When I was younger, my older sister affectionately nicknamed me "Bubbles," a name which—at the time— seemed aptly fitting for me, the easy-going and adorably bubbly child who radiated joy, the child who unreservedly dished out smiles to strangers in the supermarket, the child who basked in the wonder and beauty of life. Yes, the name "Bubbles" fit little Rachael like a glove. Somewhere along the way, however, I shed my optimistic skin and my sanguine disposition. Somewhere along the way, depreciation debilitated confidence, and dread smothered anticipation. Ashamed, terrified, and unable to identify any rational, measurable explanation for this dismal shift in mindset, I held my crippling thoughts captive, until, at fifteen years old, "Bubbles" was lying on the frigid linoleum tile at midnight, questioning whether living was worth the constant battle. Accepting my struggles and comprehending the necessity for emotional and psychological assistance was vital to my evolution and, frankly, to my survival. Setting aside my pride, and confessing to the internal voices that were waging war inside my head, saved my life. Admitting myself to outpatient cognitive-behavioral therapy and obtaining medication to improve my mental circumstances represented the most significant turning point in my life. I had plummeted head-first into an eerie abyss, and those at the treatment center extended their hands and helped me to navigate my way out of the bleak, seemingly bottomless chasm. They lit a path of hope. Entering therapy allowed me a second chance at life, and I reluctantly took it. With the unending aid from my counselor and other individuals that composed my support system, my perspective on life, and the world as a whole, shifted. To truly comprehend the immense beauty of human existence, I had to confront the fear of acknowledging my fragility. To apprehend the rarity of the miracle of existence, I had to face death head-on and take back my life. Embracing my mortality was essential to welcoming the magnificence that life has to offer. Without the existential crisis that engulfed my high school experience, I would not be the person I am today. The lessons I have learned through the pain have become core aspects of my story and will continue to influence the life story that I will continue to write. Through my future aspirations, in both my personal and professional life, I want to show struggling individuals that there is hope. As little as it is discussed, millions of people struggle with mental health daily. The stigma surrounding mental health has discouraged soldiers of this battle, some meeting their demise from the lack of mental health awareness and support for individuals struggling with it. People view these fallen victims as statistics, or just another tragedy taken by suicide. Thankfully, I have not become a statistic. With the proper support and awareness, I have learned to manage the battle with my mind. Increased support for individuals struggling with mental health is essential in the fight against stigma, and is proven to save lives, mine included. When I realized life was worth living, I vowed to dedicate my life to helping others reach this realization. Despite the career I decide to pursue, I want to express the immense beauty of human existence to every individual I encounter. As I pursue my college education, this core memory will stay at the forefront of my mind, reminding me of my purpose on this planet. Just as I was shown the value of life, I want to show others that the sun will rise again, and with it, comes hope for a new day in a brighter future.