“So...Mom and I were talking, and we want to help you Becca.” I looked up at my dad through a sea of tears. “We think you’re dealing with depression and anxiety and that’s why you’re feeling sad. We want to take you to see a doctor so they can help. Talking to a professional and getting on medication has helped both of us in the past.” A bolt of panic shot through my seven-year-old self, and my tear-streaked face was replaced with a look of horror. “No. No doctor! I’m fine!” I pleaded. Seeing a doctor meant acknowledging something was wrong. When things were wrong the sadness and fear grew worse. I could already feel my stomach clenching. “No doctors,” I repeated, leaping from the table and bounding up to my room. “I’m not depressed!” For the majority of my childhood, I denied the existence of my anxiety and depression. After years of constant mental illness issues as a kid, I finally opened my eyes and reached for help. In return, my aspirations for the future and my relationships grew stronger and solidified the belief that my mental health was combatable and living a happy life was possible. When I was a kid, I loved drawing. Even at the time, I knew I wanted to pursue an art. I would draw with any pencil or crayon I could get my hands on. It was my escape. When it came to my mental health at the time, I was a constant wreck. Starting from pre-school to around the fourth grade, I had low confidence in myself. I wanted to show people my creative dream, but I was overwhelmed with fear and doubt. My mind kept telling me the paths I wanted were either impossible or something I didn't deserve. Years later, I gathered the courage to break away and find a new way of living, but it was hard. But it wasn't impossible. As a child, I stood rigid with the fear of the unknown, but over time I've become a confident, social teenager who lives life with a happier and healthier mindset as well as a passion for art. Although I was only in second grade when I had that heart-to-heart talk with my parents about my anxiety and depression, it was a conversation that I refused to open my eyes to until later on. When I ran from the dinner table, I was afraid. I was afraid of something being wrong because it might change how I lived my life. I was scared of feeling sick, being alone, and accepting a change for myself. Although I have put a few good years between my past and where I am now, I can't forget how anxiety and depression made my life a living hell. I may have been lucky enough to get help when I did, but it was only because I chose to accept that I was hurting. Depression and anxiety kept my happiness locked away in a box. I always knew the box was there but I never thought there was a way to push past the pain to get to it. Once I accepted the problem and moved to fix it, I became a better version of myself. Nowadays, I eagerly pursue my artistic hobbies which I plan to carry past college. I am fortunate to have an amazing relationship with my family and friends. I know I can overcome adversity. Now, I can look at myself in the mirror and see a smiling girl who doesn't share the same reflection with her seven-year-old counterpart.

“So...Mom and I were talking, and we want to help you with this Becca.” I looked up at my dad through a sea of tears. “We think you’re dealing with depression and anxiety, and that’s why you’re feeling sad a lot of the time. We want to take you to see a doctor so they can help. Talking to a professional and getting on medication has helped both of us in the past.” A bolt of panic shot through my seven-year-old self, and my tear-streaked face was replaced with a look of horror. “No. No doctor! I’m fine!” I pleaded. Seeing a doctor meant acknowledging something was wrong, and when things were wrong the sadness and fear only grew worse. I could already feel my stomach clenching. “No doctors,” I repeated, leaping from the table and bounding up to my room. “I’m not depressed!” For the majority of my childhood, I denied the existence of my anxiety and depression. After years of being constantly plagued by mental illness as a kid I finally opened my eyes to this issue and my aspirations for the future, along with my relationships grew stronger and solidified the belief that my mental health was possible to combat and I can live a happy life. When I was a kid, I always loved drawing and even at the time I knew I wanted to pursue an artistic future. I was obsessed with dinosaurs and dragons and I would draw them with any pencil or crayon I could get my hands on. However, when it came to my mental health, I was a constant wreck. Starting from pre-school to around the fourth grade I had low confidence in myself. I wanted to branch out and show people my creative dream, but I was overwhelmed with fear and doubt. My mind kept telling me the paths I wanted for myself were either impossible or something I didn't deserve. Years later, I gathered the courage to break away and find a new way of living, but it was hard. But it wasn't impossible. As young child, I stood rigid with the fear of the unknown, but over time I have become a confident, social teenager who lives life with a happier and healthier mindset and a passion for arts. Although depression and anxiety played a role in how I lived at home, nothing compared to the terrible impact they made with my relationships with family and friends as a child; I later mended these relationships as a teen. Ever since kindergarten, it was very common for my family to get together with other loved ones like my cousins and hang out at their house. Although a day filled with games like hide-and-seek or ghost in the graveyard was supposed to be fun, I would find myself sitting out on the porch by myself, and I was overcome by a weird loneliness. Even when those closest to me tried to talk to me, I felt myself slipping deeper into my well of depression. Over the years, this constant fear of being alone mixed with the crushing depression slowly started to lessen. As I slowly opened up about my feelings with my family, we became closer than ever before. On most weekends, my family and I still make plans to get together with my cousins. We still play many of the same games as we did as kids, but I never feel lonely anymore; instead, I am just exhausted. While tackling my depression has allowed me to have a closer bond with loved ones, dealing with my anxiety has allowed me to step back from being too clingy. Even by age six, I would still beg my mom to stay by my side until I fell asleep. If I realized she had left, an icy panic would grip me and leave me screaming for her to come back. I needed to be within close proximity to others to ease the anxiety, but I still felt lonely all the time. While I still lean on them for advice and answers at times, I have gained independence over my own life. This freedom from my sadness and fear has helped me create a better social life with both my family and close friends. I have gone from a kid who felt isolated from family and feared being alone to a teen who places anxiety and depression on the back burner; I feel more connected in my relationships than ever before. Although I was only in second grade when I had that heart-to-heart talk with my parents about my anxiety and depression, it was a conversation that I refused to open my eyes to until later on. When I ran away from the dinner table, I was afraid. I was afraid of something being wrong because it might change how I lived my life. I was scared of feeling sick, being alone, and accepting a change for myself. Although I have put a few good years between my past and where I am now, I can not forget how anxiety and depression made my life a living hell. I may have been lucky enough to get help when I did, but it was only because I chose to accept that something was hurting me. Depression and anxiety kept my happiness away behind a locked box. I always knew the box was there but I never thought there was a way to push past the pain to get to it. Once I accepted the problem and started taking action to fix it, I became a better version of myself. Nowadays, I eagerly pursue my artistic hobbies which I plan to carry past college. I am fortunate to have an amazing relationship with my family and friends. I know I can overcome adversity. Now, I can look at myself in the mirror and see a smiling girl who does not share the same reflection with her seven-year-old counterpart.

