Hello, my name is Sonya Gibby. What I strive for is to achieve academic excellence to the best of my ability and strengths, so that I can make something of myself in my future career that I have not decided on yet, and to inspire others wishing for the same career to follow my example as a leader.
As for who I am, I am the daughter of a single father after the unfortunate passing of my biological mother, but luck was on our side when my stepmom helped us out of our rut.
I am interested in, academically, honors-level English and Psychology classes enrolled at High Point Central, maintaining a GPA of 4.0. During my free time, however, I enjoy expressing my creativity through traditional drawing, reading, and writing.
I am a somewhat lively yet shy and quiet character, who likes to create and craft ideas through a creative medium, yet also incredibly well-versed in academics, but not so much in volunteer work.
However, after my mother died, my father and I did not take it well. We trudged through this tragedy slowly, using outlets of creativity and fiction to escape the harsh reality of the maternal death (it encompassed all my interests from then, and the themes of manipulation and internal conflicts pulled from some unseen, baffling corner of my mind) and Zoom call therapy to better express my emotions fantastically or realistically.
This experience was honestly beyond words. The death caused not only isolation from myself and my father, food splurging to drown out the pain, an empty hollowness that worked together with wide-eyed zoning out in part by all of the thoughts one’s mind has while grieving (none too serious in my case, except for the next item), and a heavy case of insomnia due to necrophobia. Fear of death. I feared that if I slept, that I would die. Every day of the two weeks in October that were taken out and for the eternity of the pandemic felt like years, years of sitting, standing, writing, school or therapy, eating, writing, drawing, not sleeping, and then waking up and repeating the same actions over and over.
My character shifted dramatically from the happy, bouncy schoolgirl to the loner, sad, and isolated writer that has now (in 2024) made me more of an introvert. My aspirations didn’t change much, as I always loved to write and draw, but I did have a better understanding of the art and, if I remember right, had started thinking this could be a career. The thought, in turn, did help me produce my books more fervently for the desire of publication at some point, easing things over.
My mental health, as much as it changed from the dramatic shift in 2019, has evened out from then, except on days when I make too many nonsensical mistakes— to which I berate myself for them. Although this is usually not done around people, I still try to not let insignificant things strain my relationships with others. This, in turn, causes negative self-perception and a dislike of how I act sometimes. This can ruin my personal opinion of myself by corrupting it into a negative one.
The tragedy has shaped my goals by granting me a deeper passion for writing, creativity, and character motive than before 2019. Before then, it was the trope akin to a child’s playground fantasies where the hero is overpowered and unbeatable, with either no or a constantly changing story. Now, in 2024, there is motive and character in every ounce of my books. I could (and have) written full essays on the topic alone.
My mental health has also, on good occasions, helped scare me (with a community college over my dream college) into doing what I need to do to get to that aforementioned dream college (such as scholarships).
It has shaped my relationships by bonding me closer to my father and, later, my stepmother. The pitfalls of the grief had been a crying isolation that made my father and I come closer in our father-daughter bond.
A similar but newer (as in a few years) bond also exists post-grieving period with my stepmom, who introduced me to coffee, found me clothes that fit my age, and has helped me with handling life and college (even in the short time she’s been in our lives) has revolutionized myself as a person by giving me advice and the ability to try new things and learn how to perform quality-of-life actions, like how to apply for jobs and scholarships.
My mental health has shaped my understanding of the world by making me experience true isolation for the first time. First, during the grieving period, besides my father and my few friends on Instagram, I felt like I had no one. Unhelped by the lies told by my extended family (besides my grandfather), who said they’d always be there if I needed anything, which they were not. I also felt introverted (from not getting out as much), monotone (for the routine), and paranoid (of everything potentially able to make me die).
After the grieving period, though, I felt calmer, started getting out more, and had less fear (I still do, slightly). Now, my books stand as a reminder of how I felt and continue to this day to be written (about six more books left in the series as of July 2024). Despite all this, I think my health has gotten better, albeit relapsing at times of great failure.
In conclusion, my experience with mental health shaped my goals, relationships, and understanding of the world (aka worldview) fairly negatively through the grieving period year and a few months, up until my stepmother helped us to see a better future. After that period, my health improved into what it is now: creative and flawed yet kind to all others and my family, even if my biological mother is not physically here.