To tell you about myself, and my journey with my own mental well being- I must begin with why I am here today and why I have made it this far. His name is Cross. He is a beautiful soul; gentle, caring, curious, hilarious, and above all- kind. I was lucky to meet Cross when I was 15, and was struggling greatly with my anxiety. My days were filled with panic attacks and depressive episodes that held me back from normal life. I was so close to dropping out of high school and giving up. But then I met Cross, and he opened me up and allowed me to be vulnerable. I felt safe with him, and was able to admit to myself that I had deep struggles with mental illness. He held no judgement, no negativity, and no hesitation towards me. He saw potential in me that I could not even see in myself. On October 10th, 2020, Cross took his own life. He was 17. In the first paragraph I spoke of Cross in the present tense, as if he were still here. The correct grammar would be to use "was", but the truth is he is still here. Every single day he is still here. I am here because of him. I graduated high school because of him. I did not give up when things got hard, and then even harder, because of him. When he left me, I made the decision to live life for the both us, and that is why I got professional help, began therapy, and started treatment for my anxiety and depression. His journey was cut short, his future was taken away, and I took in all that pain. But with that pain, I am going to contribute to a world that Cross deserved. A world in which young boys are not forced to shove their emotions so far back that it kills them. A world that is safe for talking about your feelings and getting help, because everyone deserves to reach their potential. I decided to live, so I could be there for people the way Cross was for me. No matter how tired I am, how late I work, how stressed I am balancing my job and school, I never give up. Because I am not only in this for me, but for Cross, and every other kid out there who thinks there is no way out for them. So I end this essay, with gratitude. No matter how much pain I have endured with losing my friend- I never once regretted knowing him. The short time I knew him will stay with my for my entire life. Without him I don't know where I would be. He showed me that the world is bigger than us, and I have to do everything I can to see it. So I am grateful, for him, for mental health treatment, and to be able to tell his story today.

I could sit here and list numerous reasons- all different and all valid- on why I am pursuing a degree in Counseling and Health Psychology. Now while they would all hold truth, I must disclose that there is one reason that stands apart from every other. His name is Cross. He is a beautiful soul; gentle, caring, curious, hilarious, and above all- kind. I was lucky to meet Cross when I was 15, and was struggling greatly with my anxiety. I was so close to dropping out of high school and giving up. He opened me up and allowed me to be vulnerable. I felt safe with him, and was able to admit to myself that I had deep struggles with mental illness. He held no judgement, no negativity, and no hesitation towards me. He saw potential in me that I could not even see in myself. On October 10th, 2020, Cross took his own life. He was 17. In the first paragraph I spoke of Cross in the present tense, as if he were still here. The correct grammar would be to use "was", but the truth is he is still here. Every single day he is still here. I am here, studying psychology because of him. I graduated high school because of him. I did not give up when things got hard, and then even harder, because of him. When he left me, I made the decision to live life for the both us, and that is why I am here, enrolled in this program. How will I use my experience to benefit society? I am going to contribute to a world that Cross deserved. A world in which young boys are not forced to shove their emotions so far back that it kills them. A world that is safe for talking about your feelings and getting help, because everyone deserves to reach their potential. To implement this, to make a real difference, I decided I want to be a school adjustment counselor. Kids need resources, but they aren't always accessible. Therapy is expensive, and asking your parents for help is not an easy task. By working in the school system, I hope that I can be a direct resource, an immediate outlet for help. I want to make connections with students, and to create a space that is accepting, safe, and welcoming. Since I was 15, I got my first job and never stopped. I've built up an extensive resume of jobs, anything to help me pay for my college career. I pride myself in admitting that I pay for my school completely independently, because I have worked extremely hard and made countless sacrifices to make it this far. No matter how tired I am, how late I work, how stressed I am balancing my job and school, I never give up. Because I am not only in this for me, but for Cross, and every other kid out there who thinks there is no way out for them. So I end this essay, with gratitude. No matter how much pain I have endured with losing my friend- I never once regretted knowing him. The short time I knew him will stay with my for my entire life. Without him I don't know where I would be. He showed me that the world is bigger than us, and I have to do everything I can to see it. So I am grateful, for him, for my college career, and to be able to tell his story today.

