Mental health has always been a tricky subject in my life. As a person of color, mental health wasn't thought about or talked about, it's always just been "drink some water", "take a walk", and old reliable "It's that damn phone!" I've been struggling with mental health since I was only 8 years old. I was suffering from constant abuse ranging from verbal to sexual. No one was there for me, no one believed me. People in my life will use the excuse that I was a liar, but accusations of sexual abuse should've still been investigated, but no one wants to take accountability. It got so bad that I tried to take my own life at just 10 years old. The school counselor somehow found out and later revealed what I attempted to my dad. When he found out he wouldn't even talk to me, and ironically enough, my abusers told me they didn't even want me at the house anymore, concerned that I would "spread my depression". I was then softly kicked out a year later to live with my mom in Hawaii, but the damage was done. I was a total wreck, hypersexual, angry, scared of touch, and the feelings of guilt and shame were so overwhelming, and I didn't know why. I felt like I had no passion, no calling, and no reason to live. When I turned 13, everything hit me, all that I went through was abuse, which further made me blame myself even more. I thought I deserved to feel this way because everything that happened to me was my fault, causing my second suicide attempt, and leaving me hospitalized. That's when I came clean to my mom about everything, and the journey to recovery in that aspect of my life had started. I gained an amazing team of therapists and people who believed in me and what I could do, and who didn't think I was crazy. I was finally being heard, but not everything was healed. Recovery takes time, especially for kids who went through years of neglect and abuse. I was a gullible abused kid, a kid who fell for the words "I love you" even if they weren't true. I was groomed multiple times by men online before my mom found out and confronted me, threatening to take the source of love away, love that I didn't feel often in my old home. I then had another suicide attempt, this time not just leaving me in the hospital, but now transported to a mental asylum. I was terrified. The movies in the media made it seem like a crazy place full of dangerous people, but the people weren't like that at all, they were just like me, alone, sad, and scared. Being in the mental hospital gave me a new perspective and appreciation for my life in the present, as so many people still struggle alone. When I came home, I started reflecting on my life, and I realized that I didn't want to be a victim for the rest of my life. I want my story to mean something, for my suffering to not be for granted. My experiences made me realize who I want to be, and become the person I deserved when I was little. I've changed a lot, from feeling like I had no passion, to having a passion to help those out of similar situations. Now I use my story as a success story, then a burden, and I'm proud of who I turned out to be, and I'm sure little me is too.