Most people have the security of knowing that their dad is there for them - that he will be there to help them with their math homework, that there will be a seat for him at their graduation, or that he will be walking them down the aisle on their wedding day. I had all of that security up until January 6th, 2020, when my dad took his own life. After years of struggling with treatment-resistant depression, my dad mistakenly thought that his only option after one particularly difficult day was to end his own life. He thought that his family would be better off without him, but he could never have been more wrong. Despite all of the years I watched my dad struggle with depression, the thought of my dad not being there for me never was really a possibility to me until it became a reality. I never truly understood the struggles my dad faced on a daily basis because I was a kid, and I was a kid who was not going through anything like he was. When I saw my dad struggle to get out of bed and not act like his usual happy, joyful self with that wide smile of his, I just thought to myself that he was my dad, so he would get over this bump in the road - he could do anything. But I was like most people before my dad died, and didn’t understand how depression truly worked. I did not realize that depression is a real illness - not something that people can just control with an on and off switch. I did not know that depression makes people think irrationally, that it makes people stop acting like themselves, or that depression was capable of ripping away all sense of safety and security from a twelve year old girl. That bitter January day was the day I realized, as cliche as it sounds, that tomorrow is not a guarantee. We as humans never know when or if all certainty in our lives will be taken from us in a split second. I am now a girl that cannot ask her dad for help with homework, that will not have her dad at graduation, and will not have her dad walking her down the aisle at her wedding. I am strong because my dad is no longer here to save me. It is not an adversity that I can directly overcome - it is an adversity that I must choose to overcome every single day. Through everything I have experienced, it was almost natural to me that I pursue a path in clinical psychology. My dad, among many others, were failed by the mental health field. I am determined to make a change and doing whatever it takes to ensure that people who struggle with depression, or any mental illness, are taken seriously. More research must be done to explore how we can treat the 1 in 5 adults that have a mental illness in the United States, to ensure that no one else goes through the pain that I go through every day. It takes a great amount of school and a lot of determination, but I am all in.

On a sunny fall day, I was sitting upstairs in my bedroom watching videos on my laptop when I heard a “thud” downstairs. Naturally, any person would have brushed this off, but I was a small seventh grader who was home alone. Luckily, my dad was just over at my grandparents’ house, who lived about a four minute drive from my house, but he did not have his car. So as any selfless dad would do, he walked twenty-five minutes in the cold fall air to come and save me, all to find that the “person in the house” was a bag of candy that had fallen off of the counter. He walked up to my room and found my window cracked slightly open, and peeked his head out to see a scared twelve year old me curled up on my roof. That day my dad saved me from absolutely nothing, yet at the same time reassured me that he would always be there for me. Just a few months later, however, I found that my dad would not always be there for me. Most people have the security of knowing that their dad is there for them - that there will be a seat for him at their graduation, that he will be walking them down the aisle on their wedding day, or that he will be there to save them when a bag of candy falls on the ground. I had all of that security up until January 6th, 2020, when my dad took his own life. After years of struggling with treatment-resistant depression, my dad thought that his only option after one particularly difficult day was to end his own life. He thought that his family would be better off without him, but he could never have been more wrong. Despite all of the years I watched my dad struggle with depression, the thought of my dad not being there for me never was really a possibility to me until it became a reality. I never truly understood the struggles my dad faced on a daily basis because I was a kid who was not going through anything like he was. When I saw my dad struggle to get out of bed and not act like his usual happy self with that wide smile of his, I just thought to myself that he was my dad, so he would get over this bump in the road - he could do anything. But I was like most people before my dad died, and didn’t understand how depression truly worked. I did not realize that depression is a real illness - not something that people can just control with an on and off switch. I did not know that depression makes people think irrationally, that it makes people stop acting like themselves, or that depression was capable of ripping away all sense of safety and security from a twelve year old girl. That bitter January day was the day I realized, as cliche as it sounds, that tomorrow is not a guarantee. We as humans never know when or if all certainty in our lives will be taken from us in a split second. I am now a girl that cannot ask her dad for help with homework, that will not have her dad at graduation, will not have her dad walking her down the aisle at her wedding, and cannot have my dad rescue me if another bag of candy falls. I am strong because my dad is no longer here to save me.

"You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket, but rather on a lampstand, and it gives light for all who are in the house." (Matthew 5:14) Had I been asked what the significance of Christ's Sermon on the Mount was, say, two or three years ago, I would have laughed. I grew up in a Catholic household, but honestly I did not care to make time for God after I lost my dad to suicide in 2020, when I was twelve. His death was unexpected and changed my life in just about every way possible. I went from being the oldest child of a 'normal', middle-class family with two parents to an oldest child of a 'troubled' family of a single mother who now had to do everything on her own. Making time for God was of the least of my concern - in fact I wanted nothing to do with Him. In my eyes, He took my dad away from me. How could I be a 'light' in the eyes of God when all I felt was complete darkness? Somehow, God did not give up on me - and He still isn't. I decided in October of 2020, about eight months after my dad died, to enroll at Seton High School. This was a huge deal for me, as I had gone to Oak Hills schools all of my life and had never even considered going to a Catholic school. My family teased me and I honestly would second guess myself and think: "Why would I of all people go to a Catholic school? When was the last time I even went to Mass?" God did not fail me, though. Going to Seton was the best, and most unexplainable decision I have ever made. It not only led me back to my faith, but also gave me the tools to deepen my connection with God. I have been able to make the most amazing of friends, who have helped me get through my lowest of times. And, I have truly been able to help people who have been in my own shoes or who have been in similar situations as I have, by getting connected with 1n5 (nonprofit dedicated to suicide prevention) with friends that I have made at Seton. With 1n5, I have joined a group called the Youth Council for Suicide Prevention, in which teens all across Cincinnati meet at Xavier University to discuss the mental health crisis and explore ways to promote awareness of suicide and mental illness. This, along with other volunteering opportunities that I have been given through Seton, has really pushed me to pursue a career in clinical psychology, so that I can do research about mental health, and directly counsel patients who need support. It is a job that requires a great amount of dedication and time, but I know that God has been leading me to this path. Had I not been able to grow in my relationship with God, I would not understand that Matthew 5:14 is a message from God that He sees value and worth in each one of us. We are His light. This verse has quite literally been a reminder for me to always help people find their light that God sees in all of us. When people struggle with their mental health, it can be really hard to help someone find their light. But, God wants us to remember to see it in every single person.

