaves me persistent, unorthodox, optimistic and some may even say crazy. I’ll take all those titles proudly. Yes, I am an addict, but I’m an addict who’s been in recovery from heroin for almost 10 years. Yes, I have a prison number. Yet I also have a work number to my supervisor phone because I overcame a past many said I never would. I’m all these things and more. Yet most of all, I’m blessed with the chance to be here today writing this essay when in all reality, I should of died all the years ago during my drug use. God has plans for me and I intend to fulfill every last one with my willpower to succeed. You can count on me to be stubborn and at times crazy but one thing you don’t ever do, is count me out.

One in six U.S. youth aged 6-17 experience a mental health disorder each year. My son is one of those statistics. By the age of 12 he was diagnosed as having schizoaffective tendencies. Yet at the age of 8 is when his mental health issues began. When my son was in the third grade I received a call from his school, he was attempting to stab himself in the chest with scissors. I rushed him to children’s only to be sent home because he said,”I don’t want to hurt myself when I’m with my mom.” This began a cycle in the mental health system I’m still fighting today. At that time his case manager refused to listen. She accused me of being and over-reactive mother. Nothing I said would convince her my child needed help. It wasn’t until he cause physical harm to my nephew, that today he still can not remember, he was finally escorted by 6 armed police officers to the children’s psychiatric unit. As a mother I felt helpless in how to help my son. There is no worse feeling. Why did it have to come to this before I could get him the help I had been begging two years for? What was wrong with the system? That’s when I learned that our mental health system is designed to be more “reactive” than “proactive”. This made no sense to me. Why would we wait till someone cause harm to themselves or another prior to intervention? Why not stop that train before it left the station? How many people would be saved from the Justice system as well? A system that once you enter into you find it almost impossible to get out of. My goal in pursuing my degree is make a change in the way we approach mental health treatment all together. To create a system where we become proactive to mental health concerns and address then before they reach the point of harm to anyone. Through research I want to show how becoming a proactive system would far more benefit not only mental health patients, but society as well. By doing this we can also help eliminate the stigma behind mental health treatment that drives those who suffer from seeking treatment due to embarrassment. If my sons first case worker had of listened to me and stepped in prior to the incident that took place, she could of saved my son from multiple suicide attempts before the age of 12 as well as my nephew from an incident he will never forget, yet my son can never remember. That’s why this is my goal in pursuing my academic career in psychology research.

"Is God even real?” This is a phrase I have found myself asking many times over the course of the last five years. To say that my faith or spiritual path has been more of a roller coaster than a path would be an understatement. As long as I can remember my cousin and I were made to go to church with my great aunt every weekend until the age of 15 when we were allowed to decide for ourselves whether to continue going. We both choose not to. I was always unsure of the name of the religion that my aunt identified herself with, however I was sure it wasn’t for me. Woman were forced to wear long dresses or skirts, shirts with sleeves that were never shorter than 3/4 quarter length, no jewelry, no make-up, no cutting or altering your hair, no tattoos or piercings, no television and so on. In my eyes, for them to tell me God loved everyone no matter what then to have so many rules even at a young age, made no sense. In 2014, a local church caught my interest. It was a church that I could go to as I was. No dress code, no strict rules, no judgement. Only love. Upon my release I decided to attend one Sunday. I don’t remember what it was about now, but I remember two very distinct things from that day. 1.) The congregation welcomed my son and I with open hearts and open arms. 2.) These were people who weren’t afraid that even they weren’t perfect. They too had made mistakes in life, some being things I would never of dreamed, and yet here they were. I was so enthralled with the whole morning, I couldn’t wait till the following Sunday. It was in that church I felt God’s presence for the first time in my life. It was like my preacher could read my mind. Once time he came up to talk to me and I told him, “I’m a hot mess, who would love me?” I’ll never forget his reply to me that day. “The thing about hot messes, they can always be cleaned up.” The year my father was diagnosed with cancer the church held a weekend women’s retreat, I wanted so badly to go but couldn’t afford it. Two days prior to the retreat the coordinator of it called me to inform me an anonymous donor had paid for me to attend. I was in shock. It was on that retreat I learned of true forgiveness. If it hadn’t been for that retreat, I don’t think I would of ever forgiven my father for the years of abandonment when I was young. I’m so grateful for that because it gave me 6 years with my father I would have never had before he lost his battle with cancer in my home last year. Along with his death, my best friend getting murdered the year prior, and many other things my faith in God faltered. I quit going to church. Things in my life went from bad to worse. Today, I’m working on cleaning that mess up. Ironically enough I have found myself in a faith-based college. I’ve learned over time God has a way of putting us right where we need to learn the answers we seek. I believe through attending GCU I’ll find more ways to water the seed of faith I carry and plant its seeds in my children. To let them know despite our mistakes, God loves us all.

