Let me just say that I feel lucky that I don't have NF; it sounds difficult and frustrating in a way I'm unfamiliar with. With that being said, I only have so many words to tell you about the difficult, frustrating things I'm familiar with. I wasn't diagnosed with disorders that had an effect on my learning until I was 20 years old. I had plenty of other diagnoses, but nothing related to learning, other than being told I was gifted when I was in kindergarten, and having lingering stress from teachers' expectations ever since. I was homeschooled from 6th grade onward due to intense bullying and other such issues, so my learning was adapted to fit my needs early on. Imagine my surprise, then, when I started college and had trouble keeping up. I forced myself (because, again, lingering stress from expectations) to get everything done with good grades, so while I had a 4.0 for my first two semesters, it came at the expense of my mental health and my sleep schedule. Finally, by the end of my third semester, after getting into two different programs at two separate schools that didn't fit my needs because I couldn't read the proverbial fine print, I started thinking that maybe my older half-brother wasn't the only one with ADHD. I waited a year before I was able to see a doctor that could refer me for ADHD testing, and by the end of 2020, I had an understanding of myself and my learning needs. Or so I thought! Over the last six months or so, I've learned I'm also autistic, and most likely dyslexic and dyspraxic! These things explain a lot, but they're also really frustrating. The problem with late diagnosis is that I've spent most of my teen years believing that these things were personal failings or character flaws that I could simply grow up and overcome... And now I'm learning they're built into my genes and my brain. My motivation for pursuing higher education obviously started before this, as I was already in college when I learned these things, but as these are learning and developmental issues, they've been with me forever. I grew up with insatiable curiosity and a love for learning new things, two things that standard education and bullying could not take from me. I've been planning for college since I was 11, so for most of my life it was just assumed to be my natural next step. My parents reminded me that I could choose trade school or to start working instead, if I felt like college wasn't for me, but I committed to it. I earned two AA degrees, one in Liberal Arts and one in General Studies (which I jokingly call "participation degrees"), becoming the first in my immediate family and direct lineages to have earned any college degree. I'm still hungry for more. I recognize that the best candidate for this scholarship is one with NF *and* learning disabilit(y/ies), but I'm presenting myself anyway, because I believe it's worth a try. I'm transferring to University of Michigan in the fall, and while I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to study, I've narrowed my options to psychology, social work, or biology. I want to make a positive, constructive difference in the world. I'm leaning towards psychology, as diagnostics and clinical/therapy settings fascinate me, and I'd love to find or create an alternative to ABA therapy for autistic people. However, I'm driven by helping others and learning new things. Thank you for your time!

I think maybe the strangest part of being a first-gen college student is that I didn't even know if I was first-gen or not. My mom attended community college, but dropped out before graduating because between being pregnant with me and having her other disabilities, her doctor didn't think she could safely finish. Meanwhile, my dad didn't even finish high school. I suppose maybe that was why they both enforced the idea that school was important; this was a belief my siblings and I were taught from a young age. I played and watched educational games and shows, and because of my enthusiasm for learning, I started with reading and arithmetic when I was three. I started school as an advanced, curious student, and kept that up; when I was 11, I started planning for college. I was going to go to college, though I wasn't sure what I wanted to study yet. I think being a first-generation college student affected me in that sense; I prioritized learning and curiosity. For as long as I can remember, I've loved thrift stores, bookstores, and libraries because of the reading material within. Because my parents got involved with my learning, I ended up homeschooled after 5th grade; the public school system wasn't working with my advancements, and my classmates didn't like me for a variety of reasons. The teachers that actually enjoyed having me in their class recommended homeschooling, and I'm forever grateful; I got to shape my learning around my interests and learning styles. So how does my first-generation status affect my career goals? For one thing, I'm an interdisciplinary learner; I love to learn as much as possible about as many different things. My commitment to being a jack-of-all-trades might be because my parents allowed me to explore interests, or it might be because they have had to learn a lot of different things in order to get by with less education. I'm looking into biology or psychology, because these fields interest me; I wasn't forced to go to college, I was told I could get a job instead. I have the freedom in my own household to decide what to learn about, because I've seen people work wonders with no education, so I will make ends meet with whatever I end up learning. If I change my mind, that's okay, but knowledge will always mean power to me.

To me, perseverance is pushing forward and continuing onward, finding a way around or through obstacles in pursuit of a goal. There are different types of perseverance; sometimes we push on because we're passionate about the end goal. Sometimes we keep going because it benefits others. Other times, you might just keep going because you have to. This is my most common experience with perseverance. I call myself a survivor because I've been through a lot; I've been through bullying and peer abuse that left me with trauma, chronic pain in my chest, and a lot of issues to work through. I've survived car accidents, emergency surgery, accidentally slicing my hand open while cooking dinner, and most recently, slipping on ice and spraining my ankle. These events have been agonizing, terrifying, and traumatic to various degrees, but luckily, these aren't the most common negative events. I could also call myself a survivor because of other things I've experienced; I've had social difficulties my entire life. Going to the grocery store, even, is frustrating because of my sensory issues. Most frustrating of all, I took two half-semester graphic design classes and re-learned that I actually hate learning graphic design in a classroom and find it painfully boring. Nonetheless, I submitted my final assignments today, and my school's learning management system projects a final grade in the low 90% range. What I've noticed is that for me, the most frustrating struggles I've been through are the mundane parts of the ride, so to speak. It's things like waking up to a pain flare, getting triggered, waiting in line, or losing my favorite pencil when it's time to take notes. I feel like this is because when we go through something major, we're in survival mode; with injuries or even arguments, we might end up in one of the F modes (Fight, flight, freeze, fawn, etc.), but for the simple struggles, there are so many more options. I still felt ridiculous when I complained more about the wait at the hospital and being hungry than about the pain in my ankle last week. Or when I got frustrated at using crutches. Realistically, I'd like to think some people would just be happy their ankle wasn't broken, but I've met enough people like me who complain at the small things when we should be grateful. To a degree, though, isn't that our right as survivors? To vent about the small things? The way I see it is that every time I persevere through something major without complaining too much, I'm just saving up complainer credits for the guy who almost runs into me in the produce section of Walmart. So what does perseverance mean to me? Well, it's about pushing forward and getting past obstacles in whatever constructive ways we can. It doesn't mean I won't kick and scream and cry and complain. I'll still whine like a teapot or an improperly-closed soda bottle, but at least I get through it every time. I'm going to keep going, and I hope you do, too.

To start, let me clarify that I don't know if I count as the main caregiver in every sense of the word, but I'll explain my situation and allow you to be the judge. My mom has been disabled since before I was born; she has a relatively rare invisible illness called pseudotumor cerebri, or idiopathic intracranial hypertension. Aside from the days where her ongoing migraine was too much to handle, though, I rarely saw this condition rear its ugly head; she was good at managing it. The problem that landed me in a caregiver role was much more mundane and incredibly common. In December of 2018, my mother fell down the icy outdoor stairs of our Michigan house, taking a harder fall so that she wouldn't knock me down with her. We were going to get my little brother's birthday cake from the store. This was not exactly what disabled her; it was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was a compounded injury, given that she'd had sciatic and sacroiliac pains before this point, and since she'd stopped smoking ten months prior, she had gained weight, but a broken tailbone was the cherry atop. At this point, my mom's lower mobility started to decline rapidly. At current, she can walk 10-20 feet, depending on the day, before her legs begin to lock, her heart rate spikes, and she loses the ability to breathe. Last night, we went out to dinner, celebrating my parents' 25th anniversary and my acceptance to my current goal university. Walking out to the car with assistance from a standard cane left her winded, with swelling legs, her heart beating out of her chest, crying from the pain that spread from her hips outward. She often describes her hip pain as being "wishboned". I tell you this not because it burdens me; it doesn't. I'm scared, sure, but nowhere near as scared as she is. I'm my mom's caregiver to a degree; I've often called myself her service dog. I make sure her mobility scooter gets charged and loaded into the car. I help her get dressed and cleaned to a degree. While my dad often also has a role in this, he works hard and often, so I'm usually the one who helps her, instead. As for how it impacts me, it's complicated, because I know that it affects her more than it could ever affect me. Nonetheless, it has affected everyone in the household to some degree. My mom believes that her weight is a contributing factor to both her disability and her future recovery; we are laying foundations for weight loss and healthier choices, which benefits everyone in the household for various reasons. We've sought out exercises and workout routines that are feasible with her limited mobility. But as for me? My goals are affected by the knowledge that she needs me; my siblings are not as equipped to help her. I have to take care of myself along the way, because with her mobility issues and my dad's decaying knees, I'm the next in line to pay bills. I have to at least take care of my body, which is easier said than done. As for identity, I'll admit it hasn't actually affected me that strongly. I have a habit of taking on more than I can handle, which hasn't exactly changed, but my friends get a little frustrated when I have to step away from video and voice calls to help my mom with something. To me, it's worth it. They don't understand, but they don't need to.