Not Too Late For Change "Is it Daddy?" I instinctively asked my mom, who was in a state that I had never imagined I would see her in. She could not breathe or talk. I have never in my life seen someone so heartbroken. "Is he dead?" I asked again. Deep down, my twelve year old mind already knew the answer, but I would not accept it to be true. My dad was not “sick”. By most standards, there was absolutely no reason for me to assume that by the way my mom was shaking and crying that my dad was dead. He did not have cancer; he was not in the hospital; he was fine. At least, that is what I told myself. He. Was. Fine. That is what everyone knew to be true. He was my dad, why wouldn’t he be? Yet, in reality I knew my dad was dead before my mom could even get herself to shake her head “yes” because of the fear that always lived in the back of my mind; the fear that had been there since a day only a little over a year prior to this. On this day in November of 2018, I watched my dad hold a knife to his throat. It was on this day that I not only realized the severity of my dad’s depression, but it became clear to me that he needed more help than what he was getting. My mom spent so much time and effort trying to find doctors that could get him on a medication that would actually work, and tried finding him a doctor that actually cared. But she never could. Why? No one, including doctors, ever think that their patients will actually ever end their own life. Everyone has this perception until it is too late. It was too late on January 6th, 2020, when my dad ended his life. Every day since has been an uphill battle, and I would be a liar if I ever said that I was fully healed. Losing someone to suicide is so uniquely painful. The loss of my dad and the grief accompanying it gave my depression more things to work with, by making me ask myself questions, such as: “Did he ever even love me?” and “What should I have done differently?” or “How could I have prevented this?”. These thoughts would circle my mind for quite some time after having initially lost my dad. I would blame myself for his death, and question everything I had ever known about my life with him. The belittling of myself did nothing but add on to the inconceivable amount of stress and sadness I was feeling at this time. After time I was eventually able to realize that I was not the one who failed my dad, but it was the world who had failed him. Though it is too late for my dad, it is not for others. I can still prevent others from feeling the pain I felt and the pain my dad had gone through. Studying psychology would allow me to not only better understand the brain, but to gain the facts to be able to truly destigmatize mental health, so that people never feel as though the world does not understand them. I want to help people realize that suicide should never be the option, and I want the world to realize that we do not show as much support or love as we may think. It is never too late to save someone.

Not Too Late For Change "Is it Daddy?" I instinctively asked my mom, who was in a state that I had never imagined I would see her in. She could not breathe or talk. I have never in my life seen someone so heartbroken. "Is he dead?" I asked again. Deep down, my twelve year old mind already knew the answer, but I would not accept it to be true. My dad was not “sick”. By most standards, there was absolutely no reason for me to assume that by the way my mom was shaking and crying that my dad was dead. He did not have cancer; he was not in the hospital; he was fine. At least, that is what I told myself. He. Was. Fine. That is what everyone knew to be true. He was my dad, why wouldn’t he be? Yet, in reality I knew my dad was dead before my mom could even get herself to shake her head “yes” because of the fear that always lived in the back of my mind; the fear that had been there since a day only a little over a year prior to this. On this day in November of 2018, I watched my dad hold a knife to his throat. It was on this day that I not only realized the severity of my dad’s depression, but it became clear to me that he needed more help than what he was getting. My mom spent so much time and effort trying to find doctors that could get him on a medication that would actually work, and tried finding him a doctor that actually cared. But she never could. Why? No one, including doctors, ever think that their patients will actually ever end their own life. Everyone has this perception until it is too late. It was too late on January 6th, 2020, when my dad ended his life. Every day since has been an uphill battle, and I would be a liar if I ever said that I was fully healed. Losing someone to suicide is so uniquely painful. The loss of my dad and the grief accompanying it gave my depression more things to work with, by making me ask myself questions, such as: “Did he ever even love me?” and “What should I have done differently?” or “How could I have prevented this?”. These thoughts would circle my mind for quite some time after having initially lost my dad. I would blame myself for his death, and question everything I had ever known about my life with him. The belittling of myself did nothing but add on to the inconceivable amount of stress and sadness I was feeling at this time. After time I was eventually able to realize that I was not the one who failed my dad, but it was the world who had failed him. Though it is too late for my dad, it is not for others. I can still prevent others from feeling the pain I felt and the pain my dad had gone through. Studying psychology would allow me to not only better understand the brain, but to gain the facts to be able to truly destigmatize mental health, so that people never feel as though the world does not understand them. I want to help people realize that suicide should never be the option, and I want the world to realize that we do not show as much support or love as we may think. It is never too late to save someone.