When a person first buys a dog, there are many emotions at play. For some, it is a battle with grief for a recently lost pet, but for others, it's a curious and brand-new endeavor. Despite the differing paths, most owners can agree on one thing: finding a dog is a uniquely joyful experience that allows a person to find a furry friend that they can share unconditional love with. I've lived my entire life around dogs. When I was born, my parents owned a beagle named Emily. She was a kind soul that was quiet and gentle, and she often cuddled against me as I was napping. When I was about seven, she passed away due to cancer. Although my family and I were heartbroken, we knew that the best thing for us was to move forward. In less than a month we had found a new family member. Smore was a rescue who was discovered on the side of the road in Missouri. His litter was left to die before they were brought to the shelter and rehabilitated. The day we found him, we instantly knew he would be part of the family. His fur was a mix of chocolate-like blackish brown, sandy graham cracker, and a bright white marshmallow color. He had the kindest rust-orange eyes that instantly melted our hearts. (I like to think he was aptly named). For ten years my dog has been by my side. He's seen me through the worst of my depression, and he always knew when I needed someone to hug. Smore has played a critical role in how my mood is every day. If I'm coming home from school after flunking a test, I know he'll be there, sitting curled up on the couch with one of my slippers. Whether or not we're out shopping for an hour, or we are away on vacation for a week, we know we'll always come home to his happy howls. I've always adored how every dog has their own little quirks that define who they are. For Smore, I've seen his terror of tiled floors and lawnmowers. I've seen how valiantly his efforts are to scare away the dogs on TV. The gravel-stained backside of my snow pants and I know firsthand his persistence to get across the block to meet another dog. For me, owning a dog is a unique and wonderful experience. It allows a person to express their highest and lowest moments with a companion that will listen and never judge. I know that for me, I've needed moments of quiet where I can close my eyes and snuggle with a friend. It's been years since my family and I found Smore. With luck, I hope to spend many years to come with my dog.