Visualize with me for a moment. I'm toddling around as a three-year-old, watching Barney. My older brother doesn't live with us usually, but he still sees us often because my mom picks him up from school most days. She helps him with his homework, and I ask her, "Mommy, what is Timmy doing?" She explained the concept of homework, and I wanted in. Within a month or two of starting kindergarten, I tested as reading and doing math at a third-grade level. Into gifted classes I went. For me, math wasn't always easy, but it was always guaranteed to be a fun little challenge that I could grow to understand. Multiplication with double digits was tricky, but I learned. When I was in fourth grade, I took up missions like calculating the number of seconds in a year by hand. In fifth grade, once I'd mastered a topic that the class was still working on, I started experimenting to see what other methods I could use to get the same answer, and before long, my teacher grew annoyed with my little experiments. To me, numbers were fascinating, and so were the patterns, systems, and rules that made up mathematics. While that same spark calmed down in middle and high school, it reignited in college, where I'm now debating a STEM degree, simply because science and math amaze me so. So why do I love math? It's... complicated. I still have trouble with more abstract forms of math, which is also where my focus with subjects like philosophy fizzles out. If I can conceptualize an application for the math I'm doing, it makes my life that much easier, so unlike most, I actually love word problems! Part of what I love about mathematics is that while most consider it a study of numbers, it is fundamentally a science of patterns and problem-solving. The better I get at puzzles and logic games, the easier my next math concept is to learn. Because I'm considering studying a science (though I'm unsure of which, so far), and I know I will likely have to take pre-calculus and calculus, I started filling in my gaps on Khan Academy; I'm missing trigonometry. I love that there are rules, but the rules are often flexible enough for innovation. Even in patterns, there is so much we don't know. It's amazing! I love it so much!

I cannot define my neighborhood or my community; I've moved around for a lot of my life. For the first 17 years, I defined my community as my hometown of Homestead, Florida. For the next four years, Battle Creek, Michigan was my community. Now, I live in Onsted, Manitou Beach, or Adrian, depending on who you ask. I have very few neighbors, but my community has grown. Let me explain. I give back to the communities I've been a part of, whether those communities are defined by interest, identity, or region. When I was 7, I in-kind donated my Saturdays for about a year, working with my mom and grandma at our church's thrift store. My mom and I had recently decided to explore other religions, but still, we gave our time because we knew that the church helped as many people as it could. When I was 15, I went to a girls' rock summer camp, which was an experience that seemingly changed my life. I attended until I aged out, at which point I switched to volunteering. When I had the ability, I made monetary donations or testified for the camp's process and efficacy, and I worked hard to help the campers have fun, whether I was a camper or a volunteer. This past February, I had to do service learning for my degree at the time, so I chose to volunteer with the city's Pride resource center. As part of the Pride community and someone who is very educated on the community's labels and history, I figured it was a chance to help people. Not only did I get a chance to help other queer people, but the resource center also provides clothes to any local homeless or less fortunate people in need. They also do fresh food distribution monthly! Unfortunately, I discontinued my volunteer work in November, due to the incoming snow, since my family and I had moved an hour away since I started volunteering. Currently, I'm working toward a graphic design degree, because I noticed that many businesses around me have trouble finding a graphic designer that suits their needs. I also plan to show support for disability pride and the Pride community with my designs. Once I can, I plan to pursue a Bachelor's degree in psychology or social work, so that I can help disabled, queer, and impoverished people. My help is not in the form of telling people what I think they need, however; I can only truly know my experience, but I greatly enjoy learning, listening, empathizing, and advocating. I'd love to work, specifically, with people who are part of the LGBTQ+ community, autistic people, and people with ADHD, as well as disabled people in general; I have a place in those communities, and I'd love to be able to learn and help within those spaces. I'm still advocating and working within those communities in smaller ways, but I truly believe that change can start small. As long as I can help others, I will continue to try.

While my end goal is to work in psychology and/or social work, I am currently studying graphic design. Let me explain why. My name is Jasmine, but my friends call me Atlas. I'm autistic with ADHD and anxiety, along with some physical disabilities to set me on hard mode. Because of those difficulties, I work hard; I have to. I've been a good student most of my life since my first special interest was school and learning, though my time management can't keep up. I'm working towards an associate of applied sciences degree in graphic design, which is technically my third associate-level degree; previously, I thought I was studying for an A.A. with a concentration in music; my school at the time failed to inform me that they no longer offered that. By that point, I only had early-stage music credits that didn't transfer to the programs I needed, and a few more classes to figure out what to do next. It was during my last two semesters that I fell in love with psychology. Because of my music electives, by the time I finished my requirements, I qualified for an AA in liberal arts and an AGS in liberal arts; two associate degrees that I didn't know how to do anything with. So, why graphic design for now? Well, I'm $16,000 in debt from the first time around, and I'm looking at going back for either psychology or social work; I've applied to a few local universities that offer those programs, but I don't know how many of them are financially viable yet, as the financial aid packages would dictate when and where to go. In the meantime, I need a way to make at least some money to help my family, and being able to work or freelance while studying is always a plus. As for how this scholarship would affect me and benefit my future, any financial assistance would help; as a pell-grant student, if the loan-forgiveness plan goes into effect it will wipe out my prior $16,000. However, the scholarship would still benefit me moving forward; it may allow me to either pay down further loans, avoid taking out more loans, or take summer classes to accelerate my degree. If I transfer for next fall, it may end up covering the enrollment deposit and some of the tuition for a university. Either way, I plan to work hard and reach my goals. Thank you for the opportunity!

When I was younger, I was often left out of things. I had seen the shows and movies, so I knew that being a gifted kid meant being seen as a nerd, and therefore, not having a lot of friends. Yet, other classmates who were also considered gifted didn't have the same problem. When I was 15 and came out, I thought that might've been the difference. Or when I was 16 and found out I had an anxiety disorder. Or at 19, getting diagnosed with ADHD. This year, at age 22, I finally found the answer. The reason why I was so different from everyone else was something so simple yet so fundamental. Something teachers or doctors should have noticed long ago. We'll get to that in a moment, though. My name is Jasmine, but my friends call me Atlas. I'm passionate about social justice, equitable treatment for marginalized people, and educating people when I can! I believe that education and qualities of empathy and/or compassion are key elements of social justice, so I educate myself on issues as well as on other people so that I can reach people effectively. Ending my earlier cliffhanger, I have to educate myself on other people because this year, I learned that I am autistic. To tie this together, so you understand where I'm coming from, the social issue I'm working hardest to address at this moment is disability accommodation and acceptance. I'm still working hard to educate and advocate for marginalized people in general, but I'm hard at work with self-educating and brainstorming solutions to issues I've seen over the past few years. As we know, intersectionality is an important consideration as well; disability can affect any race, class, gender, sexuality, religion, etc. As an example of educating myself and others, I am autistic, but it took a while to find out. To date, there is still a gender and race bias in autism diagnostics. There is still an intense stigma around the disorder. What most people don't know is that one of the foremost autism organizations, as well as the foremost autism therapy, are both condemned by the autistic community. I have technically been involved with the autistic community since I was 16, though on and off. One thing that autistic people and their allies tend to know is that Autism Speaks, a well-known autism charity, does not have autistic people's best interests at heart. This is easy to see with critical watch-throughs of some advertisements; parents have even spoken about wanting to commit murder-suicide with their autistic children in these advertisements. Applied Behavioral Analysis, the most recommended autism therapy, evokes similar contempt, for different reasons; the therapy teaches children, essentially, to ignore what is natural to them for the comfort of non-autistics around them. They are, in their own words, taught to suppress pain, natural expression of emotions, and even interests so that they can seem "less autistic", a clinical example of "treatment". At current, I am a graphic design student who runs an Etsy fidget tool and neurodivergent pride shop. This is a financially-motivated major; I'm studying graphic design so I can freelance and make money while studying either psychology or social work, perhaps both. My goal is to work in both diagnostics of neurodivergent conditions and in social justice advocacy. I want to make the world a more accepting place and encourage access and equity. I believe I have the ability; I have a strong moral compass and the drive to make the world better. All I need is to get the schooling to continue.

