I remember the noise of my phone vibrating late that night. It was far too late for anyone to be calling, but a gut instinct drew me into picking up my phone. When I saw the name of my late-night caller, my stomach dropped instantly. I hadn't talked to them for months and I couldn't remember the last time they called me on the phone, let alone far past midnight. I answered my phone distraught with a half-asleep hello. At first, they were silent, only the faint noise of the vents in my room filled our conversation. But when they finally spoke, my heart left my body and I jolted out of bed. They told me they "didn't think they could do this anymore" and they were "really sorry." When I heard those words, I immediately thought back to what my counselors at school taught students to do in situations of suicide. I tried to keep my voice strong and steady, so I could ask them questions to send help their way. I asked them where they were and received back an evasive response. I was forced to make the assumption they were home, and I prayed to God that I was right. I scrambled for the right things to say, worried I would make the situation worse. But, I knew I couldn't think negatively in this situation. I hurried to the other side of my room, where my iPad sat on my desk and dialed 911. I switched between conversations with my seemingly shattered friend and the operator, muting myself to not alarm my friend. I told my friend to stay with me and tell me what was going through their mind. They hesitated at first, before telling me about the pain, the exhaustion, and the feeling of being invisible they were experiencing. And I listened—really listened—even though it hurt. I reminded them that this awful crushing moment wouldn't last forever. I stayed on the call until help arrived and my friend hung up. When the call ended, I felt nauseous. My stomach twisted and turned violently. I ran out from my room and into my family's half-bath across the hall. There all my pent up emotions from the last twenty minutes came out of my stomach. When I think back on it now, I can still taste the acid lingering on my tongue. That night, my distant friend did not call me, he cried out to me for help. They saw something in me: a friend, a confidante, someone they go to for help. I didn't know it at the time, but they had overdosed after taking several medications and I very well could have saved his life. No one should ever have to carry their pain in silence. That’s why I'm studying psychology with a focus on mental health support and crisis intervention. Not just to understand, but help others when they need it most. Whether that means working in public health programs or emergency response teams, I want to help advocate and fight for people who are struggling and felt invisible like my friend. By doing so, I can help people gain back hope and strengthen my community as a whole.

As a kid, I was captivated by the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” With crayons, I would sketch my ever-changing occupational adventures, each drawing bringing endless possibilities into existence. I’d picture myself as an astronaut landing on the moon one week or a doctor saving lives the next. I wasn’t aware of it then, but those seemingly childish drawings were the first signs of my curiosity and interest in people and their lives. Although realizing that my past, present, and future are connected took time, it all led me down one path: psychology. Growing up, I learned how words hurt far less than a fist. In fifth grade, I was brutally bullied by three of my classmates who were taller, stronger, and bigger than I was. Even though I was young, the impact was devastating, leading me to suffer from generalized anxiety disorder. Learning to manage my anxiety was difficult, especially while living in an unstable home. Recently, I left an abusive relationship, which was a difficult but necessary step to reclaiming my sense of self-worth. The relationship was a never-ending cycle of pain followed by insincere apologies. He called me ugly, told me he hated me, and made me feel worthless. Then, immediately he'd tried to take his words back. But his apologies never lasted and his cruelty always returned. He never physically hurt me, but like father, like son, I knew if I stayed, I’d face the same fate as his mother. Leaving wasn’t easy, but it was the only way to save myself. In every experience and misfortune I’ve faced, I’ve realized that I have the power to create my future. Attending college will be the first step in pursuing my dream of becoming a children’s physiatrist and helping kids like me who suffer from mental health challenges. I also hope to give back to my community which shaped me into who I am today by starting a nonprofit. My nonprofit would support initiatives like the Haven House in South Sioux City, Iowa, which helps victims of domestic abuse rebuild their lives, as I know firsthand the impact of domestic abuse. From drawing pictures to pursuing psychology, I’ve realized that my past, present, and future are connected. The experiences that shaped me, the knowledge I’ve gained, and the path I’m about to take are all part of a far larger story.

