Friday, June 1, 2017, a special day for me—my fifth-grade graduation. Slipping on my sparkly black dress and black strap heels a pit fell in my stomach. Walking to my mother’s room, the tension rose. “Sit down,” my mother said. “Your father will not be attending your graduation today. He passed.” Was she kidding? The smirk on her face confused me. I dialed his number on the family phone. A few seconds passed, straight to voicemail. I thought, “He is on the way; the roads he must take to get here don’t have cell service.” After looking through the crowd, I noticed he was not there. It was true, devastating, but no tears filled my eyes. Sadness had already turned into anger knowing we shared moments together that we would never be able to share again. Everyone, including people I didn’t know, crowded me with hugs and grim red roses. I am the oldest, meaning I must be the toughest and strongest. I couldn’t let my family see how much this hurt me, so I smiled. I smiled until my dimples pressed into my teeth. Reassuring them I was “alright” although inside I was burning with fury and sorrow from losing him. Knowing I had to continue to set an example after he was gone. During middle school, I was bullied because I lost my father and cousin the same year due to suicide. After 2017, my family experienced twelve fatalities, all similar. I tell you this not for sympathy but to help you understand the challenges I have faced in eight short years. As a result, the first anxiety attack happened when I entered the lunchroom. The walls caved in while everyone rushed towards me, leading me to pass out onto the floor. After, it happened frequently until I was forced to see a psychologist. In a session, she asked, “Cry sweetheart, why don't you cry?” That day it had been 653 days since I had allowed myself to do so. Realizing I needed to learn how to cope with my emotions, thus introducing me to the aspect of emotional rehabilitation. I was given a list of diverse activities to help me cope, but none seemed to truly help me regulate my feelings. Eventually, I joined Buddy Club—a group that fosters healthy friendships between special and general education students. In this club, I met an array of different students, but notably young adults requiring help performing daily tasks. Due to these experiences, I became intrigued with the process of rehabilitation and its benefits for daily life. During my free time, I watched videos explaining the mechanics and advancements in rehabilitation. I found the process of doing daily tasks and re-learning movements fascinating, introducing me to the field of occupational therapy. Over time, I learned how precious life truly is. I learned and adjusted despite my family’s “generational curse”. I chose to be and will continue to be the bubbly, energetic girl who smiles and waves as you stroll past. I am extremely determined and well-spoken, using my traits as an advantage to advocate for others. The person who informs people about the signs of suicide since I didn’t know them. I believe a little kindness would have inspired my family to stay longer, therefore I strive to do the same for others. I discovered I enjoy selfless service and being able to be an advocate for others, setting my aspiration to become an occupational therapist for the disabled and impaired in hopes of helping families embrace the beautiful gift of life, which I have learned to cherish.

June 1, 2017, my fifth-grade graduation, I felt the tension rise. “Sit down,” my mother said. “Your father will not be attending your graduation today. He passed.” Was she kidding? The smirk on her face confused me. I dialed his number on the family phone. A few seconds passed, straight to voicemail. I thought, “He is on the way; the roads he must take to get here don’t have much cell service.” After looking through the crowd, I noticed he was not there. It was true, devastating, but no tears filled my eyes. Despite the sadness and anger, my family gathered, bringing hugs and grim red roses. This marks 4 of the twelve fatalities my family has experienced from suicide in eight short years. Throughout middle school anxiety attacks occurred frequently, leading me to seek help from a psychologist. In a session, she asked, “Cry sweetheart, why don't you cry?” That day it had been 653 days since I had allowed myself to do so. Realizing I needed to learn how to cope with my emotions, thus introducing me to the aspect of emotional rehabilitation. Despite various activities, none truly helped regulate my feelings. Eventually I joined Buddy Club, a group that fosters healthy friendships between special and general education students. I met students who needed help performing daily tasks and became intrigued by the process of rehabilitation and its benefits for daily life. In my free time, I watched videos explaining the mechanics and advancements in rehabilitation and found the process of doing daily tasks fascinating, introducing me to the field of occupational therapy. Despite my family's "generational curse," I chose to be the bubbly, energetic girl who smiled and waved as they strolled past. I used their determination to advocate for others, informing people about signs of suicide. I believe a little kindness would have inspired my family to stay longer, therefore I strive to do the same for others. I discovered I enjoy selfless service and being able to be an advocate for others, setting my aspiration to become an occupational therapist for the disabled and impaired in hopes of helping families embrace the beautiful gift of life, which I have learned to cherish.