I don't want to give a bad impression of the community, country, or world I live in, but anything can be improved, right? To be blunt, I can think of a lot of things that could be better. I can't always think of ways to make them better, but I try my hardest to act when and where I can. I volunteered at a local(-ish; it was local at the time, but then I moved) Pride resource center because they needed more people to essentially greet, help, and supervise visitors. More often than not, the visitors were not LGBTQ+, but rather local homeless people who benefitted from a clean place to use computers. Visitors only needed to be accepting, and since we collected clothes for clothing swap events, we had enough that we could provide for people who needed a little extra. Before that, I proudly displayed Pride pins on my bag at all times, so that any locals who needed that solidarity could see they weren't alone; it wasn't much, but when I was closeted, seeing people who were "out" helped me a lot. I have also advocated for the Neurodivergent community in the past, long before I found out that I was part of that group. I make an effort to educate people on Autism, ADHD, and countless other neurodivergent conditions. Since finding out that I am autistic and have ADHD, I have taken to sharing my experiences with friends or in online support groups, because I know how much it can help to feel less alone. Additionally, while most allistic (non-autistic) people don't know this, the well-known charity Autism Speaks is widely disliked by autistic people, due to their backing of ABA therapies (which tend to be abusive) and previous and current ad campaigns which paint ASD as something to be feared, rather than a difference that requires understanding, coping skills, and support. Additionally, my mom, dad, and I have chronic pain disorders which affect our mobilities, though in different ways. My mom has a back injury and uses a mobility cart. My dad has an undiagnosed but suspected arthritic condition that affects his knees and, to a lesser degree, his elbows. I have chronic inflammatory pain in my rib cartilage. As such, for the entire family's sake, I've been the one who researches accessibility and tries to educate others on the issue. In general, shop or venue owners don't like when you tell them that their property is inaccessible, and there isn't anyone to report them to, so I've been brainstorming ways to fix these issues. Some ideas have included starting a nonprofit organization that raises funds and utilizes volunteers to fix or amend certain accessibility complaints, such as gaps or sudden height/incline differences in sidewalks. Others include creating an app where disabled people can leave, specifically, accessibility-based reviews of locations they visit. Overall, I may not always know how to take action, but I am good at finding room for improvement. I believe that we are all stronger together, so even if I don't have the answers, by brainstorming with those around me, I'm more likely to find an answer that works. With help, we can change the world.

Hello. My name is Jazz Etienne, I am 22 years old, and I was born in Miami, Florida. My mom dropped out of college because of me. My dad never finished high school. Miami is unique, because I was never made fun of for coming from immigrants. I was, however, made fun of for seeming half-white and too proper. My dad was born in Managua, Nicaragua, and came to the United States when he was very young. My mom was born in Florida, to a French-Canadian immigrant and whatever mix of nationalities her mom is. We joke that my siblings and I are a little bit of everything. I grew up with half of my family celebrating Christmas on the eve of the 24th, and the other half celebrating it the next morning. Ironically, my immediate family has been decidedly non-Christian for most of my life, but one thing I've come to accept about my large, weird, multicultural extended family is that tradition matters, sometimes more than it should. I grew up with big parties, beer, and trays of Chinese fried rice for every birthday, and calculating whether Abuelo or Tío Frank held the last holiday party so I could figure out whose house to prepare for. My favorite thing about my home-county, to this day, is that Miami-Dade county embraces diversity most of the time, so I grew up around Nicaraguan food. I live in Michigan now. I have no access to a fritanga, so I need you to understand that I might as well be dying without my beloved queso frito. Back home, so to speak, my dad's culture accounts for about 6% of the population, if I recall. I didn't know a lot of non-relative Nicaraguans, but I knew plenty of Hispanic people. Many of them, like me, weren't raised speaking Spanish, and felt a little alienated at their family parties, so we started our own little traditions, like Minecraft games or movie sessions we could do while we were all out at our family's Christmas parties. We took the Spanish we did know and practiced together, tossing in Feliz Navidad or Cumpleaño as needed. I've found that neither town I've lived in, up here in Michigan, has many Hispanic people. I've made friends with some of the people I've met, but ultimately, because I meet a lot of white, non-Hispanic, non-immigrant people lately, I find that they don't always understand some aspects of my life; they don't know why I still stay up so late on Christmas Eve, or have birthday parties even though I'm 22. They don't get the holiday traditions that popped up as a result of my family. In Miami, I didn't feel my experiences were too unique; now, sometimes those same experiences have me feeling a little lonely. The most recent time I felt understood in that aspect was when I went to Pride this past summer; in Battle Creek, there is a group called Voces, which is a sort of Hispanic cultural and advocacy group. Talking with the teens and young adults involved in that program helped me a lot. I love my friends, regardless of their race or ethnicity, but I still find myself a little more at home with Hispanic people, at times. And I still miss my queso frito.

I'm currently majoring in graphic design, although my reasoning isn't anything cool or wonderfully inspiring. I'm a creative type, but visual arts have never been my specialty. I'm not like my siblings, who started drawing young and never really stopped; I never had the patience to sit and practice at it. I preferred music, writing, or the occasional video project. I started getting into the idea of poster design in middle school, and did some graphic design-adjacent photo edits for a studying community I helped moderate when I was in high school, but I figured I lacked the skill to go any further with it. My first two semesters of college were spent in a multimedia and video program, which I left for music. Now I'm back at graphic design, and I'm okay with it, because learning to use Photoshop and Illustrator the first time around were essential, and I wasn't exactly bad at it, just really, really rough around the edges when it came to anything related to drawing. What actually led me back to graphic design, oddly enough, was graduating; I got my associate degree in general studies earlier in 2022, and decided to help my parents with their business; they had tried, to no avail, to find someone who do t-shirt, tote bag, and similar print designing. I had already done their logo and their website with the few skills I remembered from my first Creative Cloud-focused class and the help of Canva; now I needed to operate a Silhouette Cameo 4. I love working with print-and-cut or die-cut vinyl designing, but I know I still have a long way to go, and if I want to keep doing it, I need more skill, knowledge, and experience. I don't know that graphic design will be my end-goal career; I'm also looking into social work, psychology, or biology, but in the meantime, graphic design is something I can work doing from now through graduation. It will survive as an option through my potential mind-changes and route-switching. If I'm lucky, it'll even help me make some extra money to pay for further schooling. Whether I'm practicing, working for experience, or working for pay, it may not be my biggest passion or interest, but it is something I think I can do for a long time. As for my current small printing/die-cutting business, I live in a smaller town in Michigan, and from experience, most graphic designers won't work with cannabis businesses, and some still refuse service to the LGBTQ+ community. Given how passionate I am about craft cannabis/small business in general and the Pride community, I think I'd have luck catering to those demographics specifically, and I'm already planning ahead for the internship I'll have to do in my last semester. For me, graphic design isn't a major passion, but it is something I enjoy working within, something I will strive to improve at, and something that I can use to better the lives of myself, my family, and hopefully my community. I didn't expect to be here again, but I'm hoping to succeed anyway.

