For most of my life, college didn’t feel like an attainable option, it felt like a distant dream meant for people with fewer obstacles and more resources. As an immigrant, a first-generation college student, and someone who has navigated mental illness, addiction, and learning disabilities, I’ve had to fight to even see college as possible, let alone pursue it. But I’m determined to change the narrative, not just for myself, but for others like me. My plans for the future are rooted in service. I’m pursuing a degree in sociology with the goal of becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). My ultimate dream is to open a youth residential treatment center that provides compassionate, trauma-informed, and inclusive care for adolescents struggling with mental health challenges, addiction, and identity-based discrimination. I want to create a space where young people, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, can access the support they deserve. This career path isn’t just something I learned about in a textbook, it’s personal. I’ve been in the system. I’ve experienced firsthand how mental health care often fails those of us with complex needs. By age nine, I was battling severe mental health symptoms. As I got older, I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety, and I struggled with opioid addiction and alcoholism. I also faced challenges navigating life as a queer, non-binary immigrant with mental health struggles. These experiences could have broken me. Instead, they shaped me into someone determined to create change. Getting to this point hasn’t been easy. I faced academic setbacks, changing majors due to untreated mental health issues and addiction. But failure taught me resilience. After getting sober and stabilizing my mental health, I change my major from computer science to sociology, knowing exactly what I’m working toward. I’m also working as a mentor in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, gaining hands-on experience in the field I’m passionate about. This scholarship would relieve some of the constant financial strain that comes with being a first-generation, low-income student. Right now, I’m balancing school, two jobs, recovery, and saving for essential expenses like reliable transportation so I can continue commuting to both classes and my job. Every dollar of support brings me closer to staying on track, completing my degree, and building the future I’ve worked so hard for. But this isn’t just about me. I want to be part of breaking cycles. Cycles of limited access to care, cycles of stigma around mental illness and addiction, and cycles of young people feeling like college or a meaningful career isn’t for them. My lived experiences, combined with my education, will allow me to make a tangible impact on my community, offering young people the support and belief that I once struggled to find. College may have once felt impossible, but with hard work, support, and scholarships like this one, I’m turning what felt impossible into reality. This scholarship isn’t just an investment in my education, it’s an investment in the future mental health care system I plan to help build, one where every young person feels seen, supported, and capable of healing.

Mental health care saved my life, but only after nearly breaking me. For years, I fell through the cracks of a system that was supposed to help. Struggling with mental illness, addiction, and stigma, I learned firsthand how deeply flawed our mental health care system can be, and how urgently it needs to change. My journey with mental health started young. By age nine, I was battling severe symptoms and eventually received diagnoses of PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety. As my mental health worsened, I turned to substances as a way to cope, falling into opioid addiction during some of my darkest moments. I didn’t start using to have fun, I used because I was desperate for relief from a mind that constantly felt like it was against me. It wasn’t until I entered residential treatment that things finally shifted, but not all at once. That experience helped me stabilize my mental health for the first time. I was treated with compassion, patience, and understanding. The staff didn’t reduce me to a diagnosis, they saw the whole person underneath the symptoms. But my addiction didn’t end there. It would take nearly two more years, countless hard lessons, and finally getting sober before I truly understood the kind of change I wanted to create, not just for myself, but for others like me. I didn’t want to just survive this system. I wanted to help rebuild it. The reality is that mental health and addiction are inseparable, yet too often treated in isolation. That disconnect leaves countless people, especially young people, struggling without the support they need. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And I’ve committed my life to doing something about it. Today, I’m pursuing a degree in sociology, with plans to earn my master’s in social work and become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. I work as a mentor in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD and as an instructor supporting students of all ages. These experiences have shown me both the power, and the limitations, of the system as it stands. I’ve learned how to connect with teens, how to offer empathy and structure, but I’ve also seen the barriers: lack of accessibility, stigma, and care models that fail to address the intersection of mental health, addiction, and identity. My long-term goal is to open a residential treatment center for adolescents, one that embodies everything the system so often lacks. A place where LGBTQIA+ youth, those with stigmatized diagnoses, and teens battling addiction aren’t treated as “difficult” but as individuals worthy of respect and recovery. A place where addiction and mental health aren’t treated separately, but understood as intertwined pieces of a puzzle. This scholarship isn’t just financial support, it’s an investment in a future where young people like Brian, and like me, aren’t lost to a system that fails to see them. It’s a recognition that those of us with lived experience belong at the forefront of change. Mental health care saved my life, but only after nearly breaking me. I refuse to let that be the standard. I’m determined to help build a system that offers hope, healing, and understanding from the start, because no young person should have to reach rock bottom just to be seen.

