I was a fourth grader with no eyelashes and no eyebrows. My eyes often burned from dust particles or gusts of wind, but even more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the cruel jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman. The worst part was that I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know.” This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index fingernails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why they were gone. I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but after years of obsessive research trying to determine what was wrong with me, I can now spell the brutal condition with ease. Through my constant research, I discovered that trichotillomania is closely related to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). However, I denied this at first. My teachers and classmates would use this disorder as an adjective to describe their organizational habits. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania developed—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. No, I did not have a condition. I was simply abnormal. I did not receive mental health care until the end of high school. I visited a psychologist and left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was promptly placed on antidepressants. I was shocked as my perspective on life changed so drastically. It was as if I lived my entire life blind and was suddenly granted the ability to see at 17 years old. It was liberating. However, I cannot help but feel as if my childhood was essentially ripped away from me. Yet, something good came out of it—this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. With my new perspective came the formation of something that I had not bothered planning when I had no desire to continue living: my future. I have decided that my unfortunate circumstances have a silver lining: I have the ability to understand children who are being suppressed by their mental disorders, and I can liberate them. Thus, as a future child psychologist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bringing awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same. Even now, I sometimes feel as if I am faking my mental disorders for attention. This is an extremely damaging mindset, and it breaks my heart that there are countless children today struggling with this same issue. No fourth grader should ever feel the way I did. I cannot go back and reclaim the childhood I lost, so I will ensure that other children do not lose theirs.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

I did not have any eyelashes or eyebrows in fourth grade. My eyes burned often from the lack of protection to dust particles or gusts of wind, but more so with tears as I cried myself to sleep. I remember the isolation I felt from my peers. I remember the mean comments and jabs from those who were once my friends. I remember the sharp decline of my self-worth. I felt so idiotic and deranged. I was hideous and often compared my appearance to a caveman, and I had nobody to blame but myself. When my classmates constantly questioned why I suddenly lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, I only answered with “I don’t know”. This was both a shameful lie and an unfortunate truth. I knew exactly where they went, and the dents in my thumb and index finger nails could attest to that. However, I could not explain why I did it. The “why” did not come to me for a very long time. In seventh grade, I discovered that my condition had a name: Trichotillomania. It took me a while to master the spelling, but my obsessive research exposed me to the word enough that I can now spell it effortlessly. I learned through my constant research that trichotillomania stemmed from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD, the term my teachers and peers constantly labeled themselves while cleaning or organizing. The disaster that was my room—which began shortly after my trichotillomania—contradicted OCD’s stereotype, and led to my dismissal of the term. My trichotillomania continued to high school, but I have slightly more control of it. I am currently in twelfth grade and visited a psychologist for the first time a few months ago. I left the building with a diagnosis of OCD, anxiety, and depression. I was then placed on antidepressants, and I was shocked as my perspective on life was flipped completely. I could not comprehend that this is how mentally healthy people viewed the world. It was as if I was born blind and suddenly was granted the ability to see at 17 years old. I feel like I wasted so, so many years of my life. Wanting to kill myself for half of my life has done irreparable damage, and I constantly question how none of the adults around me seemed to notice my plethora of mental issues. Looking back, there were countless signs that were ignored and even ridiculed. I had to be brave enough to confront my mother about my suspicions of my various mental issues after being yelled at for suggesting suicide multiple times in my youth. I had to do the research entirely on my own. I brought up the three mental issues that I suspected that I had, and was promptly diagnosed with each one. Although I struggled so much mentally over the years, I am grateful that something good came out of it; this was how I discovered my passion for psychology. I see myself in Ryan— we share our empathetic and inquisitive nature, and our experience with social isolation and rejection due to our mental health issues. As a future child psychologist or psychiatrist, my mission is to prevent lives like mine and Ryan’s. The first step will be an increase in awareness and acceptance of mental health. Part of the reason why children struggle so much when it comes to mental health is the misinformation, the stigmatization, and the isolation that society cultivates. I will push for the normalization of bring awareness to mental health in schools, and urge others who specialize in mental health to do the same.