October 9th 2013 is a day that will forever be ingrained into my core. It marks a day that changed my life forever. It was the day I overdosed while driving and hit another vehicle head on at 55mph which led to a chain of events that put me where I am today. I don’t recall much of the day from actual memory. I’ve only put together pieces that have been told to me. The wreck was so severe that the following morning I was told to prepare myself for manslaughter charges as they didn’t expect the victim to survive. Thankfully he did. A month later I was arrested at 1:00 in the morning. The charge, a felony OWI causing serious bodily injury. Despite the fact I’d never been in trouble prior had no impact whatsoever. The judge showed no mercy and sentenced me to 18 months in prison, followed by a year on house arrest and then 18 months probation. Time for me dragged on because up till that point, I had never been away from my 5 year old son, not even for a day. I remember calling home from the maximum security prison which was Rockville Department of corrections facility that I was in and talking to my son. To him the 3 months I had left felt like four years. It shattered my heart to know I had hurt my son so bad. I knew when I was released no matter what, I had to do better. The day of my release I was surprised by my family when my mother, my grandmother and my son came to pick me up. The Sargent who escorted me out looked at me as I had tears flowing down my face once I grabbed my son up for a hug and said, “Don’t ever forget this feeling and you’ll never come back.” I nodded and said, “I won’t.” To this day I’ve kept that promise to him and my son. Looking back now I know that wreck ultimately saved my life. Had it not been for that and my promise to my son I don’t think I’d have maintained being able to abstained from heroine use. This November marked 9 years of sobriety from it for me. In my eyes, even though detained, it was in those prison walls I found freedom from such a horrible drug. It also taught me that it doesn’t matter what happens to us in life. What matters is how we react and use it to become a better person than before. It’s taught me to show compassion when others won’t. That I believe will go along way in my choice to pursue my psychology degree. To maybe help another from straying down a path similar to mine. Which ultimately is my goal.

I’ve chosen to study and achieve my degree in psychology due to several reasons. However, for as long as I’ve seen there was a difference in myself and others ability to hear, I’ve had one career path in mind, to do Counselling /psychiatrist for the hearing impaired. I’m fascinated by the human mind and what makes people so different and react so differently to similar things. So if you mix that with my genuine love of helping other people it will would seem this is the perfect field. Yet with so many choosing to study this career choice I wanted to stand out and truly make a difference. When I was younger and attended campus college it didn’t take long for me to drop out because of my hearing being a huge barrier for me. In fact, due to never being able to afford them, I’ve never had hearing aids so while I learned at a young age to read lips college classrooms weren’t possible and nobody knew sign language because of that I taught my son to sign before he was a year old. So with so many knowing very little of sign language, the language barrier that the hearing impaired is isolating, frustrating and at times, extremely depressing. I know this first hand. Throughout school and even day to day life I find my hearing impairment to be a huge source of heartache for me. If they aren’t taking advantage of the fact I’m unable to hear then they will get annoyed or frustrated by it. I’ve often times been told by partners I choose not to hear when in reality, more than anything I wish I could. However, the tinnitus I experience daily changes the degree of hearing I have daily, leaving me just as frustrated as anyone else. So much so I had began to isolate and thus causing my depression to become more severe. I turned to drugs after dropping out of campus college as an escape that never quite helped me to escape. It only led to darker, more isolated tunnels of life. So it is one of my childhood career choices to be a counselor or psychiatrist who specializes in deaf clients. We need the same mental health treatment anyone else gets and we deserve someone who can communicate effectively with us. After all we are human and when you feel as separated from even family as we do, having that conversation with someone in the mental health field can make a world of difference in the lives of so many like myself. I hope also to one day start up a foundation to help others, like myself, who can’t afford hearing aids have the ability to receive them. At 36, I’ve yet to obtain hearing aids due to finances however, I believe one day maybe I will be able to help someone, (even if only one), get the gift of hearing.

