There must be fifty different kinds to try, I think to myself as my younger brother, younger sister, and I twist open the bottles of candy left out on the counter. We pop the different colored tablets into our hungry mouths and chew them until they are soft enough to swallow. I wake up in the hospital with a tube down my throat. The colored candies we ate were actually pills; we accidentally overdosed. I was only six. When my grandmother passed away from cancer, my alcoholic grandfather couldn't care for my siblings and me on his own, so we moved in with my mom. She left us home alone, starving, for days at a time. She relied on me to care for my younger siblings, but I was only a kid. If I didn't complete chores or if I talked back, she hit me. Teachers saw bruises on my arm, so DCF visited our home from time to time, but nothing was ever done. While I was in the hospital recovering from the overdose, my father, whom I had only met a couple of times, visited. This was the first time I truly understood who he was to me. The night we were discharged from the hospital, DCF took my siblings and I to our first foster home. After five months, my brother and I moved to a new foster home. I never saw my two younger sisters again. For the next five years, I bounced between foster homes, never staying for more than a year at a time. My final year in foster care, I got along with my foster mother. She allowed my dad and his wife to visit me. I loved seeing him. Finally, when I was 11, my dad gained custody of me. Living with my dad and his wife was peaceful at first. He clothed and fed me. Then, when I entered high school, his behavior changed. He struggled to make ends meet as he sold knock-off designer clothes to get cash, a car, or weed. He started cursing, drinking, and smoking weed in front of me. Whenever I received a low grade on my report card, he told me I was going to end up like my mom—selling sex for money. The verbal abuse became a routine, so I isolated myself in my room. As a result of my homelife, I changed from being outgoing to being completely shut off. In December of my junior year, my 26-year-old sister visited. She left behind a mess when she cooked, didn't make her bed, and took my things without asking. When my father told me to make her bed, I refused. He screamed at me, grabbed my bedding, pillows, mattress, and all my clothes, and told me to leave his house. I called the police. When they arrived, my dad swore and called me foul names. Deciding it was unsafe for me to stay, the police took me to a shelter. There, after three weeks, I moved into Starting Right, Now (SRN), a residential program for homeless teens. As a result of living in toxic environment with both parents, I developed poor mental health and was truly struggling. After two years of hard work and personal development at SRN my mental health has improved, and my self-esteem has grown tremendously. Although I am still working on self-improvement, I am proud of how far I have come. I am more open-minded and willing to try new things. I ask for help often because I now realize there is always one good person in this world willing to help me if I let him/her. I can't do everything by myself and that's okay. It's okay to struggle, but I won't give up on myself. I will always get back up and try because there's light at the end of any dark tunnel, and, most importantly, after hurting myself for so long I can forgive myself. I deserve to give myself grace and kindness. I put trust in God and embrace my journey. After graduation, I will attend college to earn my bachelor’s degree in pre-medical sciences and eventually attend medical school to become a doctor. I know I want a career helping people along their journey, too. I wasn’t sure I would ever graduate. Now, I am ready for college and excited for my future.