Bear with me, this is a bit of a long story. Given that my given name is Jasmine, most would assume that Princess Jasmine of Aladdin fame would be my favorite Disney character, but my favorite characters are a little messier. My favorites, for at least a decade, are Lilo and Stitch. As you'll probably know, if you're familiar with the characters, Lilo is a misunderstood little girl; she lost her parents at a very young age, and was instead raised by her sister, Nani. She's loud, weird, and difficult, an outcast who has trouble fitting in. Sometimes she bites and hits. She's nowhere near perfect. And then we have Stitch, an alien lab experiment designed to be an unstoppable weapon of mass destruction, essentially; his very nature is that of destruction, vulgarity, and mischief. And yet... When the two meet, Lilo recognizes that Stitch is different. She's different, too, so she's willing, or rather, adamant about accepting him. She tries to help him behave, but she loves him and she still shows that she cares even when Stitch messes up. If you've seen the first movie, surely you'd know this. But what you're probably still wondering is what any of this has to do with me. Why are these two my favorites? I've been the loud, weird, difficult outcast most of my life. I've always had trouble making and keeping friends, to the point that I kept abusive peers around me just so I wouldn't be alone. My family is intact, though just outside my immediate family lies unmentionable dysfunction, so I couldn't relate to Lilo in that sense, but I was the strange kid with weird, intense interests. And when I was growing up, I could've used someone like Stitch to help me accept the parts of me that still haven't changed. This year, I found out that while none of my teachers or doctors caught it, growing up, I'm autistic. Looking back, it's so very obvious. Looking at Lilo, I could honestly say that she might also be autistic. But she's a character, and her little circle came from actual aliens. My circle is made of other autistic and/or ADHD people. They aren't the little blue alien that I bought a weighted plushie of last week, but they're proof that, just like Lilo, I had people out there. I just had to find them.

Currently, the career path I'm actively pursuing is graphic design. To many, this may not sound like a career path that lends itself to helping the environment or people in need, but one's ability to help is limited most by their imagination. My goal with graphic design is, in part, to use a field that I enjoy and have some skill and potential in, in order to fund my own future schooling, as well as schooling for my two younger siblings. Ideally, I'd love to end up with a career in psychology, an allied health therapy field, or in medicine, serving community health organizations and the people who rely on those organizations for affordable healthcare. Even pushing that aside and focusing more on the short-term, my graphic design degree requires a semester-long internship. I've started planning for the internship, even though I know it's a year or two away, still, because I want to work with a nonprofit organization. I already know of two organizations I've volunteered with in the past which might be willing to to "employ" me as an intern. One is a local pride organization, and one is a Girls Rock Camp in my hometown. I plan to apply my graphic design knowledge as soon as possible with print, vinyl decals, and web and logo design, as I've been doing already; I seek out materials that are as environmentally-friendly as possible. When my parents asked me to find tote bags that we could print on, we quickly agreed on using totes that were either cotton or canvas, rather than a plastic-based material, because I am concerned about the effects of microplastics. Overall, I know that my own decisions and plans won't necessarily fix the world, but if I can encourage and educate others and have an effect on the communities near me, maybe those groups will pay it forward, and we can push forward with progress.

I won't try to pretend that I have it worse than anyone else, just as I won't pretend to have a mild struggle; I am well aware, given that my family and friends also struggle with their mental health, that the experience is different for everyone, and everyone deals with things differently. I would be lying if I said that my mental illnesses and struggles with assertiveness are separate from my identity in this world, which is part of why I'm choosing to write this. Many people say that they've felt different their whole life, and I definitely was different than the kids my age, growing up; I stood out to my teachers in kindergarten, which led to gifted testing, and my mom refusing to let the school skip me to second or third grade. School and learning were big interests of mine, and I was like a sponge. Unfortunately, when you're at the intersection of smart and socially awkward, you run into some problems. This is made worse when you're a people-pleaser. I was only in public school for kindergarten, first, fourth, and fifth grades; I was homeschooled for the rest. In and out of school, I dealt with bullying from people anywhere between two years younger than me, up to about six years older, including from someone I'd considered my best friend for years. In middle school, I was a depressed, anxious wreck. I snapped at my parents and siblings, because they were the only people I trusted enough to stop people-pleasing around, and I self-harmed late at night when no one else was awake, careful not to let anyone around me become aware. I had this idea, one that I'm still unlearning, that I deserved pain and loneliness, and that I wasn't worth protecting or knowing. At my lowest, I had thoughts of hurting myself more severely, or at least of running away from the entire situation, somehow, even though I couldn't bear the thought of hurting my family like that; they were really all I had. When I was thirteen, there came a turning point. It started with a stomach ache and ended with an emergency surgery and a diagnosis that explained my struggle with my hair, my skin, and my weight. Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like a near-death experience that you have no control over to help you see the world in a newer, brighter light. I smiled again. I stopped trying to please my so-called best friend. I made other friends, though they were long-distance friendships. I channeled the energy I was putting into social endeavors into my interests in music, writing, and gaming, and I started enjoying life more. It didn't fix everything, and there are discoveries that I'm still making, to this day. I'm trying to treat these discoveries as pathway markers for my recovery, rather than major setbacks. Ultimately, music was my main coping mechanism, whether I was listening to music or creating it, and writing was another useful tool for me. My main goal has been to study music and eventually work in that industry, because I know what music did for me. Music gave me a way to communicate thoughts and feelings I couldn't put into words, and it gave me strength when I couldn't provide my own. If music that I help create, produce, or promote helps even one person to feel less alone, then I would feel it was worth it. The next-closest thing, in terms of my passions, would be psychology; I would absolutely love to restructure educational systems or provide counseling to those who would benefit from it. My family and I are working on better communication and habits; it turns out that most or all of us have ADHD and possibly ASD, but even if not, learning to communicate in ways that work best for us as a group is worth it. Between my medications and our own little accommodations, I have managed to snap at people less, and can ask for space when I need to. With my friends and my partner, I'm still learning to set boundaries, but the friends I have today are so much better than I could have hoped for when I was thirteen or so. They give me the ability to be myself, and I'm getting better at being genuine and assertive every day. As for how I understand the world? That's a little trickier. I operate under the assumption that everyone is dealing with something. I find that if someone is being rude or mean, assuming they're going through their own issues allows me to take it less personally, and extend kindness when I can. I make it a goal to compliment three people whenever I go out of the house, because the first step to making the world a better place is to make your own world a little better. I will say that when mental health and mental illnesses are used to excuse heinous crimes and domestic terrorism, I have less sympathy; I cannot excuse that sort of thing. I went through my own special brand of hell, and there is no part of me that would wish pain or harm to random people. I can't imagine using trauma or mental illness as an excuse to inflict mental and physical pain on others. I would rather give out kindness, in the hopes that the person will pay it forward.

I don't deserve this scholarship, actually. College tuition should be free, first of all, but more importantly? I can't take full-time or more, so I do my best work with best health at 10 credits or less. My grades are nice, but who deserves it more? That one struggling immigrant who's taking 18 credits while working full time and still getting a 4.0. Outstanding. Reward them. My academic and career goals are as stated in House of Gold by Twenty One Pilots: I'm aiming to be a bum, so that maybe I'll accidentally trip and fall and find a winning lotto ticket in a gutter somewhere and fund mine and my siblings' schooling, maybe? That'd be pretty cool, I thing. It's not a lot of work, either, just trip, fall, find, profit, boom. Obstacles? Nah, fam, I don't do obstacles. Obstacles are miniature mountains, so you either step on or around them and move on. Or go home and sleep. Turns out, sleep and a good conversation can be, like, the key to everything. I had a "pay for school" crisis last night so what did I do? Talked it out with my mom and took a nap. All better.

