According to award-winning journalist Don Lemon, “You don’t have true freedom until you allow a diversity of opinion and a diversity of voices.” Lemon has championed this quote by being one of the few open, gay, Black men in the journalism industry. It perfectly sums up why freedom of expression, especially through art and writing, is so important to me. As an LGBT artist, I constantly see other voices in my community being silenced. Over time, I’ve learned to use my art to speak out about my experiences and to amplify the voices of others. When I first came out, I promised myself that I would never let other people stifle my voice, and that is the example I want to set for LGBT youth. Hearing others’ voices is just as important to me as having my voice heard, and I hope to promote freedom of expression among people who might be in the same place I was a few years ago. If I didn’t have examples of older LGBT people like Lemon, I would never have worked up the courage to express myself the way I do now. As Lemon says, before we can call ourselves free people, we have to promote diversity and allow a wide range of voices to express themselves freely.

When I was seven years old, I discovered I could read and ride a bicycle at the same time. That was my magnum opus at the time, the pinnacle of my reading hobby. Unfortunately, a bike-free summer swept that talent away, and I haven't managed to get it back. Since that fateful, talent-stealing day, I've sworn not to let any skill of mine dissipate. Another hobby I've kept since childhood is drawing—however, unlike my bookish bicycling, it was a hobby I practiced often. I spent most of my days doodling on printer paper, making what my tiny mind perceived as the next Starry Night, and in the ten years since I lost the ability to read and ride, art has evolved from a rainy-day pastime into my dream career path. Both my love for art and my long-lost multitasking talent have driven me to stay consistent and do what I love every day. Though I miss my literary bike rides, I wouldn't be the person I am or have the work ethic I have without losing that skill as a child.

When I was seven years old, I discovered I could read and ride a bicycle at the same time. That was my magnum opus at the time, the pinnacle of my talent. Unfortunately, a bike-free summer swept that talent away, and I haven't managed to get it back. Since that fateful, talent-stealing day, I've sworn not to let any skill of mine dissipate. Another talent I've had since childhood is drawing—however, unlike my bookish bicycling, it was a talent I practiced often. I spent most of my days doodling on printer paper, making what my tiny mind perceived as the next Starry Night, and in the ten years since I lost the ability to read and ride, art has evolved from a rainy-day pastime into my dream career path. Both my love for art and my long-lost multitasking talent have driven me to stay consistent and do what I love every day. Though I miss my literary bike rides, I wouldn't be the person I am or have the work ethic I have without losing that talent as a child.

We still have miles to go to fight homophobia and transphobia in America. As a transgender, bisexual person, I see bigotry everywhere, especially in the small Michigan town that I call home. There is little LGBT activism and representation in my area, and many people in my hometown are conservative and homophobic. Being an LGBT person myself, I know we have the right to have our voices be heard, and I want to help make that happen—in my local community and on a national scale. With my education, I plan to give LGBT people in my hometown the voice that they wouldn’t otherwise have. Art is the only universal language on the planet. It has helped connect people for centuries, and it has crossed barriers of language, distance, and time. It’s also been used for advocacy and activism since there was a need for such things: take, for example, the famous “Join or Die” political cartoon made to convince people to fight for America’s independence, which is one of many political cartoons seen in world history. Many LGBT people rely on art to amplify their voices, and we’ve been given LGBT representation through the work of artists—Steven Universe, She-Ra, and Heartstopper being just a few pieces of LGBT media brought to life by artists. Although LGBT media doesn’t appear to do much in terms of legal representation, it helps to normalize the concept of LGBT people and can help educate straight people on the struggles of the LGBT community. LGBT representation is pivotal in the fight for equality, and as an artist, I’m capable of creating more LGBT media to educate straight people. I feel obligated as an LGBT art student to use my education to give a voice to my community. By creating LGBT media, I will be giving back to my social community, and by advocating + campaigning for LGBT representatives in my conservative hometown, I can help give back to my local community. It’s a privilege to be able to give my fellow LGBT people a voice, but I can’t reach my full potential to help my community without the help that a college education would provide me. No matter where someone falls on the political scale, they deserve to have their voices be heard. There are many conservative legislators in my hometown, but there is very little LGBT representation in the legal or governmental scene. As an LGBT person fortunate enough to be getting an education, I want to use my education to give the less-fortunate members of the LGBT community a voice. I know many LGBT people in my area, all of whom are wonderful people, who don’t have a voice in the government, or the ability to get an education and give themselves a voice. I owe it to these people to use my education to amplify their voices and needs. Everyone’s voice deserves to be heard, and I want to give back to my local and social communities by giving a voice to those who have been silenced in the past.