I haven't always loved mathematics, but I began to after I realized math had the same dependability as my closest friends. Math had never left me and was always there for me when I required it. From kindergarten to junior year of high school, I utilized my math skills inside and outside the classroom. I began to notice that I used math in almost everything I did, and sometimes the solutions to my problems would automatically enter my brain without me having to ponder them. Since this realization, my love and appreciation for mathematics have grown exponentially, leading me to recognize how essential math is to everyday life. I value math because it is one of the crucial tools in one of my favorite hobbies, baking. One of my favorite recipes that use math is chocolate chip cookies. For example, I apply my prior math skills in proportions and ratios to determine which measuring cups to choose when doubling recipes. This information helps me determine the amount of ingredients I need to add to my batch. Occasionally when I need to preheat my oven, the recipe calls for a Celsius setting. So I have to use an equation to convert the Celsius setting to Fahrenheit to ensure my cookies bake properly. Although, baking is only one of many everyday activities mathematics makes possible. Aside from helping me with baking, I have found and utilized my love of mathematics when purchasing groceries. When shopping, I use math to compare different brands' prices to determine which offers the best value by comparing ratios. The ratio; price to quantity answers my question of which product is the most profitable value for my money. Moreover, I use my percentage knowledge to determine the sale price when stores offer discounts on original prices. One last way I take advantage of mathematics is to calculate the total cost of my groceries before checking out. This helps me know how much I am spending and stay within my budget. As you can see, math is a gigantic aspect of shopping. In short, math has become a vital part of my everyday life. Each day, I continue to love and appreciate its dependability and versatility within some of my favorite hobbies and daily tasks. I am confident that in the future, I will be able to use math to solve any problem that emerges.

Similarly to how someone recalls the sounds of an ice cream van driving through town, I remember the sound of a landline phone ringing. I had been on edge and waiting for the phone to ring since my grandfather was diagnosed with brain cancer for the second time. There was, however, one significant distinction this time from his first encounter with cancer: he denied hospitalization as he had stage four cancer, which he was doubtful to survive with surgery or medical attention. When the call arrived, it was blunt, harsh, and buzzing with news regarding my grandfather's end of his cancer battle. Upon hearing about his passing, I reminisced about all our incredible times together. I thought about moments like when we would go out for breakfast at Perkins and I'd declare myself the "Breakfast Queen" or the time he taught me to tap the top of soda cans to ensure they wouldn't fizz over. Thinking about all these events and memories with him compelled me to be angry with God and question my beliefs as a Christian. I didn't comprehend how God could take away my grandfather, such a remarkable person, from this world. I started veering away from my religion and believing God was not real. Because, in my mind, if there was a God, God wouldn't do such an act. As I saw life then, humans were born on earth to live an unknown amount of time, only to perish and be forgotten. Due to this ideology, I became bitter about the world and acted irrationally, straining my relationships with my family and friends. It was not my intention to harm my loved ones. I behaved as if I didn't care because of the sorrow and outrage I experienced after my grandfather's passing. Since his death almost seven years ago, my life has been a long and strenuous journey. My opinions, beliefs, and relationships have all changed for the better. While I always miss him with every passing day, I am now striving to live my life to its maximum potential. It's a tribute to him because that's what he desired and tried to accomplish in his life. It was crucial for him to live the final months of his life as he wished. He decided not to be hospitalized, which makes sense to me now in ways it didn't before. I've restored my connection to my loved ones, including God. By rekindling my relationship with God, it has become clear that I refuse to perish in my past. My past haunts and torments me if I allow it. However, I can choose to let go of my past and walk righteously onwards to be happier and content. Inspired by my grandfather, I plan to go to college to study psychology to aid research into the innate workings of the brain. I hope to discover more information regarding how brain cancer impacts the human brain to potentially uncover a more promising way to eliminate the threat efficiently so that no single person has to suffer the way my grandfather did. In short, dealing with my grandfather's cancer was challenging for my mental health. Not only was I losing him I was losing parts of myself. Although, in the healing stages of cancer I gained some of the most meaningful parts of myself. Despite his death, the memory of him lives on in my head. Which I'll carry with me evermore.