Everybody told me, growing up, that if I didn't work harder to lose weight, I'd end up dying. They warned of the standard tales like diabetes, fatty liver disease, hearth failure, and dozens of other conditions with obesity as a risk factor. Nobody told me that if I didn't seek the right doctor to find the cause of my weight struggles, it might end my life sooner than the weight alone. So here's a long story that taught me a lot about judgment, health, and appreciating life. When I was 13 years old, I weighed around 220 lbs at my heaviest. I tried exercise, including, under the guidance of a cousin, Beachbody's Insanity program, which was supposed to be an intense, yet effective, weight loss and muscle building tool. I participated in her workout routine of burpees and running around my yard, while living on a half-acre property. I dieted, one time on a talent scout's advice of nothing but chicken, fish, and broccoli for two weeks. I only gained weight. My depression didn't help; I was in a physically and emotionally abusive friendship, I was still experiencing weight and intelligence-based bullying, and nothing I did to lose weight worked. The Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2013, I woke up in intense stomach pain. I didn't want to eat or drink anything. I felt sick in a way I couldn't explain or understand. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I couldn't even do that comfortably. My mom told me, "If you're still in pain tomorrow morning, we're taking you to the hospital. I woke her up at 8 AM, crying. I spent hours at the hospital closest to me, a mediocre-at-best hospital that was simply more convenient, to be told I had cysts on my ovaries, and they wanted to fly me to their main hospital, alone, to operate. On mine and my pediatrician's insistence, my mom signed me out, and my family went with me to the Children's Hospital a little further north. On Monday, at 5 AM, I was rushed into emergency surgery. My 5-inch ovaries and their 5-inch cysts had gone into "torsion", meaning they'd spun themselves into oblivion, basically, and one had simply had enough. The pain was the loss of an organ. If I'd gone into surgery even an hour later, I wouldn't have made it out alive. When I awoke in the recovery room, it was noon, and all I could think about was how badly I had to pee. I was released on Tuesday; good behavior, you could say, except it was a hospital, not prison. On Wednesday, I watched the sunset on the porch with my parents, happy to be alive. Ever since then, I've tried to remember to look on the bright side of things. I cut ties with my abuser, I learned how to deal with my anxiety, I came out of my depression, and I learned I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, or PCOS, specifically the insulin-resistant type. It was why my hair was a mess and my acne and my weight were out of control. I wish I could tell you I achieved my fitness goals; I'm 300 lbs, but I'm capable for the health status people perceive of me. I've learned that there are other things I can do to stay healthy, aside from just weight loss. More importantly, I learned not to judge others, or to assume their life. I don't assume people are fat by choice or laziness, or that disabled people are faking, etc. I also learned who I was. That's good enough.

Encouraging others starts off simple. It's easy to learn, but it can be hard to master. I started with a simple method, and it wasn't more selfish a gain; I needed to overcome my social anxiety, so I made a plan to try to compliment at least one person every time I went out of the house. As time went on, I got better at doing it, and on days where I can, I compliment as many people as possible. People treat the day and their experiences better after one compliment on their style, especially if it's a bold or risky fashion choice. I volunteer at the summer camp I attended as a teen. I haven't been able to volunteer every year, but I try to do everything I can for that community. As a teenager, I got to experience the same spirit I work to help create in the camp, even if it's from the sidelines, and I learned a lot about how a potential mentor's encouragement can make a world of difference, so I try to put forth that same energy in my everyday life. I try to thank people for sharing their interests with me and give people the space to be themselves. I know it may not seem like much, since I'm only one person, but if someone else chooses to pay it forward, or to focus on encouraging others, at some point we may have a culture of encouragement that starts to prevail. This isn't to say that I'm always positive; encouraging others can mean embracing the darkness and giving yourself and others space to make mistakes or be upset. We all fail, we all get sad, and we all will need help to get back up. That's what unites us, I think.

When I was younger, I had a lot of confidence. When I got a little older, people made me lose that. But I'm slowly stealing back my confidence from wherever I'd left it. Confidence, to me, means either a genuine feeling, or a faked presentation, of belief in oneself. Basically, you have the ability to be yourself, and you believe in your ability to do whatever you put your mind to, even (especially) if not on the first attempt. It's an understanding that life can be hard and it can kinda suck, but one of the strongest, most powerful, most defiant things you can do is to keep going anyways, loving and trusting yourself the whole way. Confidence can just as easily be expressed for others, rather than for yourself; you might straighten up and seem more self-assured when walking in a less-safe area, so others know you're not an easy target. You might put your best face on and express yourself wholeheartedly because you know someone around you needs that, too. They need the green light. I once heard a quote, I can't remember who said it, but I think about it often. "Your playing small does not serve the world, there is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others do not feel insecure around you. When we let our inner light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same." When I was younger, I attended a girls rock camp, and since turning 18, I've volunteered at the same one as often as possible. By letting myself be my silly, quirky, hyperactive self, I've helped campers who didn't think they'd like the camp. They become more comfortable, and often return the next year. For them, I try hard to fake it 'til I make it.

So not to brag, but much like my friends, I actually have a few different talents. My most interesting one is that I can easily balance many objects. I've balanced brooms, guitars, and gallons of Gatorade on my head, though not all at once. I assume that's not the sort of talent you mean, though. My favorite talent is music. I seem to have a bit of a knack when it comes to rhythm, and between lessons and my own practice, I've gotten pretty good at guitar. I also play, with varying degrees of proficiency, bass, drums, keyboard, ukulele, otamatone, melodica, and the recorder. I also sing. I ended up with some strange but inexpensive instruments while burnt out, and it helped! I can play Twinkle Twinkle on so many things! I also write stories. I've been writing fiction since I was about eight years old, but my teachers have always told me to write in more detail, and I've never quite grasped how. I've been working on detail and actions recently, and sometimes guided practice can be a wonderful thing; my recent stories are ones I'm proud of, more so than ever. I've been learning to solve Rubik's cubes for about a year or so, now, and a friend gave me a 4x4x4 speedcube this past Christmas. I've already memorized most of the algorithms. It's literally all about repetition and guided practice! Finally, being neurodivergent helps me with my talents. Music and writing sort of fall into the category of a special interest, and I tend to follow hobby paths that excite my interests at a given moment. I'm a jack of many trades, now, and I wouldn't trade it, because my obsessions with knot-tying and species identification, etc., have come in handy!

We only have 100 words, stay with me. I'll introduce you to me using movies, math, and other things I like. I'm named after a flowery Disney Princess, but the name my friends use for me is Steven Spielberg's alien's nickname. I will be (121/11)*2 years old in 1/4 of a year. My dream career involves guitars, drums, microphones, computers, and soundproofing equipment. I don't care which side of the glass I end up on. My next-favorite subject is a pleasant mixture of counseling and research. Communications and biology, disorders and diagnoses. I might even... battle ionian... in both subjects.

She handed me the letter and told me not to read it there. Despite the temptation, I said goodbye to everyone, and my mom and I started the two-hour drive home. She asked me not to read it until I got home, and I said, "But you know I live down in Homestead, that'll take forever." "Fine, then you can read it in the car." It was the last day of Girls Rock Camp, a summer day camp focused on empowering young girls and giving them self-confidence, using rock music as a tool. My band coach was the one who handed me the letter. I waited until after I'd told my mom about my day to read the letter, written on thick, kind of soft paper that was torn out of some book. One line stood out to me, making a difference in my life every day since. The line in question read, "I want to tell you that life is truly just one day at a time. Every day you wake up and do something brave + trust your instinct is a successful day." I know that she wrote it from a place of experience, and I know some of the ways she intended it, but to me, this was a reminder to get up and keep moving every day. I have plenty of things standing in my way; I have ADHD, physical illnesses, and mental illnesses, I've struggled with my weight since I was eight or nine, I have a very diverse, multicultural family, and at the time, I was learning I was in the LGBTQ+ community. But we'd talked and I found out she had similar experiences, and it was a big deal for me to find any representation in someone outside of my family. We don't talk often anymore, maybe once or twice a year, but we follow each other on social media. Since she handed me that letter, I got more diagnoses, lost family members, and encountered more hardships, like moving across the country two years later. Still, I keep her letter and the one my bass teacher gave me in a box that I keep safe throughout moves, trips, and major events. Those words mean a lot to me, because it helps me remember some very important facts: Life is just one day at a time. If today is awful, make the most of it and try again tomorrow. Every day that I do something brave, even if that brave thing is to simply get up and face the world, it's a successful day. But I push myself to have new experiences and better myself every day, because she's right; I don't have to be perfect at everything I do, as long as I told myself I could try it.

