Growing up, love was all around me. It was something I desired; Something I never seemed to get. I searched for it in everything. When I got into high school I met a girl, Skylar. She was really pretty and well known. A few weeks later my high school love dream came true; Skylar asked me out. Of course I said yes, that's all I ever wanted. The first 3 months were perfect. I hoped the love would never end, but slowly it did. The conversations turned into never-ending arguments. Every disagreement led to something physical. Unwanted insults said during daily conversation. Friends started to notice the bruises and scratches on my body. Nothing they said could save me; I was blinded by her love. I thought “She loves me. She wouldn't lie to me so all this must be true, right?” I thought like this for months, 10 months. I relied on her love and affection; I thought I couldn't get it anywhere else. She moved states away and we promised each other we’d stay together. The long distance was hard, but I was willing to do anything just to be with her. After a couple months, she found someone new. A girl in her state, at her school, in her neighborhood. It didn't take long for her to break up with me. I couldn't stop thinking about Skylar, she was my world. Every night, I texted her to try and fix things, every exhausting attempt was a fail. Without her I felt unloved, like I didn't have a purpose. I went to school empty. I was desperate for help; I felt trapped in a hole I couldn't get out of. On September 11, 2024, I attempted suicide. I cried for hours. It felt like my only option, so I took a bottle of prozac and waited for something to happen. My mom found me lying on my floor and forced me to throw up. I screamed and refused. She took me to the emergency room where I sat for hours. I couldn't help but think about what I did. I felt guilty; I couldn't stand seeing my mom upset. I was questioned by psychiatrists and doctors. They asked why I did it and I couldn't give an answer. I was so embarrassed. Around 1 am they transferred me to a mental hospital via police car. At first I was nervous, I didn't know what to do. I went back to what I knew, Skylar. Once she heard about what happened she started answering my calls. For a while, I would mainly talk to Skylar on the hospital phone but I started to realize she only cared about me when I was in danger. When I left I wasn't much different, but then I started a program called Intensive Outpatient (IOP). IOP was a group therapy that I attended often. I attended 4 days out of the week for 4 hours and lasted 8 weeks. The facilitators taught us communication skills, patience, and further understanding. I learned about other disorders and other people's problems. It helped me reason with my thoughts and understand myself and others better. It encouraged me to want something for my life. I want everyone to have the ability to do the same without going through what I went through. I started researching more about Psychology and how I can help others. I hope to help low income and/or POC children. I am both and we are often neglected from mental help. The next generation should be stable no matter their income or race.

Growing up, it was just my mom, my three siblings, and me. My dad was in and out of the picture, constantly in jail. I grew up not knowing much about him. Of course, I visted him and hung out with him when he was free, but it wasnt the same. Since he was gone, my mom had a lot on her plate becoming a single parent. Life went from stable to unpredictable and uncertain, but she was determined to make ends meet. She worked multiple jobs during the day and went to college at night, leaving me to help out with my siblings. My daily routine became simple: get my siblings ready, go to school, get my siblings off the bus, help them with homework, bathe them, and put them to bed. At eight years old I had massive responsibilities; being the oldest to a single mom meant being the second parent. I learned to cook, change diapers, make bottles, clean, and teach my siblings the same. I wanted to help my mom out as best as I could at my age. I struggled seeing my mom overworked and exhausted, though it wasnt her or my dads fault. Once I turned a teenager, My dad explained to me that he had a hard childhood leading to bad decisions and incarceration. He went through childhood in the 80s with undiagnosed ADHD. His disorder caused him to "act out" and without the proper resources he went down the wrong path. With that information, I researched incarceration statistics and found out that in 2023 around 70% of juvenile offenders have a diagnosable mental disorder according to Boston University. Me being one of the affected students of a parent who has/was incarcerated motivated my future career path as a child pyschiartist. My goal is to help kids similar to me not reach the point of incarceration, not following in their parent and or gaurdians footsteps.