Over the course of my reading journey, there have been a few books that have really stood out to me. Books that I could talk about for hours and never run out of things to say. One of those books is Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. From the beginning, the book grabs your attention. Albom’s writing style is so personal and relatable that you as a reader feel that you are joining him in his vulnerable state. Written from Albom’s perspective, it is a memoir of his relationship with a college professor, but also his relationship with the world around him. The professor, Morrie, is diagnosed with ALS, which is a neurodegenerative disorder that ultimately leads to death. Each Tuesday, the two convene at Morrie’s house, and share deep conversations as Morrie offers Albom guidance and advice on all things’ life. But each Tuesday, Morrie gets closer and closer to his inevitable passing. A prominent theme throughout the book is death, but the two characters in the memoir process this idea very differently. Albom is filled with guilt and confusion as he processes Morrie’s death and the fact that he did not remain in contact with his favorite professor post-graduation. After attending the regular Tuesday meetings, Albom soon learns that Morrie is not scared of his death, nor ashamed of his disorder. He is secure in his situation, something that Albom was not able to grasp easily. Morrie demonstrates compassion and empathy towards Albom, despite death being right around the corner for himself. Throughout their time together, their relationship progresses far past a professor and student, and explores the intimacy of platonic relationships. There is a beauty of being introduced to two characters, learning about their very differing perspectives, and then watching them gradually influence and inspire each other. Albom writes in such a flawless medium that you as a reader feel that you are sat right next to the two characters and are experiencing the passing of wisdom and advice. After finishing the book, I was filled with gratitude for the little things and directed my focus on what is important and close to my heart. Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom is a beautiful memoir that I encourage everyone to read. It opens deep conversations and teaches you to hold your loved ones close, which in my opinion, is one of the most important things to practice.

Growing up my dad was my best friend. I saw him as this superhero, something my siblings would never understand. My best memories came from the lazy Sundays we would spend together. Laying on the couch watching movies my mother would never approve of and stuffing our faces with too much sodium. On commercial breaks I would grab him a beer from the fridge, as his empty cans continued to pile up on top of the Sunday paper. By the time my mom came home from work, her face was sullen with disappointment. I never thought twice of it. As I grew up, I began to understand all the “business” trips he took and his “allergies” that made his eyes red and his mind hazy. Day by day, I saw less and less of him, even if we were in the same room. My mom and him only talked in screams and whispers. He would leave Friday mornings and I wouldn’t see him till Tuesday. The barstool he sat on everyday became more familiar to him than his own couch. The pretty girl behind the bar made him laugh more than my mother ever did. And worst of all, he knew more about his “friends” lives than his own children. My sister was the first to break. The oldest sister of the family, she puts pressure on herself. The day my mom threw him out of the house, my sister jumped to her side. She saw things I did not see, so I couldn’t understand why she thought of him as this big evil. I cried for days, unable to eat, knowing he was living out of his car. My mom caved in and let him live in our basement. I thought this would be good for them, and maybe now he would appreciate us more. My youngest brother was next. I don’t know if he ever had faith in our father. At an early age he accepted he was being raised by all women. He missed out on what all his friends got to experience, just because our father found more comfort in a can of beer than fishing with his son. I wanted to give him one more chance, maybe he would try to get sober now that he lost his wife and two of his kids. At this point he no longer lived with us. His old t-shirts were collecting dust in the basement and when people would ask about him, I just said he works a lot. I tried to text and call him as much as I could, he was, or used to be, my best friend after all. That was until one day I was driving through a neighborhood a few blocks down from my own. I looked out my window to see a blue painted house with a playground in the back yard. We never had one of those I thought. As I looked closer, I saw a familiar car parked in the driveway. My stomach dropped. I drove off and never looked back. Drugs and alcohol took a lot from my family. Over the years I watched my mother lose the one she once loved the most, and my siblings deal with the confusion and hurt that comes with an alcoholic father. Now, I am currently enrolled in college majoring in Psychology. Substance abuse and mental illness often coexist. It is a hard world to navigate, but I am committed to the work, for the sake of the little girl who lost her best friend.