I want to change the world. However, to change the world, I need to understand it. I have always felt we are controlled by three things: psychology, philosophy, and politics. Psychology is our brain. It's our physical response of fear and bias, the innate nature of us. It's peeling our skin back and finding answers in between the nerves. Philosophy is how we interpret that. It's always been better at the broader concepts to which there is no evidence. It gives meaning to what we find underneath. Psychology will tell us baby monkeys prefer comfort over food like in the Wire Mother Experiment. Philosophy will tell us humans were made to love and without it, life wouldn't matter at all. It's why I want to study the fields in college. However, all of that was put to the test very early on. In the summer of 2021, a principal was discovered covering up sexual assault cases in favor of a pristine reputation. In the weeks following, protests and demonstrations overran the humble high school, demanding accountability and transparency from the administration. The media came to one conclusion. Something had to be done about how Title IX was taught and executed. There could not be fear and torment where there should be learning and opportunity. The School Board and Superintendent proposed the Title IX Taskforce with two responsibilities in mind: analyzing what had gone wrong and submitting a plan for the School Board to approve. There are more than 148,299 students in the Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools system. Only ten could be selected. A few weeks later, I was nominated and chosen. From reviewing the curriculum to listening to student accounts of sexual violence, I was tested as a woman, a student, and a leader. I navigated such a sensitive issue and complicated emotions, grappled with what everyone needed and what I wanted. During my participation in the Taskforce, another sexual violence case surfaced at my own school. Soon, the very protests and demonstrations that had taken over Meyers Park High School took over mine too. Everywhere on the news was TASKFORCE, TASKFORCE, TASKFORCE. That weekend alone, I received five requests to interview. I turned down every single one of them. The Title IX Taskforce was a challenge, unlike anything I had ever experienced. I needed to take everything I had ever learned about philosophy, psychology, and who I am, and make transfer it into real-world community issues. I didn't do it for publicity or attention. I did it because I cannot be a bystander to violence. I cannot stand back from the opportunity to change the world for the better. Instead of complaining about the failures of the curriculum, I remodeled it. Instead of dragging the training of teachers, I proposed a campaign for mandatory teacher performance surveys. Not only did I learn compassion, accountability, and hard work, I discovered I had what it takes. There is more to be done, I know. Change is a duty; transformation is a science. To create that change, to spark that transformation - I need an education. Those irrefutable facts -- that is who I am. I am someone who demands reform of the world as we know it, and someone willing to slave over textbooks and dictionaries until I can create it. It is how I best give back now and how I will continue to give back upon graduation.

In the summer of 2021, a principal was discovered covering up sexual assault cases in favor of a pristine reputation. In the weeks following, protests and demonstrations overran the humble high school, demanding accountability and transparency from the administration. The media came to one conclusion. Something had to be done about how Title IX was taught and executed. There could not be fear and torment where there should be learning and opportunity. The School Board and Superintendent proposed the Title IX Taskforce with two responsibilities in mind: analyzing what had gone wrong and submitting a plan for the School Board to approve. There are more than 148,299 students in the Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools system. Only ten could be selected. A few weeks later, I was nominated and chosen. From reviewing the curriculum to listening to student accounts of sexual violence, I was tested as a woman, a student, and a leader. I navigated such a sensitive issue and complicated emotions, grappled with what everyone needed and what I wanted. During my participation in the Taskforce, another sexual violence case surfaced at my own school. Soon, the very protests and demonstrations that had taken over Meyers Park High School took over mine too. Everywhere on the news was TASKFORCE, TASKFORCE, TASKFORCE. That weekend alone, I received five requests to interview. I turned down every single one of them. The Title IX Taskforce was a challenge, unlike anything I had ever experienced. I didn't do it for publicity or attention. I did it because I cannot be a bystander to violence. I cannot stand back from the opportunity to change the world for the better. Instead of complaining about the failures of the curriculum, I remodeled it. Instead of dragging the training of teachers, I proposed a campaign for mandatory teacher performance surveys. Not only did I learn compassion, accountability, and hard work, I discovered I had what it takes. There is more to be done, I know. Change is a duty; transformation is a science. To create that change, to spark that transformation - I need an education. Those irrefutable facts -- that is who I am. I am someone who demands reform of the world as we know it, and someone willing to slave over textbooks and dictionaries until I can create it. However, to change the world, I need to understand it. I have always felt we are controlled by three things: psychology, philosophy, and politics. Psychology is our brain. It's our physical response of fear and bias, the innate nature of us. It's peeling our skin back and finding answers in between the nerves. Philosophy is how we interpret that. It's always been better at the broader concepts to which there is no evidence. It gives meaning to what we find underneath. Psychology will tell us baby monkeys prefer comfort over food like in the Wire Mother Experiment. Philosophy will tell us humans were made to love and without it, life wouldn't matter at all. It's with this knowledge and experience, that I have learned about myself and who I will become.

