My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past six months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past six months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay at home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him, including the time I chopped off all my hair so I could have a short haircut just like him. My mom likes to share how I proudly walked through the door after my haircut and announced, “Now, I look beautiful just like Daddy!” But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore and told me he needed my help. At the time, my sister was only two and my brother was just an infant so I learned how to change diapers, make bottles, and read bedtime stories to my siblings. Meanwhile, his two hour “naps” turned into full days of laying on the coach. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. With orders of protection in place and safety plans created, I returned to Kindergarten that Monday. When I would have bursts of anger, my mom would say “I love you and I’m sorry for what has happened, but I will not let what happened define you.” She would remind me of how I am the reason my siblings are safe, how I was a hero just like the one I once saw in my dad. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I took the PSAT-NMSQT and qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am finally triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out of control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP and honors classes. Currently I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I applied and was admitted to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign as a Neuroscience/Premed Major. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My future self will be a leading psychiatrist in the country at the forefront of finding treatments for mental illness.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay at home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him, including the time I chopped off all my hair so I could have a short haircut just like him. My mom likes to share how I proudly walked through the door after my haircut and announced, “Now, I look beautiful just like Daddy!” But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore and told me he needed my help. At the time, my sister was only two and my brother was just an infant so I learned how to change diapers, make bottles, and read bedtime stories to my siblings. Meanwhile, his two hour “naps” turned into full days of laying on the coach. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. With orders of protection in place and safety plans created, I returned to Kindergarten that Monday. When I would have bursts of anger, my mom would say “I love you and I’m sorry for what has happened, but I will not let what happened define you.” She would remind me of how I am the reason my siblings are safe, how I was a hero just like the one I once saw in my dad. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I took the PSAT-NMSQT and qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am finally triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out of control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP and honors classes. Currently I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I applied and was admitted to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign as a Neuroscience/Premed Major. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay at home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him, including the time I chopped off all my hair so I could have a short haircut just like him. My mom likes to share how I proudly walked through the door after my haircut and announced, “Now, I look beautiful just like Daddy!” But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore and told me he needed my help. At the time, my sister was only two and my brother was just an infant so I learned how to change diapers, make bottles, and read bedtime stories to my siblings. Meanwhile, his two hour “naps” turned into full days of laying on the coach. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. With orders of protection in place and safety plans created, I returned to Kindergarten that Monday. When I would have bursts of anger, my mom would say “I love you and I’m sorry for what has happened, but I will not let what happened define you.” She would remind me of how I am the reason my siblings are safe, how I was a hero just like the one I once saw in my dad. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I took the PSAT-NMSQT and qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am finally triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out of control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP and honors classes. Currently I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I applied and was admitted to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign as a Neuroscience/Premed Major. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay at home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him, including the time I chopped off all my hair so I could have a short haircut just like him. My mom likes to share how I proudly walked through the door after my haircut and announced, “Now, I look beautiful just like Daddy!” But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore and told me he needed my help. At the time, my sister was only two and my brother was just an infant so I learned how to change diapers, make bottles, and read bedtime stories to my siblings. Meanwhile, his two hour “naps” turned into full days of laying on the coach. One night I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parents room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. With orders of protection in place and safety plans created, I returned to Kindergarten that Monday. When I would have bursts of anger, my mom would say “I love you and I’m sorry for what has happened, but I will not let what happened define you.” She would remind me of how I am the reason my siblings are safe, how I was a hero just like the one I once saw in my dad. This experience taught me the resilience and responsibility that I carry with me today. As I got older, my mom was able to explain to me that my dad had a mental illness. That the doctors had put him on lots of medication, that he wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol on but he did. This created irreparable brain damage and is what caused his erratic behavior. I realized recently that I want to become a psychiatrist to help people like my dad. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay at home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him, including the time I chopped off all my hair so I could have a short haircut just like him. My mom likes to share how I proudly walked through the door after my haircut and announced, “Now, I look beautiful just like Daddy!” But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore and told me he needed my help. At the time, my sister was only two and my brother was just an infant so I learned how to change diapers, make bottles, and read bedtime stories to my siblings. Meanwhile, his two hour “naps” turned into full days of laying on the coach. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. With orders of protection in place and safety plans created, I returned to Kindergarten that Monday. When I would have bursts of anger, my mom would say “I love you and I’m sorry for what has happened, but I will not let what happened define you.” She would remind me of how I am the reason my siblings are safe, how I was a hero just like the one I once saw in my dad. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I took the PSAT-NMSQT and qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am finally triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out of control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP and honors classes. Currently I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I applied and was admitted to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign as a Neuroscience/Premed Major. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.

My mom always told me, “Lucia, I promise you even the darkest tragedies can have purpose” Until recently, I didn’t put much weight in this. I thought it was just something adults said to shine light on tragedy. When I was three, I would have done anything to be like “Daddy”. He was my hero, a stay-at-home dad, and we were inseparable. I wanted to be just like him. But at 5, the dad I had started changing. Daddy was “napping’ more while Mommy was at work. He didn’t want to play with us anymore. One night, I was woken up by more loud screaming. I went into my parent’s room and I saw a man with the most evil eyes screaming at my mother that he would kill her. My once strong and brave mother seemed terrified and weak. The man looked familiar. I murmured, “Daddy?” The man turned to me, his eyes softened and he spoke sweetly to me as if nothing had happened. I hardly noticed Mommy leaving the room, but soon I heard the shuffling footsteps of police officers entering our house. That would be the last night my family was together. I spent the next few years of my life living in fear and uncertainty. I learned things that a child should never have to know: code words that meant to call 911, that safety drills were used for more than just tornadoes, and that I had something called PTSD. Despite all of this, I kept going. I thought I had finally put the past behind me, little did I know I would soon find it necessary to pull upon the strength and resilience I had learned as a child. In 2019, I entered high school taking math, science and English classes 2-4 years above my grade level. The beginning of my junior year, I qualified as a National Merit Hispanic Scholar. Then, in January of my Junior year, my world came crashing down once again. I went from a Type A, high functioning student, to a person in the midst of a manic episode with psychotic features. At that point, I had no idea I was bipolar, nor did I realize I had most likely inherited it from my father, who I then learned was also bipolar. The fight to control my mania and get proper medication was a long battle. It would take two inpatient hospital stays, three partial hospitalizations, three outpatient treatment programs, and five different psychiatrists to finally get my medication under control. I am finally at a place where I feel like I am triumphing over my bipolar. While in my third partial hospitalization program, I finally met the psychiatrist that would unlock the key to treating my bipolar. While other doctors were recommending I be placed in a residential program, Dr. Guitierez remained calm and saw in me what my parents and I could no longer see in myself. Within two months, I went from out-of-control manic to returning to school and getting straight A’s in all AP/ honors classes. Currently, I am in school full time, have a job teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, and have been stable for the past four months. The experiences of my past have inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help people like myself and my dad. I am so excited about my future and making a difference in the world. It was this realization that made me think back to what my mom once told me. There was a purpose to my tragedy because I was strong enough to find one.