I’m an “air force” brat. My father was an aircraft mechanic all through my early childhood. This gave me a lot of worldly experience but it also let me into what I believe is an elite club due to being one of the military children. I don’t remember much of my father’s military experience. I remember traveling from place to place. I remember living in other countries such as japan. While I can’t say being a military brat has played a part in my choice of degree, I can say going back to school did. My father wanted me to continue my education more than anything in order to leave the street life I had become so accustomed to nothing but a distant memory. He passed away in my home in April of 2021 after a 4 year battle with cancer. Just prior to his passing he bought me a computer he thought I would be able to use for school, asking that I get my degree. So I made the agreement I would. He always told me I would be good at my psychology because of my fascination with human behavior and my ability to be empathetic to others and understanding of there needs. However, taking care of him at the time was my top priority and nothing else. So the computer sat on a shelf and did nothing more than collect dust. At that time I didn’t make enrolling a priority. I didn’t realize just how little time I had left with him. I wish now I would of realized because more than anything I wanted my father to see me complete college. Yet now, I know he will watch from above and still smile proudly when I complete my degree. While the compute still sits there on its shelf, it is a reminder to me of my fathers wish, that I complete school and move back to the west coast where in his words, “It’s the happiest he has ever seen me.”. I use it as a motivation for times when I feel incompetent or want to give up. So while I can’t say that being the daughter of a veteran is what shaped my career choice, ultimately it is what shaped my choice to go back to college and finish my degree. To honor my father who believed in me more than anyone in this world.

One of my earliest memories from life is waking up to getting hit by a piece of a race car track when I was around 6 or 7 years old. My uncle, whom we lived with at the time, was drunk off whiskey again. With strict rules in our home the children were to be in bed and asleep by 8:00 pm or punishment would be given. Depending on the state of mind frame the adults were in would depend on the severity of punishment. All my life substance abuse has played a huge role. Whether it was my grandparents, aunts an uncles or even myself. As the N.A program says, “A drug is a drug, regardless of what it is.” Alcoholism, pill addiction, and then me, who became addicted to heroine and meth. There isn’t much I haven’t seen. I grew up in the local bars and bowling alleys often having to sleep in a car for the night because the adults would be far to drunk to drive home. I came to despise Christmas and other holidays because in our home it simply meant another visit from the cops due to domestic violence. To this day I despise bowling alleys. I swore I would never be like them. I would never become a drunk and be as my family had. I would be the one to break the cycle. In part I did, only instead of alcohol, I became addicted to drugs. I used for several years eventually becoming an IV user of heroine until October 9th 2013 changed my life for good. This was the day I overdosed the first (and only time) while driving and hit another car head on at 55 miles an hour. I have no memory of the event. My mind has simply pieced together things I’ve been told by first responders and others who remember it well. Ultimately, a month later this event would land me in jail for the first time and then prison where I did 9 months for OWI causing serious bodily injury. However, November 25th 2013 was a blessing for me, because even though it was the day I got incarcerated, it’s also the day that got me sober from heroine. I haven’t touched it again even now, 9 years later. I always knew I wanted to help people and being empathetic has a lot to do with it. After a stint in rehab in 2019 due to meth use I realized how much it meant that the entire staff not only cared, but could relate as they to were all addicts in recovery. My choice to go to that last rehab center was of my own. I had no legal trouble. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Through attending that program and growing up in the abusive environment fueled by addiction I decided I wanted to make a difference in the lives of children like myself. The ones society overlooks, or judges without knowing the facts behind the doors which they must live. I want to make a difference in the lives of high-risk youth, showing them that while we may not choose where our path of life begins, we do ultimately choose where it ends. We don’t have to be products of our environment. We can break the cycle and create a better life for ourselves. I’ve chosen to pursue a degree in psychology and maybe one day be able to help a child such as myself, them they can see what I did and continue to make the change for others.