I often say my extended family would be an advanced course in Abnormal Psychology. The amount and diversity of mental illness and dysfunction throughout the branches of the family tree is stunning. On my own, I have ADHD, generalized anxiety, and complex PTSD from bullying and abusive friendships (and I don't say that lightly). I know ADHD is not a mental illness, but given its associated symptoms and issues, and the toll it can take on one's mental health, I'm including it. I also have sleep issues that haven't been explained away just yet. My experience with mental illness started early; from the age of three, I've had awful taste in friends. I had a group of "friends" who would prank and hurt me and break my toys when I was seven. My "best friend", who I met when I was three, started with games that let to us breaking my toys (and my crib), and ended with letting her little cousin almost break some of my ribs. I don't think I struggle with any sort of mood disorder (aside from ADHD's emotional dysregulation), but having nightmares about being attacked by elementary school kids does keep one particularly down. If it's not that, it's the panic attacks over my grades or a missed test or some other stupid mistake I made because of my ADHD. Don't get me wrong on this next part: It's not entirely all worth it. I would never say, "I'm glad I had terrible friends, because it gave me empathy." But if I'm stuck with my issues anyway, I might as well make the best of it. Music helped me through that, and even as a distracted student. It's been one of my greatest talents. I plan to work within music, as I'm studying currently, and a big part of that goal includes providing representation by writing songs about my experience, and creating opportunities for other mentally ill musicians. I want to create and use a platform to destigmatize these experiences, and to uplift others with a range of experiences.

I'm sure a lot of people will write about teachers from high school or early on in college. There are other instructors, whether in later schooling or at Girls Rock Camp, who had a more direct influence on my college decisions, and I'm grateful; I'd talk about all of them if I could, but I want to tell you about Mrs. Knighton. Mrs. Knighton was an elderly Black teacher who I first met in fourth grade. Technically, my younger brother, a kindergartener at the time, met her first. My mom would walk me to class first, and him to class after, as his school day started after mine. As we waited for my teacher to arrive and let me into the classroom, we'd see other teachers come through the building with their lines of students. I don't remember exactly why he chose to talk to her specifically, but he started talking to her about Thomas the Tank Engine, and she listened to him excitedly rambling on about trains, making his faces and doing his impressions. My mom tried to stop him so Mrs. Knighton could get back to her class, but she stopped my mom. "Let him talk, it's alright." When she did have to go, she'd simply say so. This continued until the end of the year; if he encountered her, he'd talk to her. I'm sure I'd spoken to her a few times, but to me, that was my little brother's teacher friend. I'm telling you this, because I think it says a lot about her, and it sets things up for what I need to share about her. Behind the scenes, the school didn't score high enough on standardized testing for the principal, so she took away the best student experiences. Amongst worst crimes against students, our review time at the end of the day was replaced by "FCAT Intervention", The Standardized Testing Training Hour. We were split into groups that rotated, weekly, between science, math, and English. My group had science first. Re-introducing, Mrs. Knighton. Turns out, she was a science teacher. I later learned she was a gifted teacher in that county and might've been a pioneer of that program. She also believed in interactive, hands-on teaching, with many experiments. I had undiagnosed ADHD, in addition to being considered gifted, and her teaching style worked wonders for me. In a year where I missed more than half the days, I'd go to school sick if I got to have her class at the end of the day. She knew I was being bullied, and she did something about it, even if it wasn't quite enough help for my situation. When I struggled with a concept, she took the time to explain. And most importantly, she and my standard science teacher seemed to be the only ones in the school who believed in me and treated me like I could be something. Even when I left, and was homeschooled, I still saw her in the grocery store every so often. I found myself constantly learning more, trying new experiments, and absorbing information, but also teaching more, behaving with empathy, and seeing the wonders of nature. All things she'd encouraged. I knew that the next time I saw her, if there was a next time, I wanted to have something good to tell her. I constantly tried to grow my brain and my heart, because I knew she encouraged that in me, and I still try so hard because of her. I haven't seen her since 2017, when I moved to Michigan. I hope she's doing well.

I wish I could say that I don't know why music has a hold on me, or that it was my dream career for as long as I can remember, but that's not quite true. I can remember an occurrence from about the age of three or four, with a song my dad said reminded him of me. With Arms Wide Open, by Creed. Because it represented how he felt when he and my mom found out they were about to have a daughter (ignoring, of course, the song was written for a son). I didn't want to be a musician, yet, though; that came about because of Hannah Montana (I know, but still). What really solidified my love for music was, honestly, my experiences with bullying, but that's a long, confusing story, so we'll leave it at me saying, "I was bullied physically, verbally, and socially by pretty much everyone around my age for around 8 years and my family and music were the only support systems I really had." I can't say I've channeled all my energy into music, because that would deny my love of video games, YouTube, superhero movies, and, of course, fiction writing, but I think it's worth pointing out that music is the underlying essence of my life; if I don't listen to music often enough, my emotions go out of balance. If I don't find new music, everything begins to feel repetitive and boring. I thrive on selecting new experiences for myself, and music hasn't been an exception. To get back on track, I started college in Fall of 2018, with the intent to study at a community college for a year or so and then transfer to my local university and study music production, but the major I'd chosen (Multimedia, because the university's music production program is titled "Multimedia Arts Technology", but they didn't mean the same thing) was draining my soul from my body (or so it felt), so I transferred to a different community college, where I'm currently earning an Associate of Arts degree with a concentration in music performance. I've also decided I'm taking a gap year (or two) after graduating. In the meantime, though, I'm seeking scholarships to cut down on the amount of loans I have to request; my mother has disabilities that severely limit her ability to work, my dad is experiencing migraines and knee pain recently, and I'm the next-oldest, so the lower my payments are upon graduation, the better for myself and the rest of the household. As for aspirations in a music career, I'm realistic enough to know my chances are slim, but naïve enough to believe that I can still make it; Ideally, I want to become known, whether as a performer, music producer, or both, and make a living exclusively from music. Honestly, I'd love to get the chance to work with or at least perform near my second-favorite band, Waterparks (my first favorite is Nirvana, and the person I would want to work with from there is unfortunately unreachable). In conclusion, music is sort of the underlying essence in my life and it keeps me okay. I need this scholarship to be able to finish my degree and enter the workforce without putting my household in extreme debt. My aspirations are to be notable and a source of inspiration as a result of my performance or production work, and maybe get to work with my favorite active band. Thank you for reading!

For me, self-love has been like a really unpredictable roller coaster; sometimes it's stable, sometimes it's up, or down, or switching back and forth. So I grew up with one LGBTQ+ accepting (but sort of ignorant) parent and one who had a tendency to say homophobic things while still being technically accepting of people who were out to us. I started getting involved with the community at age 12, thanks to Avan Jogia's Straight But Not Narrow organization. It was the first time I'd really thought about the issues LGBTQ+ people faced, and the first time I was educated on the issues and the community in general. The next year, I'd watched the music video for Macklemore And Ryan Lewis's song "Same Love", and it made me tear up. I couldn't figure out why it affected me that way, if I was straight. It was around this time, also, that I started rejecting femininity, and I started wondering what was up with me, that being a girl felt wrong, but so did the thought of being a guy. I sort of shoved these thoughts to the side until I was 15 and joined Tumblr. My first follower, who was later my first mutual and is now my best friend, is an asexual and panromantic trans guy, and often shared posts about being queer to any degree. When I was 15, I came out to myself, my mom, and my friends as asexual. When I was 16, I did the same about being nonbinary. Finally, when I was 17, I came out as grey-panromantic, as well. These were not conclusions I came to gently. Being asexual was one thing; not having interest in sex wasn't a huge deal because people were always telling me to wait until I was older, anyways. It wasn't ever hard to do that, and I finally knew why. Being nonbinary/genderqueer, even, felt more like a weight being lifted from my chest than anything. The part that troubled me was dealing with my attraction to girls, even though I didn't consider myself one. It took the help of family and friends and a lot of soul-searching to come to terms with that, and love every part of my funky little queer self. I plan to keep making waves the way I already do: I talk about my experiences and educate those around me. I share the struggle of not being religious and still praying so many nights that if I was on the wrong path, to be redirected. Every sign, including so many dreams, only told me that I was and am who I was intended to be. For some people, this isn't enough, and some people will use anything to justify hate, but I'm not saying it for them; I'm saying it for the bystanders, including the teens facing the same struggle. As my favorite backpack pin says, "Gay is not okay, gay is freaking fabulous." I'm proud to be me, no matter what people say.