Life has given me a complex and difficult journey, one filled with emotional pain, identity struggles, and ultimately a deep sense of purpose. Mental health has always been a central part of my story. From the age of nine, I began experiencing severe symptoms, including suicidal ideation. Over the years, I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, depression, and anxiety. These labels are not just words on a chart, they have shaped how I experience the world and how the world responds to me. At the same time, I was also beginning to understand my identity as a queer and transgender person. I was born female but now identify as non-binary. I have gone through hormone replacement therapy and have had top surgery. My identity doesn’t fit into neat boxes, and I’ve learned that’s not only okay, it’s something to be proud of. Being LGBTQIA+ has played both a positive and negative role in my mental health journey. On one hand, my identity has allowed me to connect with amazing people, many of whom have become close friends and a source of support. On the other hand, it has also brought isolation and pain. In school, I was bullied both physically and verbally for being trans. I was often made to feel like an outsider, not only by students but sometimes by the very adults who were supposed to protect me. In some mental health treatment settings, I was treated differently, not always with open hostility, but with subtle exclusion or lack of understanding. These experiences made it hard to believe that I truly belonged anywhere. In 2021, after experiencing one of the most intense manic episodes of my life, I was hospitalized again. I eventually entered residential treatment, where something shifted. For the first time, I received care that felt human and nonjudgmental. I was seen not just as a diagnosis or a gender label, but as a whole person. That experience helped me reclaim my identity, not as something to hide, but something to embrace. It reminded me that I could use my journey, the darkness, and the light to help others. Because of what I have been through, I have changed my academic and career goals. I originally started college as a computer science major, but I realized that my heart was in helping people, especially those who feel overlooked or misunderstood. I changed my major to sociology, and I plan to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. My long-term goal is to open a residential treatment center for adolescents that is fully inclusive of LGBTQIA+ identities and people with stigmatized mental health diagnoses. I want to create a space where no one feels like they have to hide who they are to get the care they need. I currently work in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and although I am a mentor and not a clinician, I try to bring the empathy I’ve gained through my own pain into everything I do. I want every teen I work with to know they are more than their symptoms and more than what the world tells them they are. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It honors the life of someone who, like me, struggled to find their place in a world that often refuses to see people like us. I hope to carry forward Elijah’s memory by continuing to fight for inclusion, understanding, and healing for all.