April 22nd 2022 was a day that altered my life forever. It’s the day my father passed away from cancer in my home. A day I knew was coming yet came all too soon. Growing up I have no good memories of my father. Truth be told he was a man I had so much hatred for that I didn’t even want him to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I wouldn’t even call him dad. When I spoke to him I referred to him by his name or as “sperm donor”. To others that seems cruel however to me it was appropriate. After all, most my childhood was spent without him and on rare occasions i did speak with him it was nothing but lies and false promises of when he would see me. Yet in my early adulthood I slowly allowed him back into my life. While I still held so much anger and resentment towards him I followed his wish and named my oldest son after him yet our relationship was far from healed. April 1 2017 I received the phone call my father had cancer. I rushed to his side to take care of him and then, in that moment is when true healing began and we slowly started building a new relationship. My dad went through chemo amazingly and then it was followed by surgery to remove his lung which didn’t fare so well. The equipment used during surgery malfunctioned and a week later his bronchial tube came open into his chest cavity where he almost died in my arms. Rushed back to the hospital he was placed on life support after 16 hours of surgery to repair the damage. He was given a 5% chance of living. A month later just two days shy of Christmas my father came home, very much alive and although he had changed we were blessed that he was with us still. However, it would only buy us a few more years. In April of 2020 I received the call cancer had returned only this time in his colon. Chemo therapy this round made him so sick he ended up hospitalized for a month due to malnutrition. Upon his release I made him come live with me. He gave chemotherapy another try only to be hospitalized yet again within a week. I begged him to stop the treatments. As time progressed the cancer spread and with a few months he would passed away in my home with my brother an I there. However just prior to his death he made me promise no matter what his little girl would be okay when he was gone. So I did. See, in those years of taking care of him the bond I always wanted had formed. Yet time ended it to quick. Losing my father left a wound that will never heal but it also helped me gain the woman I am today. The woman who has the confidence in herself to chase her dreams at almost 40 years old. In losing him, I gained myself and the ability to believe in me as he did. I am his legacy and I know when I graduate he’ll be right there with me smiling proudly saying that’s my baby girl, even if I can’t see him I know he’s there always. I am and will always be his baby girl but now I’m becoming a woman he would be so proud of.

To everything theres a season or so it seems they say. A season to be born, a season to live, and then one is at rest where we will forever lay. Yet in between all these lie even more of them. For everyone that we meet and every path we cross, will reveal to us a season, a lesson or blessing of love we all become teachers and if willing to, the students. All paths intertwined as if it seems by fate yet ultimately it's our own choice as to which path we should take a split in our path the fork in the road to ourselves we must question which way should we go one is well-worn from The Travelers that choose a life of hard lessons the easiest path to go the other Less Traveled going against the grain yet with hard work and dedication there's so much still to gain as we come to these Crossings with all those that we meet we must choose who to let go of and who we will keep these lessons the hardest of any we face the love of another is God Saving Grace yet like everything else the seasons must end each ending is painful the lessons never end yet within each one will find if you have the strength to look as each holds a blessing a lesson we can take no ending should ever be seen as a loss as long as we keep them in all paths that we cross sometimes they teach us hard bitter truths yet sometimes we strike gold as we receive blessings so true so as our Seasons come to an end always remember one thing everything has potential as long as we keep within our mind that with each ending of seasons a new one will dawn.