"Brayyyyden" the clown drawled. My cousin's eyes bugged to the point where I was amazed they stayed in their sockets. Funny how his confidence just vanished. He tried to backpedal, but I was already pushing him forward, "Oh no, you wanted a picture. Here we go. Here's the clown". He was seventeen now but absolutely terrified of Pennywise. I guess the guy standing not five feet from him resembled the horror movie character just a little too much. The man wore a ripped vest speckled with fake blood. His frizzy orange hair drooped past his black eyes and jagged teeth. He reminded me of a shark. Did I regret telling him Brayden's name? Absolutely not. My brothers stood beside me with their cameras at the ready. Both hooked their arms around my cousin and pulled him forward. Brayden had insisted on a photo. It was his first time here at Valley fair and he was adamant on getting a picture with the creepiest dressed individual. After repeatedly claiming everyone around us were "losers" for getting jump scared, I knew the perfect place to take him. Am I a bit devious for that? …… Maybe just a bit. "Brayyyyden" the clown repeated as he lumbered forward. "Nope!" my cousin decided as he pulled away from my brothers and shot past the clown. That was his first mistake. He darted down the path, where other clowns roamed. The effect was almost immediate. All at once, a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto Brayden. A dozen pairs of feet started to trail behind him. As he vanished behind the series of fun house mirrors, there was a moment of silence before his high-pitched shriek echoed across the park. I guess I realized he had company. The first clown looked back where my cousin had run off. He had impressively kept his composure. I'm glad someone did. I was currently doubled over laughing and about to pee my pants. While I was busy sounding like a horse dying, my brothers had run off after Brayden. "Do you think he'll be back?" the clown asked me. I tried to catch my breath as I responded, "we'll see". I had nearly composed myself by the time they returned with my cousin in tow. I don't know what they bribed him with, but it must have been good. His short brown hair was frazzled, and I could see him fidgeting with his phone. He handed the device to my mom and stepped closer to the clown with what seemed to be a great deal of willpower. The four of us lined up for the photo. Brayden was still way out of the camera's shot. "Don't be a chicken", my brother Ben said as he motioned my cousin closer. I watched the clown's mouth stretch into a toothy grin. "Yeah Brayden." He rasped, "are you a chicken?" He suddenly started flapping his arms and clucking. Brayden managed to look even more mortified. After a great deal of convincing, my cousin moved a few feet closer where he leaned in for the photo. At the end of the night, we got the picture. Me, my two brothers, the clown, and Brayden's head craning into the frame on the very left side.

The moment my bow stopped and I faced my conductor's heated glare, my heart sank; I suddenly knew with perfect certainty that I had humiliated myself in front of an entire audience. The sweat on my forehead from the stuffy auditorium froze on my brow. Why was everyone still playing?! With my face now burning with embarrassment, I lamely attempted to fall back into playing. It was a futile attempt; I knew everyone had seen me. That “fake it ‘till you make it” advice couldn't save me now. Midway through my highschool journey, I had a wake-up call. I realized I needed to clean up my act or risk messing up again. A couple of years before, I was signed up for viola lessons. Private teaching gave me an edge over my classmates. At the time, I compared my peers abiltity to mine. Toxic confidence told me I could skip practice and still perform well. Later I realized that this was not only untrue but also unhealthy. I’ve always been a very outgoing person; I love conversation and for better or worse, I exude a ton of energy in what I do. Since kindergarten, I've been a chatterbox. I was loud. And so was my playing. While encouraged to be emphatic and enthusiastic, I was blind to the damage I caused. Between my intonation issues, my counting troubles, and my refusal to balance my sound with those around me, I was suddenly exposed in a very public way. At the moment my face was ablaze with shame, I realized I couldn’t continue to cut corners. Not if I wanted to feel genuine pride in my work. I wanted to make the people around me feel supported, but I had been doing the exact opposite. It took me years to realize, but in order to survive, the orchestra needed to blend as one. Like an organism made up of individual cells, the orchestra was made up of many players. Although each one is vital, the only way to survive is by working together in harmony. If a cell begins to act in a way that doesn't gel like the others, it creates cancer that ends up harming the overall organism. At that moment, I had become that harmful cell. It was during the next year that I not only became determined to succeed in music but in other classes as well. The thought of having another mess up at that level filled me with stomach-churning dread. By cutting corners, I had made work a sprint. By putting the effort in it became a marathon. My dedication eventually paid off. As I channeled my energy into more productive work, I held myself accountable for the product I put out. I quit cramming before a test, I asked the questions I had at the start of my confusion, and I practiced long before the big day. Most importantly, I began to work together with people rather than compete against them. However, as I begin to change my habits, I in turn clawed my way to the top to become the first chair violist. As a senior in high school, I have taken on a leadership role, that now more than ever, requires my due diligence with my musical skill. Although I remain nervous on concert day, I feel more confident knowing that by putting in the time and effort, I will never again be that cancerous cell. My younger self gave me scars to carry, but I know that with those marks, I can now perform well for myself and also lead others.

