In the beginning of my sixth grade, my mother abruptly passed away. She had committed suicide at just 36 years old. Following the path my mother set out for her kids, my sister had made an attempt to take her life soon after. My father had then began seeing this woman, who threatened to hit me everyday. She called me fat and compared every meal I ate, to that of a starving homeless child. I struggled with my weight because of this. I saw myself as a useless person who just wastes time, money, food, and effort. I harmed myself for years, digging myself deeper into the hole of depression. This affected me in so many ways, nothing has been the same since. In the midst of my freshman and sophomore years of high school, my mental health suffered a steep decline which affected my school life. I couldn’t focus on my classes or assignments, nothing seemed important anymore. I was trying to fill that feeling of emptiness and despair with whatever I could. During my junior year, I sought for help. I began therapy, I began focusing on my education. I started working for my youth group and at a local fast food chain to give myself a reason to get out of bed in the mornings. I started playing clarinet and marching in my school’s marching band. I built a support group around me filled with people that still have my back to this day. I tried to pick up all the pieces that I had lost, to put myself back together again. I figured out what I wanted to do with my life because of the mental struggles I conquered and witnessed. I have decided that I wanted to become a therapist, so that I could help kids like me. Kids down on luck who just need a place to go, who just need a safe space and to be told that it is okay to feel hurt inside sometimes. There are so many children suffering in America that don’t receive the mental help that they need. Suicide rates in teens are through the roof cause none of them feel safe enough to wanted enough in the world. I want to tell my story of hope, I want to guide younger generations into leading a fulfilled, joyful, meaningful future. I hope that I can one day provide the safe space and support that my therapist once provided for me.

Growing up, my mother and all of my siblings struggled deeply with mental health, as do I. My mother sadly lost her battle in 2018 and took her own life. I was barely even 12 years old at the time, my sister was 17, my brother was 19, and my oldest brother was about to turn 23. I had no support group when that happened, nobody to help me, nobody to believe me when I felt bad. I was alone and desperate, when my father finally put me in therapy. I’ve decided that’s what I want to do with my life. I want to be a therapist and help kids who need it, because not everything is black and white. Adults aren’t the only ones who can have mental disorders or struggles. That’s all I was told growing up, that my feelings weren’t real because I was “too young.” I want every child I help guide to understand that their feelings and emotions are valid and understood. That no child is helpless. There is always someone out there who can help kids, for there are far too many cases of suicide and self harm for kids and teens in todays world.

Growing up, my big sister was in and out of the city's mental hospital due to suicide attempts. One night, I saw her laying in a pool of her own blood on the kitchen floor. I watched the ambulance take her away as I sat and cried, fearing for my sister's life. Soon after her last visit to the mental hospital, our mother committed suicide when I was just 11 years old. I felt as though it was all my fault. Maybe if I had hugged her tighter or spent more time with her, she would have stayed. My mother struggled with drug use my whole life, which is why my father had full custody of my siblings and I. At the time of my mother's death, I no way to cope and neither did my sister. We relied on each other for years after, and she was the first person I went to for help when I started harming myself. I would starve for days until I felt like I deserved to eat, I would scar my thighs, stomach, breasts, and wrists, and I would drink myself to sleep every night. I was just 14 years old at the time. During the second semester of my freshman year, I admitted my problem with alcohol, vaping, and self harm to my father- who then called me crazy and accused me of just trying to be like my sister. So I had gone to my eldest brother for help, who confided in me for the first time in my life. He was just like me. Him, my sister, and I had all had the same experience with struggling for our mental health. I grew close with my brother and sister, and my father finally put me in therapy. At the time of writing this, I have been in therapy for almost 3 years. I can proudly say that I have never felt better in my mental health. I am not constantly dreaming of my death, nor do I let myself go hungry. I am proud of where I am, and I am proud of the story that brought me here. Mental health is something that's been important to me my whole life, especially because of the up close and personal battles that I have first handedly witnessed and been through. I hope of one day becoming a therapist and helping kids like me. I want to help those who had no other hope, I want to make sure that nobody ever feels alone in their battles with mental health.