I saw suicide for the first time in a children's film. Married superheroes Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl were living mundane lives after the United States government banned super-powered activities. In the first twenty minutes, Mr. Incredible is in his prime. After some meaningful flirting with his eventual wife, he notices a man plummeting from a building. With a single, super strength-powered leap, he catches the man mid-air, crashing into a window and preventing what could have been a disaster. The scene cuts to several weeks later when Mr. Incredible is in court, facing the very man he rescued. Oliver Sansweet had sued one of the most famous superheroes in the world. Why? He did not want to be saved. At seven years old, I learned that some people would prefer to write their obituary themselves. In the seventh grade, my classmate wrote one, loaded a gun, and pulled the trigger. In the following week, Southwest Middle School hosted more seminars, assembly meetings, and counselor sessions than they had all year. In the week after that, they took down all of the suicide awareness posters they had put up earlier. They took down the 'in loving memory' banner soon after the Class of 2022 was promoted. "All of this bullying and burden will make you stronger," the administration used to preach. But Meisha needed to be safe, not stronger. Sometimes, suffering is just suffering. It doesn't build character or toughen your skin. It only hurts. The mental health of American adolescents has been declining for decades. Some people are sad young. There isn't always a particular reason. They bruise more easily, cry harder, and tire faster. And society has left them behind. I know because I am one of them. I pretend to be a cynic, but I am a dreamer who is terrified of wanting something I may never get. I starve myself with the yearning for an intimacy that does not and will not exist. I work myself to the bone to obtain an impossible standard of perfection. For a while, everything ached. Then a voice told me I have to do something other than hurt. I saw the grief suicide could give birth to, and I couldn't stomach the thought of my mother bearing it. It took time and work, but I learned time management, coping mechanisms, and personal healing. I am angry that I starved and shivered at night instead of dancing and reading poetry, but I want to make sure no one repeats my mistake. I want to make sure no one's parents ever have to grieve the death of the children, especially at their own hands. Because of this, I want to start my nonprofit dedicated to addressing the rising suicide rates in students. I want to register with the IRS underneath the name 'Warriors for Wellness.' Our Wellness Warriors will be devoted to learning coping mechanisms for financial, academic, and personal stress. We are committed to fostering an intimate community. We aim to be responsible for promoting mindfulness throughout the school district. Through our support and community, students will learn the management of their mental health instead of shame. I have already completed several courses on the fundamentals of starting a nonprofit. My dream is to create the Meisha Scholarship, a scholarship not based on academic merit but an essay describing the struggles you have faced with your mental health and how you have overcome them. Although I didn't have the super-strength to save Meisha, I believe I can make a difference starting now.

