Freshman year was the hardest year of my life. 14 and chronically sad, I would sit in my room every night and sob silently so my family couldn’t hear. I didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was and I didn’t know how to fix it. I felt I couldn’t make anyone happy, and I didn’t deserve to be happy myself. The summer before high school, I slowly stopped eating. It was bathing suit season, and I became fixated on losing the few pounds I believed I had gained that winter. Torn between fueling my body for sports or being skinny, I evidently chose to be skinny. What started as skipping breakfast turned into full days without food. The hunger no longer bothered me. Instead, I craved it- the ache in my stomach that I convinced myself meant I was getting smaller. I became obsessed with my weight, staring at the scale for hours begging some greater force to let me be less than 115. Then 110. 105. As my weight dropped, so did my happiness. I was never satisfied and my self-confidence was at an all time low. I became consumed by what other people thought of me, so much that I gave up on caring for myself. The mental pain became unbearable. The first time I hurt myself was early fall of 2022. I didn’t want to do it, but some part of me needed to. I sat in my room late at night, tears streaming down my cheeks. Cut after cut, fresh lines burned red into my skin. It was a new sensation, the stinging pain interrupting my thoughts. I cleaned the mess and went to bed. Soon, this became my routine. What many people don’t understand is how quickly it becomes addictive. Like people with drugs and alcohol, I needed to feel something. That sharp pain brought a clearness to my mind, and for a few moments I felt okay- but everything around me fell apart. My grades dropped as did my interest in things I previously adored. My best friend spread rumors that I was self-harming for attention, longing for pity from others. I was ashamed of myself. I hated that I couldn't resist the temptation, that I wasn't strong enough to heal myself. I hid what I could, switching to baggy pants and hoodies when the cuts became noticeable. I stopped being with friends and isolated myself. Sleeping more than ever before, it wasn’t long until my mom caught on. I told her I was fine. I knew she didn’t believe me, but I tried to convince both of us. She started making breakfast in the morning so I couldn't skip meals. I wanted to stop hurting my body, but I couldn't. I just couldn’t. On December 26th, I told my mom everything. “I think I need help,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh baby, we’ll get you help” she replied, her voice breaking with every word. Crying in my mom’s lap as she stroked my hair, I felt like a little kid again. I had betrayed the innocent young girl I had once been, hurt her precious body in ways I never wanted to. My mom found a therapist right away, but I didn’t want to see her. I thought opening up to my mom was enough. I was fine. Despite my protests, I started therapy a week later. My therapist’s name was Alexis. She was a short woman with flaming red hair and an assortment of colorful jewelry. Every Monday at 4:45 I returned to that office, and it wasn’t long before I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Alexis asked hundreds of questions. How often do you feel this way? On a scale from 1-10, how much does this interrupt your day to day life? I didn’t want to answer any of them. After shoving my feelings down for so long, it felt uncomfortable to tell a stranger why I was hurting inside. I often answered untruthfully or didn’t answer at all. Alexis said I wasn't going to make progress if I wasn't open with her. Curled up under a blanket in an oversized blue chair, I began to own up to my actions. The first step, she said, was taking away sharp objects. This became a burden to the whole family as scissors and other essential materials were locked away. Weeks of this went by. I would be lying if I said I didn't attempt other ways, but slowly I started to improve. Shortly after that appointment, I started medication. Fluoxetine and Bupropion made all the difference. I was suddenly happier, had more energy, and was more motivated than I had been in months. The thing about medication, though, is that it kind of felt like cheating. I wanted to get better on my own. Taking a brain-altering drug didn’t make me any stronger, I was taking the easy way out. But the longer I took it, the more glad I was to not feel ashamed of myself anymore. I became happier and more appreciative of everything around me, until we reach the point where I am now. My battle with depression has been the hardest thing I have ever gone through, but I have learned so much. I have grown to be so grateful for the people and things in my life and to never take anything for granted. I am eternally blessed to have an incredible family who supported me through the whole process, and asking for help has proven to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. There are days when I still feel sad, days when I can't get out of bed, but I remember how far I've come. Ups and downs in life are inevitable, and seeking help is never a “weak” thing to do. If I hadn’t come clean to my mom, I don't think I would be 1,183 days without self harm today.