Before anything, I am a storyteller. I spent my childhood in a farmhouse in the Midwest, spinning tales to pass the time, and as I grew older, my love for storytelling grew with me. Through the years, my stories have not changed—they’ve merely developed and become more sophisticated as I further experience the world around me. To be honest, I don’t think I ever realized that I wanted to be an artist. Or, rather, I never needed to realize it. I’ve planned to go to art school for as long as I can remember. There really is no other option for me—I eat, sleep, and breathe art. I can’t imagine my life without it, or my future without a career in it, and I believe the reason why I’m so passionate about art is because it got me through one of the worst points in my life. Books and comics were there for me when I was at rock-bottom. When I was six years old, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Having to acquaint myself with something as bleak as cancer, especially at such a young age, took a huge toll on me. And I coped with it the only way I knew how—storytelling. I remember doodling for hours in hospital waiting rooms, and bringing them to my dad the moment he got out of operation. For seven years, I distracted myself (and my dad) from the looming figure of death, and even when it came knocking at our door, I drew the whole way through it. Up until my father took his last breath, my pencil was glued to my sketchbook. After my dad died, I devoted myself to creating a lifeline through my art. My main goal shifted from mere storytelling to providing a safe space for other mentally ill children, where they could relate to other characters—or just escape for a little while. While real-life people overlooked me, the people in stories would listen and let me escape. My ultimate goal as an artist is to create the stories I needed to hear when I was younger. As my reality got worse, I found solace in the worlds in my head, and I want to put those worlds on paper for other people to find solace in. If my art helps one person out of a dark time, my ultimate goal as an artist would be fulfilled.

Before anything, I am a storyteller. I spent my childhood in a farmhouse in the Midwest, spinning tales to pass the time, and as I grew older, my love for storytelling grew with me. Through the years, my stories have not changed—they’ve merely developed and become more sophisticated as I further experience the world around me. To be honest, I don’t think I ever realized that I wanted to be an artist. Or, rather, I never needed to realize it. I’ve planned on going to art school for as long as I can remember. There really is no other option for me—I eat, sleep, and breathe art. I can’t imagine my life without it, or my future without a career in it, and I believe the reason why I’m so passionate about art is because it got me through one of the worst points in my life. Books and comics were there for me when I was at rock-bottom. When I was six years old, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Having to acquaint myself with something as bleak as cancer, especially at such a young age, took a huge toll on me. And I coped with it the only way I knew how—storytelling. I remember doodling for hours in hospital waiting rooms, and bringing them to my dad the moment he got out of operation. For seven years, I distracted myself (and my dad) from the looming figure of death, and even when it came knocking at our door, I drew the whole way through it. Up until my father took his last breath, my pencil was glued to my sketchbook. After my dad died, I devoted myself to creating a lifeline through my art. My main goal shifted from mere storytelling to providing a safe space for other mentally ill children, where they could relate to other characters—or just escape for a little while. While real-life people overlooked me, the people in stories would listen, and let me escape. My ultimate goal as an artist is to create the stories I needed to hear when I was younger. As my reality got worse, I found solace in the worlds in my head, and I want to put those words down on paper for other people to find solace in. If my art helps one person out of a dark time, my ultimate goal as an artist would be fulfilled.

I’ve struggled with mental health issues my entire life, and the only reason they ever improved was thanks to professional help. I started therapy in eighth grade and have continued it throughout high school, and that (along with medication) has helped me manage my mental health issues. I can confidently say that I wouldn’t be alive today without mental healthcare, and thankfully, I’m lucky enough to have the money for these things. Others in my situation aren’t so fortunate. US healthcare has been under fire for years for its lack of accessibility. Countries with free healthcare have seen improvements in their citizens’ physical health, because there’s no barrier to keep them from seeking the help they need. However, many people who criticize US healthcare don’t mention how accessible healthcare has helped people’s mental health. According to commonwealthfund.org, 26% of adults in the United States reported severe emotional distress, and 15% of adults in the US reported that they can’t access help when experiencing this distress. Out of eleven first-world, high-income countries, the US has the highest number of diagnoses and the lowest amount of accessibility—a potentially deadly combination. As of 2016, the US has reported the highest suicide rate out of these first-world countries; if we made therapy and medication more accessible, that rate would plummet, much like it has with our counterparts. Mentally ill people like me need healthcare, and there’s nothing better or more effective that we can do to help mental illness than make healthcare more accessible.