Friday, June 1, 2017, a special day for me—my fifth-grade graduation. Slipping on my sparkly black dress and black strap heels a pit fell in my stomach. Walking to my mother’s room, the tension rose. “Sit down,” my mother said. “Your father will not be attending your graduation today. He passed.” Was she kidding? The smirk on her face confused me. I dialed his number on the family phone. A few seconds passed, straight to voicemail. I thought, “He is on the way; the roads he must take to get here don’t have cell service.” After looking through the crowd, I noticed he was not there. It was true, devastating, but no tears filled my eyes. Sadness had already turned into anger knowing we shared moments together that we would never be able to share again. Everyone, including people I didn’t know, crowded me with hugs and grim red roses. I am the oldest, meaning I must be the toughest and strongest. I couldn’t let my family see how much this hurt me, so I smiled. I smiled until my dimples pressed into my teeth. Reassuring them I was “alright” although inside I was burning with fury and sorrow from losing him. Knowing I had to continue to set an example after he was gone. During middle school, I was bullied because I lost my father and cousin the same year due to suicide. After 2017, my family experienced twelve fatalities, all similar. I tell you this not for sympathy but to help you understand the challenges I have faced in eight short years. As a result, the first anxiety attack happened when I entered the lunchroom. The walls caved in while everyone rushed towards me, leading me to pass out onto the floor. After, it happened frequently until I was forced to see a psychologist. In a session, she asked, “Cry sweetheart, why don't you cry?” That day it had been 653 days since I had allowed myself to do so. Realizing I needed to learn how to cope with my emotions, thus introducing me to the aspect of emotional rehabilitation. I was given a list of diverse activities to help me cope, but none seemed to truly help me regulate my feelings. Eventually, I joined Buddy Club—a group that fosters healthy friendships between special and general education students. In this club, I met an array of different students, but notably young adults requiring help performing daily tasks. Due to these experiences, I became intrigued with the process of rehabilitation and its benefits for daily life. During my free time, I watched videos explaining the mechanics and advancements in rehabilitation. I found the process of doing daily tasks and re-learning movements fascinating, introducing me to the field of occupational therapy. Over time, I learned how precious life truly is. I learned and adjusted despite my family’s “generational curse”. I chose to be and will continue to be the bubbly, energetic girl who smiles and waves as you stroll past. I am extremely determined and well-spoken, using my traits as an advantage to advocate for others. The person who informs people about the signs of suicide since I didn’t know them. I believe a little kindness would have inspired my family to stay longer, therefore I strive to do the same for others. I discovered I enjoy selfless service and being able to be an advocate for others, setting my aspiration to become an occupational therapist for the disabled and impaired in hopes of helping families embrace the beautiful gift of life, which I have learned to cherish.

Friday, June 1, 2017, a special day for me—my fifth-grade graduation. Slipping on my sparkly black dress and black strap heels a pit fell in my stomach. Walking to my mother’s room, the tension rose. “Sit down,” my mother said. “Your father will not be attending your graduation today. He passed.” Was she kidding? The smirk on her face confused me. I dialed his number on the family phone. A few seconds passed, straight to voicemail. I thought, “He is on the way; the roads he must take to get here don’t have cell service.” After looking through the crowd, I noticed he was not there. It was true, devastating, but no tears filled my eyes. Sadness had already turned into anger knowing we shared moments together that we would never be able to share again. Everyone, including people I didn’t know, crowded me with hugs and grim red roses. I am the oldest, meaning I must be the toughest and strongest. I couldn’t let my family see how much this hurt me, so I smiled. I smiled until my dimples pressed into my teeth. Reassuring them I was “alright” although inside I was burning with fury and sorrow from losing him. Knowing I had to continue to set an example after he was gone. During middle school, I was bullied because I lost my father and cousin the same year due to suicide. After 2017, my family experienced twelve fatalities, all similar. I tell you this not for sympathy but to help you understand the challenges I have faced in eight short years. As a result, the first anxiety attack happened when I entered the lunchroom. The walls caved in while everyone rushed towards me, leading me to pass out onto the floor. After, it happened frequently until I was forced to see a psychologist. In a session, she asked, “Cry sweetheart, why don't you cry?” That day it had been 653 days since I had allowed myself to do so. Realizing I needed to learn how to cope with my emotions, thus introducing me to the aspect of emotional rehabilitation. I was given a list of diverse activities to help me cope, but none seemed to truly help me regulate my feelings. Eventually, I joined Buddy Club—a group that fosters healthy friendships between special and general education students. In this club, I met an array of different students, but notably young adults requiring help performing daily tasks. Due to these experiences, I became intrigued with the process of rehabilitation and its benefits for daily life. During my free time, I watched videos explaining the mechanics and advancements in rehabilitation. I found the process of doing daily tasks and re-learning movements fascinating, introducing me to the field of occupational therapy. Over time, I learned how precious life truly is. I learned and adjusted despite my family’s “generational curse”. I chose to be and will continue to be the bubbly, energetic girl who smiles and waves as you stroll past. I am extremely determined and well-spoken, using my traits as an advantage to advocate for others. The person who informs people about the signs of suicide since I didn’t know them. I believe a little kindness would have inspired my family to stay longer, therefore I strive to do the same for others. I discovered I enjoy selfless service and being able to be an advocate for others, setting my aspiration to become an occupational therapist for the disabled and impaired in hopes of helping families embrace the beautiful gift of life, which I have learned to cherish.