Mental health has never been a distant concept for me. It has been a deeply personal and defining part of my life. From the age of nine, I began experiencing symptoms of mental illness. As I grew older, those symptoms intensified into suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety, and eventually the diagnoses of PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and more. I have been hospitalized multiple times, attended a school for students with emotional dysregulation, and participated in partial hospitalization, outpatient programs, and residential treatment. These experiences weren’t just obstacles; they were turning points that reshaped my identity, my beliefs, my relationships, and my goals. One of the most significant shifts happened in 2021. I was in the midst of one of my darkest moments, experiencing both suicidal and homicidal ideation, a manic episode with hallucinations and delusions, and debilitating compulsions. I was hospitalized again and eventually entered a residential treatment center. For the first time, I was treated without judgment. The staff didn’t look at me like I was broken or dangerous. They met me with patience, compassion, and belief in my ability to recover. It was there that I stopped seeing my diagnoses as burdens and started viewing my story as something powerful, something that could be used to help others. This experience completely transformed my beliefs about mental health. I used to think I needed to hide what I was going through, that my pain made me weak or unworthy. But I’ve learned that being honest about my struggles is not only brave, it’s necessary. I now believe that vulnerability creates space for healing, both for ourselves and others. Stigma thrives in silence, and I want to be part of the movement that brings these conversations into the light. I especially want to challenge misconceptions about misunderstood diagnoses, like OCD, delusions, and personality disorders, and advocate for the people society often ignores or fears. These beliefs have carried into my relationships. While I’ve lost some connections due to stigma, I’ve also gained deeper ones. The people in my life today accept all parts of me, not just the easy ones. I’ve also become more empathetic and patient in return. When someone is anxious, angry, or withdrawn, I now ask myself what pain might be behind their behavior. I try to respond instead of react, using the same tools that have helped me, like mindfulness, DBT skills, and active listening. I believe healing is relational, and I try to create safe spaces for the people around me. This journey has also redefined my aspirations. I started college as a computer science major with a love for game development, but I felt something was missing. I wanted to do more than build video games, I wanted to help build people up. So I changed my major to sociology and set my sights on becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I currently work in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and though I’m not yet a clinician, the work fulfills me every day. Watching these teens challenge their compulsions and grow reminds me why I chose this path. In the future, I want to open a residential treatment center for adolescents, one that offers trauma-informed, compassionate care, especially for those with stigmatized diagnoses and behavioral addictions. I want to be the kind of professional I once needed: someone who sees the whole person, not just the symptoms. Losing loved ones to suicide, witnessing community violence, and seeing how many people suffer in silence has made this mission personal. I know what it’s like to feel like your mind is your enemy, and I know what it’s like to claw your way out of that darkness. This scholarship means more than financial support to me, it’s a recognition of how far I’ve come and how far I plan to go. I want to continue transforming my pain into purpose, and I’m committed to using my life to bring mental health out of the shadows and into the light.

Mental health has been one of the most defining aspects of my life. My journey began around the age of nine, when I first started experiencing symptoms of mental illness. As I entered adolescence, suicidal ideation became a persistent challenge. What followed was a years long process of hospitalizations, specialized schooling, and intensive treatment. I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, depression, and anxiety, diagnoses that have deeply influenced how I understand the world and how I want to contribute to it. By the age of thirteen, I experienced my first hospitalization and began attending a school specifically for students with emotional dysregulation. At seventeen, I was hospitalized twice more and later participated in a partial hospitalization program (PHP), two intensive outpatient programs (IOPs), and ultimately a residential treatment center (RTC). Each step of this journey taught me something new, not just about mental illness, but about resilience, identity, and empathy. The turning point in my perception of mental health came in 2021. During a period marked by suicidal and homicidal ideation, uncontrollable compulsions, and a manic episode that involved delusions and hallucinations, I was hospitalized again and eventually admitted to residential care. It was there that I experienced something that shifted everything: nonjudgmental, compassionate care. For the first time, I felt truly seen, not as a collection of diagnoses, but as a person with potential. I began to understand that my mental health challenges weren’t burdens, but experiences that could be used to help others. This realization profoundly changed my beliefs. I used to think mental illness was something to be hidden, a source of shame. I saw it as something that limited me, that made me unworthy of trying. But now I believe mental health challenges are not signs of