"Oh, I'm so sorry, our building doesn't have an elevator." Employees will apologize profusely for a building's lack of accessibility, but an apology doesn't bring me to the second floor. Preconsideration of disability does. Medical issues have always been a part of my life, before I even knew I was disabled, because I was taking care of my mother. But that is not a fact for many other people. They forget to consider that others may be different from them until that different person is looking them in the eyes. I didn't originally know I was disabled. The condition my mother and I have, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, is invisible and often goes undiagnosed because of it. It is caused by the body’s inability to make or use collagen effectively, causing my joints to be unstable and movement to be painful. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome also comes with many co-morbidities that I may have but have not been diagnosed with yet, such as gastroparesis, POTS, ME/CFS, endometriosis, etc. I've been struggling worse and worse my whole life, but I've only been able to put a label on it for about a year. I've started using a cane to get around. Since then, it has been nothing but sideways glances and invasive questions. With EDS being an invisible disability, many people fail to understand that I could actually be struggling because it doesn't look like I am. But the thing is, most of the pain is inside my body, where they can't see it. The accusations of me faking my disability, along with the contradictory ableist comments, are rough, but they've also been enlightening. I see how my peers treat those who are different from them now that I am othered. When they see someone different from them, their first question is always "Why?" They want to know what happened to make this person an oddity. Often, they ask questions to satisfy their own curiosity, but do not respect the person or their answer. The most respect I got when I started using a cane was from another student with medical issues in my school, who didn't ask why, but instead asked, "Are you ok?" While the answer they were seeking may have been the same, it was the intent behind the question and the wording itself that was different. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome has significantly impacted my future. Knowing that the dreams of grandeur I planned for myself will never come to fruition has been heartbreaking, but it has also been enlightening. I know now that I may not be the star actress I always wanted to be, but I can still spin shimmering stories and inspire others through my writing. Though my future is not what I planned, I can still spend my new future raising awareness for others with medical conditions. With my writing, always from my own trembling hands, I can combat the use of AI in entertainment and literary media by telling interesting tales from the heart. Dealing with disability is difficult, but if I share my story, I may be able to make it lighter for others.

Summer School is often deemed as evidence of failure; you failed a class, and now you have to retake it. However, that was not how my middle school handled summer school. Instead, we had fun summer activities that we would sign up for. One of these was a photography class. I took this class every year of summer school, eventually coming back as an unpaid teacher assistant simply because I loved it. Throughout my years of taking that class, I collected as many photos as I could. To sort through my photos-- from that class and from my own time-- and find the best ones took me hours, as just one year had over 2,000 photos. Maybe I went overboard, but I did it because I love photography. I have many scrapbooks from the photos taken in that class and out. Since then, I've continued taking photos whenever I see fit. My aunt, Peggy, was my biggest supporter in this. She practically raised my brother and I; whenever my parents didn't want to deal with us, they'd send us her way. Peggy had a large garden of flowers that she would let me take photos in, which would make up a large portion of the photos I took outside of the class. She would also take me to large parks so that I could get some good photos in nature. Recently, though, that has not been possible. My aunt Peggy died of pancreatic cancer in June of 2025. My brother and I went to visit her the day before she died, as we had been meaning to see her for a while. We had no idea going in that it would be the last time we saw her, but I think, looking back, that she knew. The last thing I did with her, whether I could have predicted this or not, was take a photo. That photo, along with a bracelet, is all I have left, but it's enough to remind me of why I take photos in the first place: out of love. Love for my aunt Peggy, love for my photography students, love for nature, and love for the world. After all, the only way to perfectly preserve something you love is through photography. All photos submitted were taken on a Google Pixel or a Samsung Galaxy. None are edited unless the phone made its own adjustment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, our building doesn't have an elevator." Employees will apologize profusely for a building's lack of accessibility, but an apology doesn't bring me to the second floor. Preconsideration of disability does. Disability has always been a part of my life, before I even knew I was disabled, because I was taking care of my mother. But that is not a fact for many other people. They forget to consider that others may be different from them until that different person is looking them in the eyes. I didn't originally know I was disabled. The condition my mother and I have, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, is invisible and often goes undiagnosed because of it. It is caused by the body’s inability to make or use collagen effectively, causing my joints to be unstable and movement to be painful. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome also comes with many co-morbidities that I may have but have not been diagnosed with yet, such as gastroparesis, POTS, ME/CFS, endometriosis, etc. I've been struggling worse and worse my whole life, but I've only been able to put a label on it for about a year. I've started using a cane to get around. Since then, it has been nothing but sideways glances and invasive questions. With EDS being an invisible disability, many people fail to understand that I could actually be struggling because it doesn't look like I am. But the thing is, most of the pain is inside my body, where they can't see it. The accusations of me faking my disability along with the contradictory ableist comments are rough, but they've also been enlightening. I see how my peers treat those that are different from them now that I am othered. When they see someone different from them, their first question is always "Why?" They want to know what happened to make this person an oddity. Often, they ask questions to satisfy their own curiosity, but do not respect the person or their answer. The most respect I got when I started using a cane was from another disabled student in my school, who didn't ask why, but instead asked, "Are you ok?" While the answer they were seeking may have been the same, it was the intent behind the question and the wording itself that was different. Growing up with disability has been illuminating. Taking care of my mother helped me learn about our day to day expereinces before I knew them myself, and the treatment from my classmates has taught me a lot about humanity. I know that my experience is not unique, but the way I utilize it can be. With my acting and writing, I can show other people how I feel. I can show them what I deal with daily. I can show them problems that are not unique to me. I can show them how hurt the disabled community is. I can show them many things, but the most important thing I can show them, and will show them, is how to make it right.

Freshman year was a year of many mistakes. While that sounds like a normal experience, not everyone loses friends, leadership positions, job opportunities, or relationships with family members because of an innocent teenage fumble. My biggest mistake? I came out in a small conservative community in rural Wisconsin, a recipe for disaster that I didn't quite read the directions for. Since then, not one of my classmates has looked at me the same way. I used to be on WEB (student council) in middle school, and a leader of many clubs, but that was no longer available as those were voted on by students. I was a model student until I was othered. Along with that, my bosses seemed less friendly when they knew about what they called my "situation." One of my bosses actually outed me to my parents when I stopped working with them, causing a few problems at home and with other family members. Even my closest aunt, who helped my parents raise me, was against "people like me." Before she died, I asked if I could leave her house to go to an event in the Twin Cities. She sighed, as if she were already sick, and told me, "It better not be one of those pride parades, or you can forget me as your aunt." I never ended up going to that parade. While coming out has caused a significant amount of problems in my life, it isn't the only part of me that sets me apart from my peers. I was recently diagnosed with a debilitating condition called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, which is caused by the body’s inability to make or use collagen effectively, causing my joints to be unstable and movement to be painful. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome also comes with many Co-morbidities that I may have but have not been diagnosed with yet, such as gastroparesis, POTS, ME/CFS, endometriosis, etc. The chronic pain and other symptoms cause me to struggle with day-to-day life, but the worst part is that nobody believes me, as it is an invisible disability. Since I do not "look" disabled, clearly I can't be, right? But I've found solace in writing. Whether it be journal entries to write down my feelings, poetry to make those feelings beautiful, or just short stories to pass the time, I've been able to ground myself with my writing. I wish I could remember when I first picked up a pen, but I don't. Instead, I remember what I've created: soliloquies from the heart, stories of girls who don't exist, poems about girls who do. Writing is not just a coping mechanism anymore; it is a skill. I want to use my writing to lift up others who have been where I stood. Along with that, I believe it is important to tell the stories of people who are struggling more than we ever would ourselves, so that we can raise awareness of the difficulties they face and give them a chance at a better life. When there's something wrong, with me or with the things around me, I pick up a pen. Maybe, someday, my words will fix the world.