Mere days before my 5th-grade graduation, my father took his life. Spending years looking back and reminiscing about his past, allowing it to dictate his future. Consequently, at the age of eleven, my precious little cousin also committed suicide. His death taught me that other’s perception is not how we tend to live our lives. After 2017, my family has experienced twelve fatalities, all in similar aspects. I tell you this not for sympathy or pity, but simply to help you understand the complexities of the challenges I have faced in life in eight short years. The first time my family's history impacted me was Friday, June 1, 2017. A special day for me; my fifth-grade graduation. I slipped on my sparkly black dress and black strap heels. I had a growing pitfall in my stomach. Briskly walking to my mother’s room, I felt the tension rise. “Sit down,” my mother said with a smirk. “Your father will not be attending your graduation today. He passed.” Was she kidding? The smirk on her face had me confused. I ran to the living room and began to dial his number on the family phone. A few seconds passed, straight to voicemail. I thought, “He is on the way; the roads he must take to get here don’t have much cell service.” After looking through the crowd, I noticed he was not there. It was true, devastating, but no tears filled my eyes. The sadness had already turned into anger. We had shared moments together that we would never be able to share again. Everyone, including people I didn’t know, crowded me with hugs and grim red roses. I am the oldest, meaning I must be the toughest and strongest. I couldn’t let my family see how much this hurt me, so I smiled. I smiled until my dimples pressed into my teeth. It reassured them I was “alright” even though deep inside I was burning with fury and sorrow from losing him. I knew I had to continue to set an example after he was gone. My first week in middle school I was bullied because I lost my father and cousin the same year due to suicide. As a result, I had my first anxiety attack when I entered the lunchroom. The walls caved in while everyone rushed towards me, leading me to pass out onto the cafeteria floor. After the first time, it happened frequently until I was forced to see a psychologist. In the first session, she asked, “Cry sweetheart, why don't you cry?” That day it had been 653 days (about 2 years) since I had allowed myself to do so. This was when I was told I needed to learn how to cope with my emotions, thus introducing me to the aspect of emotional rehabilitation. I was given a list of diverse activities to help me cope, but none seemed to truly help me regulate my feelings. Eventually, I joined Buddy Club—a group that strives to foster healthy friendships between special and general education students. In this club, I met students with Down syndrome, Spina Bifida, shaken baby syndrome, and most notably children, teenagers, and young adults requiring help to perform daily tasks. Due to these experiences, I became intrigued with the process of rehabilitation and its benefits for daily life. During my free time, I began to research and watch videos explaining the mechanics of body systems and advancements in rehabilitation. I found the process of doing daily tasks and re-learning to do the same movements fascinating, thus introducing me to the field of occupational therapy. Over time, I have learned how precious life truly is. I learned many lessons and adjusted despite my family’s generational curse. I chose to be and will continue to be the bubbly, energetic girl who smiles and waves as you stroll past. I am extremely determined and well-spoken, using my traits as an advantage. I am the person who tries to talk and inform people about the signs of suicide since I didn’t know them. I believe a little kindness may have inspired my family to stay longer, therefore I strive to do the same for others. Through my determination and self-exploration, I discovered I enjoy selfless service and being able to be an advocate for others, setting my aspiration to become an occupational therapist for the disabled and impaired in hopes of helping families embrace the beautiful gift of life, which I have learned to cherish.