I've struggled with my mental health for much of my life so far, but likely, so has most of my family, so I think I'm pretty well-supported, given the circumstances. So I, personally, have generalized anxiety disorder and social anxiety. I have been diagnosed with mood disorders in the past, but my current doctors are working out if that's truly the case or not. I've been diagnosed with PTSD by a few different professionals over the years, as a result of bullying from elementary school and out-of-school incidents in middle school. While this isn't a mental illness, I also have ADHD, which can really screw with things. I had my first recognizable panic attack at age 15 or 16 and I've struggled with self-harm and binge-eating disorder in the past. Looking at my immediate and extended family, I definitely understand that I'm not an isolated incident. Now that you have my background, let's talk about how it affects/influences me. I've come to the conclusion that when dealing with people, assume they're struggling with something, because most people are. You can't always see peoples' mental or physical illnesses, their neurodivergencies, their fears, or any other thing that could be plaguing them. You just have to be kind and hope that whatever you're doing in relation to someone else is helping more than hurting. I've also realized that people who struggle tend to attract each other. As a queer, mentally ill, neurodivergent young adult, most or all of my friends check at least one of those 3 boxes. It's easy to skew statistics and assume that everyone is just like you, but I notice I tend to attract two types of people: people like me, or people who want to hurt me (and others, but for the summary...). Sometimes these two groups overlap; I've gotten into fights with and been hurt by people who were at least as much of a mess as me. Relationships of the romantic type aren't the focus in my mind. I think it's an intersectional issue for me, but that doesn't matter. My first recognizable panic attack occurred after my first official breakup (a relationship and breakup in name only), but to be fair, it was a messy not-dating-or-friends breakup that occurred days before my ex-best-friend's little cousin tried to attack me in a bounce house (I know, it sounds weird), so the panic attack that came a week or so later was warranted and didn't have a clear cause. I had another one a few weeks later. As far as family goes, if my mom hadn't also struggled with panic attacks, and if she hadn't talked pretty openly about them with me, I think it would've been worse. I knew what was happening, and I knew more or less how to wait it out because of her. My best friend and my partner both struggle with ADHD, anxiety, depressed states, and trauma, as well, and sometimes that makes it easier... Up until we're all having breakdowns on the same night. The biggest issue I think I've had, whether with family, friends, or my partner, is that we tend to cope differently, and even with ADHD, sometimes it means we're infodumping when someone else is overwhelmed, and it leads to issues. Sometimes, me taking a screen break to manage myself triggers anxiety in my friends. It's not always easy, but I think that us navigating how to talk about it constructively has been the biggest helper; nothing has emphasized the importance of proper communication like maintaining friendships with people who are messes like me. Career aspirations... That's a tough one. My love of music and, subsequently, my desire to work in music, was solidified by the trauma that led to my PTSD diagnoses. At the same time, it's complicated by that, because the PTSD and social anxiety make it hard to want to talk to people or be onstage, no matter how much I enjoy it when I'm actually doing it. My ADHD is tamed by music, and sometimes it's all I can talk about, but yet, that same ADHD distracts me when I'm learning or practicing. At the same time, the experiences that gave me some of my struggles, and the experience those struggles have caused, are not only great to write about, but they help me relate to others. It almost feels like the cause and solution to my issues with my studies and dream career are the same; the cause of my issues with writing and procrastination can be solved by the same, just in a different way. Ultimately, I wouldn't trade my experiences, but I still treat my illnesses and issues when I can. The fact of it is that I wouldn't be me without the experiences, but that doesn't mean I have to suffer. I can talk to people, I can use the medications I'm given when they work, and I can work to always be the best me I can be; I can give myself the space to get better while acknowledging the benefits of my experiences. I think that's one of the best things that people struggling can realize. (P.S.: If you want to work on social anxiety, a little tip I've used that works for me is to try to compliment one stranger every day that I can. I've gotten better at interacting with strangers as a result. It's a big help.)

As much as I love starting new things, I still don't know how to start writing, and you still have to sit through however many essays that might start with quotes like "Without music, life would be a mistake" -Friedrich Nietzche, or any other number of quote. Don't get me wrong, The Caterpillar Mustache Philosopher Man is one of my favorite philosophers to study, but what does that tell you about an artist, other than that they didn't know where to start, and didn't want to admit it? At least I can admit I'm lost! But you're not here for me to ramble on about introductions or a lack thereof, so I'll get to the point. Oh, my projects. My lovely, lengthy, cluster-mess of a project list. And you want to *hear* about it? Poor you. I'm so sorry. So I am, of course, a creator, in the sense that I create. I'm an artist in the sense that I create things in the realm of art. I don't think I know what I'm doing, but I don't know that anyone else does, either. In any event, I don't want to talk about it, but I have to, because everything costs money and I don't have enough of it. I am a musician, singer, songwriter, and aspiring music producer, if I can just get enough schooling and/or practice to get me to that last part. I'm currently obtaining an AA degree with a concentration in music performance. I have been in a few short-lived Girls-Rock-Camp-based bands that survived a month outside of camp, at most, each time. My current band, which is just me, is called Watermelon Graffiti (and, if you're allowed to check that out, there's an Instagram, Tumblr, and Soundcloud page so far), and with WG, I'm planning to record a 6-song EP over summer break. Of course, I have to balance this with moving houses, which should give me the space I need to properly record. So far, it's a disaster, but it's a work in progress. I have around 15 songs written, and another few that are nearly finished, I just need to be able to record and release them. If my summer project goes okay, it'll be just a little more experience than I previously had. I'm also a visual artist. Sort of. I have a few types of the Bestselling, Highly-Coveted, Sensory-Crossing Phenomenon, Synesthesia, and one of my types includes sound->color. Many songs have color for me, and I take advantage of this by drawing songs and sharing them on Instagram, Twitter, or just with my friends. My preferred mediums are digital art programs such as Krita or FireAlpaca, or a simple 5x7 sketchbook and colored pencils. I cannot figure out how to translate non-abstract visualizations to paper or screen with my hands, but I can do it just fine with those abstract visualizations. My current project in this realm is creating art based on the band Waterparks's 3 recent singles. One song, Numb, has two very distinct color sections, because the ending/outro is a different "setting" from the rest of the song, a lot more grey in an almost static-overlay fashion. I write a lot of stories. Usually, these stories are about teenagers or young adults. My current project involves a group of 17-18 year olds being trapped in an arcade that comes to life. I consider it similar to Jumanji mixed with Pixels, and most of the conflict actually comes from the interpersonal issues in the group; the arcade battles are simply the setting that keeps the plot moving. Finally, I love video games. I adore playing new games. One of my favorite classes I've ever taken as a college student was a class that assigned homework like "play a new video game" and "watch a new anime series". I had a gameplay channel on YouTube, but I was 14 at the time, and didn't have the friends or the money to play anything except Minecraft and whatever I could beta-test, so things got old quick. This year, my best friend, my partner, and I have gotten into discussion about Twitch streaming together. It may be on the ambitious side, given my other projects, but I'm planning to get into Twitch streaming over the summer. So the next question I'm supposed to answer is, "Why do you do what you do", and the reason I'm quoting it instead of just talking around it is because firstly, we both know why I'm writing this, but second, I don't know how to segue. I have a few reasons. Music and writing helped me out of dark spaces when I was younger, including during a period of about 7 years in which I was bullied to the point I got a PTSD diagnosis over it. Art is something I've loved and appreciated, but could never quite master. Video games are how I de-stress, and my siblings make them, so the least I can do is play them. The biggest reason I'm studying music and am involved with creative pursuits is because the thought of a desk job, in which I work from 9AM to 5PM every day making steady money, is the kind of nightmare I'd wake up screaming from. There's nothing wrong with other people having that job, but for me, it'd be the most awful thing. In case you didn't want to assume, I have ADHD, and apparently a big part of that for me is that I can't handle boring. Creative pursuits are what give me the neurotransmitters I need to get through a day, so why wouldn't I want to work in that? In closing, my belief is that in America's economy, I'll probably have financial issues and a lack of job security in any industry I could choose from. If I'm going to be broke, starving, and homeless, I'd rather it be from art than from, say, accounting. It's just not for me.