weakness; they are often catalysts for growth, strength, and connection. I’ve come to believe in the power of coping skills, in the necessity of reducing stigma, especially surrounding misunderstood issues like OCD, homicidal ideation, and delusions, and in the importance of meeting people where they are. Mental health has impacted my relationships in both painful and beautiful ways. Some people have pulled away, unsure of how to respond to my struggles. That loss has been difficult. But I have also found a core group of people who accept and love me for who I am, and that sense of community is one of the most important things I have been fortunate to have. Through my experiences, I’ve become more empathetic and patient. I no longer react; I respond. I use the tools I’ve learned, like the DBT skills STOP and DEARMAN, not just to manage my emotions but to build stronger, more respectful relationships with others. This journey has also redirected my academic and professional path. I began college as a computer science major interested in game development, but my desire to help others ultimately became my driving force. I switched my major to sociology, intending to earn my Master’s in Social Work and become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I want to work specifically with teenagers who struggle with stigmatized mental health issues such as Cluster B personality disorders, OCD, Bipolar Disorder, and homicidal ideation, as well as those battling both behavioral addictions and substance use. Long term, I want to open my own Residential Treatment Center—one that provides trauma-informed, clinically sound, and compassionate care to adolescents who need a safe place to heal. I’m already on this path. I currently work at a residential treatment center for teenagers with OCD, where I serve as a mentor. Though I’m only a mentor, I find deep fulfillment in helping teens challenge their compulsions and realize that they are not their thoughts. Watching their progress affirms my belief that recovery is possible and that every person deserves the chance to heal. Through all of this, I’ve gained the ability to advocate, not only for myself, but for others who feel voiceless. I’ve learned to be patient and to listen, and to see people beyond their symptoms. If I could offer advice to anyone struggling, it would be this: You are not your thoughts. Keep working on yourself, because it is possible to get better.

Growing up, I struggled significantly with my mental health. As a teenager, I navigated a complex system filled with both incredible and damaging mental health professionals. These experiences, though difficult, planted a seed in me. I knew I wanted to pursue a career in social work to give back, to be the support I sometimes needed and didn't always receive. My ultimate goal is to build a residential treatment center for adolescents, a place where young people can feel safe, understood, and empowered. I would describe myself as goal-oriented, resilient, and determined. That resilience has been shaped by personal, cultural, and medical challenges. When I was ten years old, I moved from the United Kingdom to the United States. That transition opened my eyes to the deep differences in cultural perspectives around identity, health, and community. It also gave me a broader understanding of how systems can support, or fail, those who need help. My passion within social work is focused on adolescents facing mental health challenges and addiction. I want to work in mental health treatment centers where I can support teens through recovery, eventually creating a space of my own that fosters long-term healing. I want young people to feel seen, not as problems to be fixed, but as whole people who are struggling and still deserving of care, dignity, and hope. I've been in their shoes. I know how isolating it feels, and I know how powerful it is when just one adult genuinely believes in your ability to recover. My experience with epilepsy, mental health challenges, and neurodivergence has deeply shaped how I see the world. Living with these conditions, I've learned that many systems and spaces that claim to be accessible or inclusive fall far short. This awareness has made me more attuned to injustice, and more passionate about advocating for equity, not just in theory, but in practice. I've learned to adapt in ways that many people don’t have to, and that adaptability will make me a better social worker. One of my greatest strengths comes from having overcome some of the hardest times in my life. I was hospitalized five times and spent years moving through various treatment programs. Each experience taught me not just survival, but also how to help others find strength within themselves. I want every teen I work with to know that they are not defined by their thoughts or diagnoses. Recovery is possible. Self-worth is possible. My approach to self-advocacy, learning who I am and navigating the world without losing that identity, is something I hope to model for the clients I serve. Social work, to me, isn’t just a job. It’s a calling rooted in empathy, resilience, and a vision for a more just and compassionate world.

When I was 12 years old I was hospitalized for suicidal ideation. My mental health had been declining for a couple of years prior to that and at age 12 I broke. I lost my friends, family, grades, and most importantly myself. I started therapy and felt as if I was getting better, however August-October 2021 I was hospitalized two more times and then admitted myself to a residential program. Since that mental health is extremely important as it effects every aspect of your life. For me, without my mental health I lose who I really am, and I know this is true for many others as well. I maintain my mental health by continuing therapy, and focusing on myself. Mental health is something that everyone needs to focus, and is very important.