I’m not going to lie. My experience during my last elementary school years was some of the worst times of my life. Only now, in prim hindsight, however, can I genuinely view and accept the fact. My family noticed it before I did: lack of motivation, withdrawal in social situations, unpredictable eating habits, to high energy enthusiasm, and long bursts of energy leading to frantic, obsessive states. During the early months of my sixth-grade year, my Mom grew increasingly concerned. Her child, her boy, lost in an ocean of emotions and thoughts with no end in sight. Eventually, I found myself locked in the passenger seat of our family minivan, the destination set to a psychiatric evaluation appointment in Salt Lake City. I still remember the cold November air brushing against my cheek as I exited the vehicle. Though gentle, it was chilling. It seemed to degrade, “If it weren’t for you, you wouldn’t be here. It’s your fault. Everything is your fault. Why can’t you be different?” Different. Normal. The pure separation, the battle in my head and body, knew nothing of normal. The Psychologist diagnosed me with manic depressive disorder, now known as bipolar disorder. In addition, I received an ADHD(inattentive) diagnosis. We had a label on it now. This label, which I can only describe as some entity, followed me for years. In my lowest of lows, he was there beside me. Even in my happiest memories, there he was. It was as though he was reminding me that no matter where I was, there was no escape. Though we didn’t pursue any professional help, I ultimately began to find relief. I immersed myself in activities and hobbies. I picked up the trumpet and discovered the beauties of music and self-expression. Boy was it tedious; the internal urge to seclude myself from the very people determined to help me countered every decision I made. In my sophomore year of high school, I found drum corps, a highly intensive yet rewarding sport that provided me with a second family. After my season, the ever-present being’s grasp began to weaken, and I experienced relief, a new form of happiness. I began to secure leadership roles within my local instrumental music community. I spent time attempting to understand myself. Whenever a depressive wave hit, I would address the situation with questions like, “What emotions am I feeling? Why am I feeling this way? What can I do to help?” I began my senior year of high school feeling cautiously better than the year prior. While enrolled in AP Psychology, I have viewed the science behind why mental illness is such an important field. This aspect of my personal journey has pushed me to declare my major in psychology. I want help to be available for everyone, regardless of who they are or where they come from. I believe I can do my part to fight for awareness and availability. Over time, my experience has been a fantastic tool on my journey of self-discovery and healing. I’m sure it could benefit others as well. I have reached the point where I can accept that lost boy from sixth grade as myself, and though my bipolar and ADHD will live to be forever constant in my life, they don’t control me; they don’t define me, and it’s that warming message that gives me hope for the future.