THE VINES Since age three, I’ve seen the vines. Some at home, but most out there. Hanging limp, On window sills of shops and malls. Just crooked corpses when I’m away, Dried-out husks unwatered and cracked. But I’m not a fool, I know they'll grow back. I take a breath, They quiver outside. I step into a restaurant, and like snakes, they strike, They wind around my stomach and throat, They choke me as I try to breathe, But as I swipe they’re no longer there. Open sky and open air. And still, I gasp because my breath won’t catch. The vines have seeped into my skin, Twined around my ribs and lungs, My heart screams out, Thorns puncture through, Cuts ooze terror I never knew. I’m breaking down and people stare, “Why are you panicking? There’s nothing there.” But they can’t see the vines that hang, Around a world, I fear to tread. They bind me to my house and home. The vines and I, All alone. I want to explore, I want to live, But the vines hold tight so I sit and wait. They cling to my body and slowly die. I breathe in deep, Watching as they fall away. Tangled chains upon the floor. I’ll try again and reach for the door, And race into the world before they bind me once more.

I still remember the first time I saw his grip falter. I remember the icy chill that crept up my spine as I watched him being thrown from the rocky ledge. At only ten, I watched in horror as Mufasa- a character I had come to love and cherish more than any other-was struck down. In his short time on screen, Mufasa instantly became one of my favorite Disney characters due in main part to his resemblance to my dad. During a time when I was waging a war with my depression, my dad was my anchor to keep me from drifting away into darkness. He assured me that he would be there even in my darkest moments and that I wouldn't be alone in my struggle. The first time "Kings of the Past" played, and Mufasa comforted Simba after his run-in with the hyenas, I remember crying. Never had I connected so much with a character on screen before. The assurance that he gave his son spoke to me just as my father had. I looked at his character and saw my dad; he was someone who loved his child and would always be there for them. After Mufasa died, I was heartbroken; I couldn't help but see a future where I wouldn't have my dad. However, his character continued to speak to not only Simba but also myself. Where once I saw his character as the present version of my dad, I now saw him as the future. A future where my dad no longer was there. Beginning at age ten I realized just how important it was to cherish the moments I had with loved ones. From then up until now, I have spent as much time as I can building memories with my dad and the rest of my family. Some may argue that Mufasa is nothing more than an animated lion, but for me, he represents the love and strength that my loved ones offered in my darkest hour, and for that, he will forever be my favorite Disney character.

Throughout the vast pages of bloody action and ceaseless drama lay the gems of heart-wrenching tales of sorrow and triumph; a sorrow and triumph so profound that it leaves its readers slacked jawed and changed. Ninety-nine percent of the time the books I read serve as nothing more than a way to escape reality. Although I am pleased to travel away from my problems for only a while, I have found some books have the complete opposite effect. Among these, there is one book in particular that I have held near and dear to my heart, and it has in many ways shaped the person I am today. When I first read A Dog's Purpose, I'll admit that I was skeptical. It was a jump from my normal material and at the time, I wasn't big into books. I didn't think that a story about a dog repeatedly dying sounded like a great time. However, after giving into my mom's encouragement, I gave it a try. Within this book I had first deemed to be outside my realm of interest, I found lessons of family, perseverance, and sacrifice. Family plays a huge role in A Dog's Purpose and with that, my own life. After a dog named Bailey is reborn as a golden retriever, he meets his boy, Ethan. As he grows up with his family, he shares some of the best memories with those he loves. After he dies, again and again, he finds people to call family (Jakob, and later Maya) Even towards the end, in a life where he feels abandoned by his owners, he finds Ethan again. As a senior in high school, I hate the thought of leaving the ones I love when I go to college. I love my brothers, parents, and dogs dearly. Although the thought of separation pains me, I know that, as the book shows, loved ones will always be there to support you even in unknown territory. Along with its lessons in loving the best moments and people in life, A Dog's Purpose continues to show me the importance of both perseverance and sacrifice. During his last life, Bailey sinks into a depression when he is caged by his "owners" and later abandoned. Although left for dead, he perseveres through it all and continues, where he later reunites with Ethan. I felt this part of the book on a very personal level as I had dealt with depression as a young kid. I felt isolated from others and had a hard time (even at that age) finding the point to life. At my age, doctors were not keen to diagnose me. Even after meeting dead ends, my parents continued to schedule appointments to try and help me. Their perseverance, which finally led to a diagnosis, may have saved my life. Along with perseverance, the theme of sacrifice stuck with me. Much like Bailey's continuous rebirth, I have and will continue to transition into different phases in my life. Whether it be celebrating one year older, or moving away to another school, sacrifice has been inevitable. I've learned that even if I have to give one part of my life up, the memories I've made, and the things I've learned will stay with me. Even as I grow older like Bailey, I'll always have part of my past lives. Life is meant to be ever-changing. A Dog's Purpose has taught me that through all the struggles and misgivings, there will always be a light somewhere to guide you through it all.