I come from a small town in the South. And by that, I mean, I was born in Miami, Florida, and raised in a small city in Miami-Dade County, by the Keys. Do I have your attention? Don't worry, I'll get it. I lived in Miami-Dade County until I was almost 17-and-a-half years old, and if you look up "Nicaraguan Americans" on Wikipedia, supposedly Miami-Dade County hosts 30% of the Nicaraguan population in the U.S., and the Miami Metropolitan Area hosts 90% of the same population in Florida. While this is important, it's also important to note that in Miami-Dade County, only around 16% of the population is white and non-hispanic/latine. I had access to different cultural experiences, but still my favorite was that of the country my dad came from. In case you haven't guessed, my dad's side of the family is Nicaraguan. I had access to family history, thanks to my relatives, and food, between the fritangas and the availability of latine food items at the grocery stores. The one area I always felt was lacking for me, as a Latin-American child, was representation. I knew early on that representation would never be exact for me; my dad's side hosts a range of racial presentations, so I have afro-latine or questionably-indigenous cousins, second-cousins, and aunts and uncles, as well as more white-appearing ones. On my mom's side, we have native heritage as well, though she has her mom's traits and therefore is also white-appearing. As such, I identify as a latine and Mi'kmaq racial-and-ethnic mess. My biggest issue is that in media, whether TV, movies, books, or anything else, I have never seen a Nicaraguan-American character. I have spent enough time ranting about how High School Musical, for being set in New Mexico, has no hispanic main characters, and how, in Austin and Ally (set in Miami, which is a whole other rant), there's one hispanic character, and she's Mexican-American. I was thrilled when I found out The Owl House's main character is Dominican-American, because most of the latine representation I've seen consists of Mexican-American or Cuban-American characters. The list of Nica-American celebrities is about 15 names long. My goal is to change that. I write stories and make music. My goal is to either end up on the public figures list as someone relevant to younger people, or to create more Nica-American characters, because representation, in my opinion, is so important. I want to create diverse representation, whether it's boosting other content-creators, with a focus on Nica-Americans, or whether it's all characters. We're diverse people, and we deserve to be the heroes, villains, best friends, and side-characters in stories just as much as any other group does. Regardless of how far I get, if I can show even one Nica-American child someone that's like them, then I'd be fully satisfied, but the more I can do, the better, of course. Thank you for reading! As you can tell, I had a lot to say!

Adversity is defined as-- Actually, that's the wrong place to start. But hey, I really had you there, didn't I? I've often thought about the circumstances that divide the levels and types of adversity that people face, but before I digress too far (which I will definitely do as a result of this first anecdote), let me just get started. When I was in Kindergarten, I was tested for gifted placement, which was how my parents learned I was reading, writing, and doing math on a 2nd or 3rd grade level. As I found out about 6 months ago, this giftedness was masking (or possibly even due to) ADHD, though this didn't start to show itself until later. At the end of 1st grade, following a dual-effort issue that led to me being left alone in a classroom for more than an hour as well as at least one teasing incident, my parents switched me to virtual school. During 2nd and 3rd grade, however, I still had issues with bullying, thanks to my at-the-time best friend and, separately, a family friend's four daughters. By the time I started attending public school again (4th and 5th grade, a law change made it so my little brother couldn't start virtual school until he'd done at least one year of face-to-face schooling), I was still ahead in school, but had issues with self-esteem, and had other issues I didn't know how to explain yet. I started at the same school I'd attended before, about 2 weeks into the school year. Within 3 days, I'd had notes passed about me, and had an incident in which someone took and hid my backpack, claiming they'd thrown it away. It got worse from there, whether it was teasing about my hair, my weight, my acne issues, or anything else, all the way up to having items stolen from me, or being shoved in the halls. At the same time, I was excelling in school, but would start homework upon dismissal at 3, and wouldn't be finished until 8 P.M. or later with the standard workload. My teachers did not believe my mom and were not willing to help find a solution. At the end of 5th grade, my parents pulled me from the school again, and I was homeschooled from that point until I graduated. As a result of the bullying in elementary school, the cyberbullying I faced after leaving that school, the cyberbullying from the aforementioned best friend's friends, and, finally, that friend's abuse (up to and including her letting her younger cousin beat me up on more than one occasion, including after I managed to annoy her crush over the phone), I've had ongoing issues. I struggled with self-harming behaviors from age 7 until age 13, I was diagnosed with binge-eating disorder in 2013 (during a hospital visit) as a result of the bullying and PCOS (which is what I was actually in the hospital for), and in 2016, I was diagnosed with PTSD, following a particularly bad trigger incident. I've battled depressed episodes, PTSD, social anxiety, generalized anxiety, and a fear of sleep (from nightmares) as a result of this bullying. It's still an obstacle for me, because obviously, PTSD isn't something that goes away so easily, but I've made steps to lessen my anxieties when it comes to schools, people, authority, and sleep. I have a better relationship with food, and have been clean from self-harm for just over 7 years, now. I have safe, stable friends that show me the same love, respect, and effort that I show them. It took working on myself and finding the right people to find a way over the scars other people gave me, and I'm still navigating things, but it's also served to make me more understanding of others, and better equipped to help others who are also struggling. It also reminds me that I've survived so much, and that I can get through anything with the help of my support system.

Music has starred in some of my earliest memories, and has been a major feature of my life before I knew who I was outside of it. One of my first memories is listening to "With Arms Wide Open" by Creed at around 3 years old. My dad had sort of dedicated it to me when he'd first heard it. By the time I was 7, I'd dreamed of performing music, brutally destroying my parents' hopes, which I'd raised for the previous 4 years saying I really wanted to be a doctor. (Obviously, they weren't actually that upset.) 4th and 5th grade in public school, following a two-year-long run of virtual-schooling, was probably the time in which music really took its hold on me; I started 4th grade about two weeks into the school year, and within 3 days, people were already passing notes about me and stealing my backpack, hiding it, and telling me it was in a trash can somewhere. It got worse from there, as you can imagine, and music was essential to my survival. I could ignore insults or taunts or threats if I just tuned into the songs constantly running through my head. It gave me the courage I couldn't produce anymore, and it gave me the means to express emotions I couldn't understand enough to talk through. I was homeschooled from the start of 6th grade until I graduated high school. Nonetheless, when I was 15, I found the word "asexual", and fought within myself to figure out if that was me. That was the easy part. Next, and during a point in time where I was faced with former bullies often, I began questioning my gender identity. Finally, I had to come to terms with my internalized issues enough to come out to myself as panromantic, in addition to being asexual and nonbinary. You may be wondering how that's relevant, and the common thread is that during this time, I was teaching myself to play guitar. I had attended a Girls Rock Camp about a month before I started my questioning period, and finally had a taste of performing. The "stage bug" was there, now. By the time I "graduated" from the camp at age 17, I didn't even consider myself a girl anymore, but that community, with other nonbinary campers and volunteers, helped me come to terms with who I was. Music was, is, and (hopefully) will always be a lifesaver for me. It got me through bullying, self-discovery, and countless other things that would take so much longer to express. Today, it's the soundtrack to my art (literally, I have synesthesia and can't draw, so abstract art that depicts how music looks to me is actually my best work), and my stories. Most importantly, I'm studying music at my school currently, and plan to work in either music performance or music production. While I appreciate many different genres of music, my specialty still lies in the realm of rock and pop music. I curate playlists for my friends and their friends (and so on) that feature pride music or queer musicians, which means I often end up introducing people to their own soundtracks. I'm actually listening to one of those playlists right now. My identity is a complex one; I have a complicated racial/ethnic background, a multiple-queer identity, I'm 2e (gifted and ADHD, for me), but the one I hold highest, above the other identities, is musician-and-music-lover. Music is a unifying force, and while the mainstream industry doesn't represent such, there's so much diversity within music. It is a thing of beauty, whether on an interpersonal or intrapersonal level. Even if I don't get lucky and my work never pays off, I don't think I'll ever regret trying to create music. That, in itself, is almost its own payoff.

Every time I get a message from my partner, see a friend work towards transition, or even see celebrities coming out or find other representation, I feel a surge of pride. I am proud of who I am, and it's partly because I realized that no amount of trying, repressing, or praying would change who I am; I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be, then. I show my pride so other people can, too.