"F--k", I whisper to myself, as the school principal calls me out into the hall. I knew this was coming, so why is my heart still beating out of my chest? She says that we're simply going to "take a walk", but I know better. We "take a walk" all the way to the nurses office, and I feel my heart plummet. In front of me is the principal, a social worker, the nurse, and my school counselor. They know. The nurse asks, and I roll my sleeve up, revealing a deep gash that honestly should have gotten stitches. She gently bandages my arm, and we head to the principal's office. She explains my options-she calls my mom, or I call my mom. Not exactly a wealth of options if I'm being honest. She ends up calling my mom, who drives straight to the school. While we wait for her, the friends who reported my SH come in, looking upset and worried, but ultimately happy for me. They finally knew that I would be getting the help I needed. When my mom gets there, I break down and tell her everything-the SH, the food issues, the suicide attempts-and she looks heartbroken. Almost as soon as the car stops, the phone calls start. One to her friend (a psych nurse), one to a leader at my church (the director of counseling), and countless to different doctors offices, trying to find anyone who could fit me in anytime soon. Later, as I'm sitting with my mom, I feel the familiar lump rise in my throat. Then the tears start. And they don't stop. When I can finally speak again, I ask feebly "How can I be sure this isn't just what life is supposed to be? What is my fate?”. Her eyes welled up with tears, something I almost never saw. She just…looked at me. I could tell that I had hurt her. From that moment on, we both made a silent promise to do everything we could to help me never feel like this again. Now, we talk all the time, and she checks on me regularly. Even though I know how much this hurt her, I’m glad that she now knows, and we’re able to start repairing our relationship, one day at a time. I wouldn’t say that my mental illnesses have suddenly been cured, knowing that I have the support of those around me has changed my life, and I hope to do the same for others. My poor mental health has led me to abandon or give up on many relationships, most of which I've still been unable to repair. When my mental health gets bad, the last thing I care about is keeping up with my friends, but that doesn't make them give up on me. When I was at my lowest, my friends were there, and did for me what I couldn't do for myself. This showed me that despite my lack of perfection, they were there for me, even when I wasn't there for them. Sometimes, I am not the best of friends, and honestly, I can be a bad one too. But what I've learned is that so long as I recognize that, and own up to it, it's all gonna work out fine. And when my friends aren't doing well, I'm sure to check up on them. My mental health has also greatly influenced the careers for which I want to go into. I realized that unfortunately my mental health cannot handle being in school for much longer than getting my bachelors degree. Due to this, I changed what I was intending to do, which was originally law, to a small business major. This will allow me to be much more in control of my life, something that my anxiety will likely demand for as long as I live. Despite this though, my passion for law has gone nowhere, I simply realized that in order to keep myself mentally healthy, I cannot pursue this career, or any others that require lengthy schooling. Overall, my experiences with my metal health have taught me that it's okay to be gentle with yourself, and you shouldn't try to push yourself past your limits. Everyone messes up, and ultimately, that's what makes us human.