Dear future Krisalyn, We better be rich and successful right now. I have worked so, so hard throughout our entire academic career. I did not take so many AP and Honors classes just for us to settle with a job at Walmart. Remember how many times we cried over these stupid classes? Yeah, it was a lot. Sorry for berating us. College is probably so much harder than high school is. And I have no doubt that we are working extremely hard to achieve our dream of becoming a psychologist. Or a psychiatrist, if we are ambitious enough for that. I know it’s twelve years of college. And medical school… But it’s okay! Maybe we like college! I am really excited for it right now actually. I feel like it is going to be so much better than high school. I mean, we can actually learn what we’re interested in. I’m taking AP Psychology next year and I am so excited because I know this is what we were made for. I am so proud of us for how far we made it. So, so proud. And excited. We get to help others in the way we needed. Isn’t that beautiful? I cannot wait to feel the satisfaction of helping others be okay. Just thinking about it is making me all smiley. It’s just so sweet. I am so jealous that I cannot be there right now, but I know that it will come in time. I feel like I’m being too informal, but it’s a letter.. not a research paper. They can deal with it. At least I’m not using emojis. Anyways… we better be at UGA. I don’t know how old we are, so.. Are we in college or are we a psychologist? Who knows. The instructions weren’t very clear. Either way, we better be successful. I am going to be so pissed at us if we switched our dream career again. Actually, if you switched it. Not we. Because I want to be a psychologist and a psychologist only. If you went and switched it up, that’s on you. And I am very angry at you. Unless we are happier. Or richer. Preferably both. I will accept it then. Anyway, I am confident that everything will work out. It always does, in the end. Even if we don’t expect it. And I hope that wherever we are, we are happy. And successful. And confident. And rich. I really want money if you couldn’t tell. I need to be comfortable in life after all of this stress. Also, I kind of want to be able to afford a house. And I want to live somewhere cool, like Washington or California. The only thing cool about Georgia is that this scholarship only allows people from Georgia and New York. Which is weird because these states are very different from each other. Alright, well I think I’ve made my point. When I saw that the minimum word count was 400 I was dreading this, but now I’m already at 500. I guess it’s easier to talk to myself than about myself. We better be a happy, confident, successful, rich, hot, amazing woman with a family by the time I get there. Don’t wait for me.

I have always wanted to see a crossover episode of “Jessie” and “Austin & Ally”. Both shows have similar values, focusing on the importance of friendship and family relationships and they have similar moods. I imagine this crossover episode beginning in the penthouse in “Jessie”. Because Emma is your stereotypical teenage girl, she would be a fan of pop music, so she would love Austin Moon. She would beg Jessie to take her to Miami to attend an Austin Moon concert. Jessie would disagree at first. However, she is always looking for acting opportunities. She would agree to take Emma if it means she might get a role. Ravi would secretly enjoy pop music and would agree to go to the Austin Moon concert. Bertram would only go to sleep on the beach. Luke and Zuri, however, would not want to go because neither of them are interested in pop music. Jessie would force them to go because they can’t stay home alone. Jessie, Bertram, and the children would then take the private jet to Miami. During the flight, Luke and Zuri would be making fun of Emma because of her crush on Austin and the fact that she has no chance with him. Ravi would step in to make Emma feel better by fangirling with her, surprising everyone. Once they arrive at the concert, Bertram would immediately find a spot to take a nap, leaving Jessie to watch the kids instead of auditioning for a role. She would be disappointed, as it was her main incentive for going to Miami. Jessie would spend the entire time on her phone, searching for acting opportunities. Emma and Ravi would be focused on the concert. Luke and Zuri would be very bored and would take advantage of Jessie, Emma, and Ravi being distracted and sneak off to Sonic Boom, Ally’s dad’s music store. Once the concert ends, Emma and Ravi would immediately go up to talk to Austin to get autographs. Emma would persistently continue talking to him and try to get to know him, as she is obsessed with him. Jessie would start panicking when she realizes Luke and Zuri are gone, asking Emma and Ravi if they knew where they were. Austin would hear this and would immediately volunteer to help find the other kids. Emma would take advantage of this extra time with Austin to try to talk to him more. Jessie would scold her, reminding her that her siblings are lost and telling her that finding her siblings was more important than flirting with Austin. Emma would feel guilty, realizing the gravity of the situation and starting searching for her siblings. Eventually, Austin would get a call from Trish and Dez. They would tell him that they’ve been hanging out with two kids at their store who were supposed to be at his concert. Austin would take Jessie, Ravi, and Emma to Sonic Boom where they would reunite with Luke and Zuri. Emma would be very relieved, as she was worried about them and remembered how much she values her family. Jessie would tell them that they were going home. Ravi would ask about her audition and she would say that she missed any that she had a chance of making. Austin would hear this and mention that he’s looking for actors in his latest music video and ask if they want to participate.This allows them all to connect and get to know each other and it would leave a happy ending. This episode would be called “Nannies & Negligence”, fitting the “Austin & Ally” episode naming format.