Slowly over time, I've seen the sparkle of joy in my son's bright blue eyes that I loved so dearly disappear. Looking through his photos throughout the years you can watch him change so drastically till at the age of 9, he attempted suicide for the first time. Receiving the phone call from his school that he had attempted it by stabbing himself in the chest with scissors was one of many devastating calls I’ve taken in the last 5 years. Yet given that the mental health field is all about reaction rather than pro-action, it would take two more years and several acts of violence later for my son to be placed in a unit and evaluated. The phone call that would lead to his hospitalization was the most devastating one yet. He had choked my autistic nephew to the point of being almost unconscious. My son had never turned his violence upon any other person till then. He was moved from defense to offense because of his unwillingness to tackle other kids in football for fear of hurting them. I was in complete shock and disbelief because he had always directed it at himself. He still doesn't have the greatest recollection of the event even now, almost 3 years later. Yet by the age of 9, I saw the spark I loved so dearly disappear from his eyes. He's battled many rounds of depression, we've gone through case managers like crazy and I've learned his psychosis cycles well. He’s now 13, and he struggles academically, socially, and emotionally. His father is incarcerated until well after his 18th birthday which is his biggest trigger. Also, he’s been “unofficially” diagnosed as schizoaffective with depressive tendencies. That’s what he is treated for. I hope that given his struggle to see the positive in himself and the strengths he possesses, if I go back to college (which I’ve been accepted into and will attend Grand Canyon) and complete my degree in the field I’m good at, then just maybe I can show him no what where we start, or what hand we are dealt, it’s up to us where we finish as I also suffered from mental health issues throughout my lifetime and at times have been suicidal. Especially in my younger years. I am due to graduate college just months before his high school graduation. It’s my dream to see both diplomas hanging side by side one day and to be able to say we did it and nothing stopped us. Over the last few years, we’ve endured hospitalization on the unit, appointment after appointment for his psychological wellness, 6 different case managers, 2 wraparound stints, and much more. Then on top of it, we’ve endured my best friend (who he called his aunt) being brutally murdered, my father passing in our home, and my ex becoming physically abusive toward me in front of my son which led to him going to prison, me filing divorce and my children and I moving into a homeless shelter for battered women. Yet it’s never kept us down. Despite living in a shelter I managed to scrape money together for my son to go to the national football tournament last year in Tennessee where his team placed first in the national division, finishing out their last peewee season with the greatest win you can achieve. Also despite being in a shelter my children and I have become happy again, and close as a family. We aren’t where we want to be yet but every step taken is a step toward doing that. I hope one day when my son looks in the mirror he sees the same amazing person I do when I look at him, but until then I intend to lead by example and show him it’s never too late to change the ending of your life story.