I saw suicide for the first time in a children's film. Married superheroes Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl were living mundane lives after the United States government banned super-powered activities. In the first twenty minutes, Mr. Incredible is in his prime. After some meaningful flirting with his eventual wife, he notices a man plummeting from a building. With a single, super strength-powered leap, he catches the man mid-air, crashing into a window and preventing what could have been a disaster. The scene cuts to several weeks later when Mr. Incredible is in court, facing the very man he rescued. Oliver Sansweet had sued one of the most famous superheroes in the world. Why? He did not want to be saved. At seven years old, I learned that some people would prefer to write their obituary themselves. In the seventh grade, my classmate wrote one, loaded a gun, and pulled the trigger. In the following week, Southwest Middle School hosted more seminars, assembly meetings, and counselor sessions than they had all year. In the week after that, they took down all of the suicide awareness posters they had put up earlier. They took down the 'in loving memory' banner soon after the Class of 2022 was promoted. "All of this bullying and burden will make you stronger," the administration used to preach. But Meisha needed to be safe, not stronger. Sometimes, suffering is just suffering. It doesn't build character or toughen your skin. It only hurts. The mental health of American adolescents has been declining for decades. Some people are sad young. There isn't always a particular reason. They bruise more easily, cry harder, and tire faster. And society has left them behind. I know because I am one of them. I pretend to be a cynic, but I am a dreamer who is terrified of wanting something I may never get. I starve myself with the yearning for an intimacy that does not and will not exist. I work myself to the bone to obtain an impossible standard of perfection. For a while, everything ached. Then a voice told me I have to do something other than hurt. I saw the grief suicide could give birth to, and I couldn't stomach the thought of my mother bearing it. It took time and work, but I learned time management, coping mechanisms, and personal healing. I am angry that I starved and shivered at night instead of dancing and reading poetry, but I want to make sure no one repeats my mistake. I want to make sure no one's parents ever have to grieve the death of the children, especially at their own hands. Because of this, I want to start my nonprofit dedicated to addressing the rising suicide rates in students. I want to register with the IRS underneath the name 'Warriors for Wellness.' Our Wellness Warriors will be devoted to learning coping mechanisms for financial, academic, and personal stress. We are committed to fostering an intimate community. We aim to be responsible for promoting mindfulness throughout the school district. Through our support and community, students will learn the management of their mental health instead of shame. I have already completed several courses on the fundamentals of starting a nonprofit. My dream is to create the Meisha Scholarship, a scholarship not based on academic merit but an essay describing the struggles you have faced with your mental health and how you have overcome them. Although I didn't have the super-strength to save Meisha, I believe I can make a difference starting now.

I saw suicide for the first time in a children's film. Married superheroes Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl were living mundane lives after the United States government banned super-powered activities. In the first twenty minutes, Mr. Incredible is in his prime. After some meaningful flirting with his eventual wife, he notices a man plummeting from a building. With a single, super strength-powered leap, he catches the man mid-air, crashing into a window and preventing what could have been a disaster. The scene cuts to several weeks later when Mr. Incredible is in court, facing the very man he rescued. Oliver Sansweet had sued one of the most famous superheroes in the world. Why? He did not want to be saved. At seven years old, I learned that some people would prefer to write their obituary themselves. In the seventh grade, my classmate wrote one, loaded a gun, and pulled the trigger. In the following week, Southwest Middle School hosted more seminars, assembly meetings, and counselor sessions than they had all year. In the week after that, they took down all of the suicide awareness posters they had put up earlier. They took down the 'in loving memory' banner soon after the Class of 2022 was promoted. "All of this bullying and burden will make you stronger," the administration used to preach. But Meisha needed to be safe, not stronger. Sometimes, suffering is just suffering. It doesn't build character or toughen your skin. It only hurts. The mental health of American adolescents has been declining for decades. Some people are sad young. There isn't always a particular reason. They bruise more easily, cry harder, and tire faster. And society has left them behind. I know because I am one of them. I pretend to be a cynic, but I am a dreamer who is terrified of wanting something I may never get. I starve myself with the yearning for an intimacy that does not and will not exist. I work myself to the bone to obtain an impossible standard of perfection. For a while, everything ached. Then a voice told me I have to do something other than hurt. I saw the grief suicide could give birth to, and I couldn't stomach the thought of my mother bearing it. It took time and work, but I learned time management, coping mechanisms, and personal healing. I am angry that I starved and shivered at night instead of dancing and reading poetry, but I want to make sure no one repeats my mistake. I want to make sure no one's parents ever have to grieve the death of the children, especially at their own hands. Because of this, I want to start my nonprofit dedicated to addressing the rising suicide rates in students. I want to register with the IRS underneath the name 'Warriors for Wellness.' Our Wellness Warriors will be devoted to learning coping mechanisms for financial, academic, and personal stress. We are committed to fostering an intimate community. We aim to be responsible for promoting mindfulness throughout the school district. Through our support and community, students will learn the management of their mental health instead of shame. I have already completed several courses on the fundamentals of starting a nonprofit. My dream is to create the Meisha Scholarship, a scholarship not based on academic merit but an essay describing the struggles you have faced with your mental health and how you have overcome them. Although I didn't have the super-strength to save Meisha, I believe I can make a difference starting now.