"F--k", I whisper to myself, as the school principal calls me out into the hall. I knew this was coming, so why is my heart still beating out of my chest? She says that we're simply going to "take a walk", but I know better. We "take a walk" all the way to the nurses office, and I feel my heart plummet. In front of me is the principal, a social worker, the nurse, and my school counselor. They know. The nurse asks, and I roll my sleeve up, revealing a deep gash that honestly should have gotten stitches. She gently bandages my arm, and we head to the principal's office. She explains my options-she calls my mom, or I call my mom. Not exactly a wealth of options if I'm being honest. She ends up calling my mom, who drives straight to the school. While we wait for her, the friends who reported my SH come in, looking upset and worried, but ultimately happy for me. They finally knew that I would be getting the help I needed. When my mom gets there, I break down and tell her everything-the SH, the food issues, the suicide attempts-and she looks heartbroken. Almost as soon as the car stops, the phone calls start. One to her friend (a psych nurse), one to a leader at my church (the director of counseling), and countless to different doctors offices, trying to find anyone who could fit me in anytime soon. Later, as I'm sitting with my mom, I feel the familiar lump rise in my throat. Then the tears start. And they don't stop. When I can finally speak again, I ask feebly "How can I be sure this isn't just what life is supposed to be? What is my fate?”. Her eyes welled up with tears, something I almost never saw. She just…looked at me. I could tell that I had hurt her. From that moment on, we both made a silent promise to do everything we could to help me never feel like this again. Now, we talk all the time, and she checks on me regularly. Even though I know how much this hurt her, I’m glad that she now knows, and we’re able to start repairing our relationship, one day at a time. I wouldn’t say that my mental illnesses have suddenly been cured, knowing that I have the support of those around me has changed my life, and I hope to do the same for others. My poor mental health has led me to abandon or give up on many relationships, most of which I've still been unable to repair. When my mental health gets bad, the last thing I care about is keeping up with my friends, but that doesn't make them give up on me. When I was at my lowest, my friends were there, and did for me what I couldn't do for myself. This showed me that despite my lack of perfection, they were there for me, even when I wasn't there for them. Sometimes, I am not the best of friends, and honestly, I can be a bad one too. But what I've learned is that so long as I recognize that, and own up to it, it's all gonna work out fine. And when my friends aren't doing well, I'm sure to check up on them. My mental health has also greatly influenced the careers for which I want to go into. I realized that unfortunately my mental health cannot handle being in school for much longer than getting my bachelors degree. Due to this, I changed what I was intending to do, which was originally law, to a small business major. This will allow me to be much more in control of my life, something that my anxiety will likely demand for as long as I live. Despite this though, my passion for law has gone nowhere, I simply realized that in order to keep myself mentally healthy, I cannot pursue this career, or any others that require lengthy schooling. Overall, my experiences with my metal health have taught me that it's okay to be gentle with yourself, and you shouldn't try to push yourself past your limits. Everyone messes up, and ultimately, that's what makes us human.

"F--k", I whisper to myself, as the school principal calls me out into the hall. I knew this was coming, so why is my heart still beating out of my chest? She says that we're simply going to "take a walk", but I know better. We "take a walk" all the way to the nurses office, and I feel my heart plummet. In front of me is the principal, a social worker, the nurse, and my school counselor. They know. The nurse asks, and I roll my sleeve up, revealing a deep gash that honestly should have gotten stitches. She gently bandages my arm, and we head to the principal's office. She explains my options-she calls my mom, or I call my mom. Not exactly a wealth of options if I'm being honest. She ends up calling my mom, who drives straight to the school. While we wait for her, the friends who reported my SH come in, looking upset and worried, but ultimately happy for me. They finally knew that I would be getting the help I needed. When my mom gets there, I break down and tell her everything-the SH, the food issues, the suicide attempts-and she looks heartbroken. Almost as soon as the car stops, the phone calls start. One to her friend (a psych nurse), one to a leader at my church (the director of counseling), and countless to different doctors offices, trying to find anyone who could fit me in anytime soon. Later, as I'm sitting with my mom, I feel the familiar lump rise in my throat. Then the tears start. And they don't stop. When I can finally speak again, I ask feebly "How can I be sure this isn't just what life is supposed to be? What is my fate?”. Her eyes well up with tears, something I almost never saw. She just…looked at me. I could tell that I had hurt her. From that moment on, we both made a silent promise to do everything we could to help me never feel like this again. Now, we talk all the time, and she checks on me regularly. I wouldn’t say that my mental illnesses have suddenly been cured, knowing that I have the support of those around me has changed my life, and I hope to do the same for others. While this experience was unpleasant, it forced me to get the help that I had been too scared to ask for on my own. A lot of the issues I had stemmed from an overwhelming amount of pressure, mainly related to school, that no kid should have to deal with. Because of this, I am spending my last year of high school conducting a research study that specifically aims to examine the correlation between high school student course-load, and their perceived stress levels. If my hypothesis is correct, as the number of high level courses a student takes increases, so do their perceived stress levels. I plan to use this information to present a plan to my high school's administration for how to better care for the mental well-being of these high achieving students, many of which suffer from at least one mental illness.