“I love you baby girl.” Those words will never leave me. They are forever engraved within my mind in my dads hoarse whisper. A stint on life support had left his vocal chords partially paralyzed on the left side, in turn causing him to not be able to talk about a whisper level. On April 1st 2017 I received a phone call anyone dreads. My father was diagnosed with lung cancer. They had found a tumor and soon he underwent chemotherapy followed by surgery to remove his left lung. It only bought us 4 more years. Still it was more time with him. However, in April of 2020 I received the call cancer had come back with a vengeance and was now in his colon. He immediately began chemo again only to become so sick and malnourished that he was hospitalized for a month. After his hospitalization I made him leave his place and come home to live with me. He was far to weak to take care of himself. We have chemo another try and after a week I begged him to stop. It was killing him faster then the cancer. He was so sick for throwing up and aspirating it into his lung that he couldn’t stand or do anything without help. So he stopped finally after another round of hospitalization due to aspiration pneumonia. In time he gained some strength again and on the rare times he had enough to venture anywhere he made me make him a promise. He made me promise that no matter what, when he passed away I would be okay. I would continue to live my life to the fullest for myself and my boys in honor of him and so I made that promise. In our family promises are binding contracts. So he knew by making me promise I would have to follow through, no matter what. As time went on my dad became weaker and weaker and I knew time was running out. However, I didn’t realize just how little was left. On April 22nd 2021 my mother woke me up because my dad was throwing up so much blood. I’d been an EMT and firefighter years prior and still had never seen so much blood. I knew it was bad. I called my brother and the hospice nurse, demanding they both get there immediately. For the next few hours I watched my father slowly fade and even then it wasn’t hitting home what was happening. The nurse called in pain medicine and nerve medicine to help him. I volunteered to go get it just to get out of the house because in all his years a battling this demon they call cancer I never let my father see me cry and god knew I needed to at that point. I leaned over kissed my dad on his forehead and promised that I’d be back. I told him I loved him. He whispered back and said, “I love you to baby girl.”. The words that brought so much comfort to me throughout the years. Especially given my father and my roller coaster of a relationship. I didn’t even get 5 minutes down the road when my mom called and said I needed to get back home. In my gut I already knew. When I pulled in I seen everyone standing on the porch. I asked, “Is daddy gone?!” My brother hung his head in response. So much anger flew through me I started punching and kicking anything in reach. I was so mad. I wanted my daddy. The little girl in me wanted it to all be a dream. It wasn’t. The next few weeks were a blue and since I have battled with severe depression and anxiety. Then I remembered that promise I made my father. I would always be okay. Since he passed I’ve matured in a huge way. I’m now working full time raising my two boys alone. I chose to go back to school and complete my degree to better myself for my kids, and for myself. Also, it was the one thing my father wanted from me. So much he bought me a computer right before he passed which I’m unable to use but hold on to. While my dads passing was the greatest pain I’ve ever known, it was also the most positive life alteration for me. Without losing him I would ever of gained myself or the ability to believe in myself. So it’s in honor of my father I begin college again at almost 40 years old and it will be in honor of him when I receive my bachelor degree.

My son at the age of 9 attempted suicide for the first time. Receiving that phone call from his school that he had attempted it by stabbing himself in the chest with scissors was one of many devastating calls I’ve taken in the last 4 years. Yet given that the mental health field is all about reaction rather than pro action, it would take two more years and several acts of violence later for my son to be placed on a unit and evaluated. Yet at the age of 9 I seen the spark I loved so dearly disappear from his eyes. Fast forward and he’s now 13, he struggles academically, socially and emotionally. His father is incarcerated until well after his 18th birthday and he’s been “unofficially” diagnosed as schizoeffective with depression tendencies. That’s what he is treated for. My hope is that given his struggle to see positive in himself and strengths he posses, that if I go back to college (which I’ve been accepted in and will attend Grand Canyon) and complete my degree in the field I’m good at, then just maybe I can show him no what where we start, it’s up to us where we finish. I am due to graduate college just months prior to his high school graduation. It’s my dream to see both diplomas hanging side by side one day and to be able to say we did it and nothing stopped us. Over the last few years we’ve endured hospitalization on the unit, appointments after appointment for his psychological wellness, 6 different case managers, 2 wraparound stints, and much more. Then on top of it we’ve endured my best friend (who he called his aunt) being brutally murdered, my father passing in our home, my ex becoming physically abusive toward me in front of my son which led to him going to prison (not his father), me filing divorce and my children and I moving into a homeless shelter for battered women. Yet it’s never kept us down. Despite living in a shelter I managed to scrape money together for my son to go to the national football tournament last year in Tennessee where his team placed first in the national division, finishing out their last peewee season with the greatest win you can achieve. Also despite being in a shelter my children and I have become happy again, and close as a family. We aren’t where we want to be yet but every is a step towards doing that. I hope one day when my son looks in the mirror he sees the same amazing person I do when I look at him, but until then i intend to lead by example and show him it’s never to late to change the ending of your life story.