For the majority of my childhood years, I struggled with motor functions under seemingly random conditions. Easy tasks, like buttoning a jacket in the cold or walking after a long bike ride seemed impossible- and I had no idea why. At 10 years old, I was diagnosed with two rare neuromuscular diseases. At first I was relieved to have answers to why my legs became stiff randomly, but that's all it was. A diagnosis. There were no prescribed medicines or cures I could accept to begin my healing process, and now I was acutely more aware of every stiffness episode I had. These diseases were a mystery to myself and others- even doctors. I was healthy, eating normally, playing sports, and overall very fit for a 10 year old. I hated talking about my conditions because I found it embarrassing. An active, otherwise normal girl, taken down by a disease that less than 5,000 people in the U.S. have. I was frustrated and lonely, with no one to confide in. I ultimately decided I was the only person I would ever know of with these conditions, and accepted my fate as not being able to do everything a normal kid could. As I grew older, I realized that I had to educate myself on my condition to make any progress. After months of searching and reaching out to people all over the country, my mom stumbled across a facebook group dedicated specifically to my condition. These people instantly brought to life perspectives we had never thought of, simple remedies to get my muscles moving again, and more encouragement than I had ever known. I slowly began to find ways to face the struggles I used to avoid in situations, making me more resilient than ever. To this day, this period of growth has impacted the person I am. I no longer shy away from a challenge and I am confident in my abilities. Becoming stronger mentally and physically has impacted the way I learn, allowing me to be more open to different ways of thinking which I believe has heightened my education experience. Though living with Paramyotonia Congenita and Hyperkalemic Periodic Paralysis has been unbearable at points, it has taught me the value of viewing life from different experiences. There is so much you can learn from others with unique conditions like me, and bringing these ideas to a larger community allows others to live through a different perspective. Growing up with an “invisible” condition has brought me empathy for others, and the awareness that you truly never know how someone is living their life. I will bring this understanding to college along with the knowledge that when people of diverse backgrounds or experiences come together in a community, the impact it may have on a singular person is incredible. I aim to find others with similar or additional conditions and create a safe environment where people can confide in and help each other, just as I found with that facebook group 7 years ago.

For the majority of my childhood years, I struggled with motor functions under seemingly random conditions. Easy tasks, like buttoning a jacket in the cold or walking after a long bike ride seemed impossible- and I had no idea why. At 10 years old, I was diagnosed with two rare neuromuscular diseases. At first I was relieved to have answers to why my legs became stiff randomly, but that's all it was. A diagnosis. There were no prescribed medicines or cures I could accept to begin my healing process, and now I was acutely more aware of every stiffness episode I had. These diseases were a mystery to myself and others- even doctors. I was healthy, eating normally, playing sports, and overall very fit for a 10 year old. I hated talking about my conditions because I found it embarrassing. An active, otherwise normal girl, taken down by a disease that less than 5,000 people in the U.S. have. I was frustrated and lonely, with no one to confide in. I ultimately decided I was the only person I would ever know of with these conditions, and accepted my fate as not being able to do everything a normal kid could. As I grew older, I realized that I had to educate myself on my condition to make any progress. After months of searching and reaching out to people all over the country, my mom stumbled across a facebook group dedicated specifically to my condition. These people instantly brought to life perspectives we had never thought of, simple remedies to get my muscles moving again, and more encouragement than I had ever known. Though living with Paramyotonia Congenita and Hyperkalemic Periodic Paralysis has been unbearable at points, it has taught me the value of viewing life from different experiences. I slowly began to find ways to face the struggles I used to avoid in situations, making me more resilient than ever. To this day, this period of growth has impacted the person I am. I no longer shy away from a challenge and I am confident in my abilities. This experience overall has influenced me towards psychology and helping people find out what is going on in their brains, just as doctors and strangers helped me. I want to find out what causes these conditions and how to prevent them in the future, so children do not have to feel alone in the world as I did. I aim to help find reasoning and explanations for patients and broaden their abilities, even when limited, offering a personal experience not accessed through other medical support.