Growing up, I was all too familiar with the impact a dwindling mental state can have on people, as well as on those who are close to them. Though I was unaware of it, that effect shone through as early as my childhood. I was no stranger to being left alone, the barrier between me and the connection of my parental figure being that of a single locked office door. When it wasn't locked, you might instead find them on the couch, lifelessly scrolling through television channels without regard for the environment or the child around them. It wasn't until much later that I learned I may not have ever existed at all if not for the failure of an attempt by that parent. But, while I was young, the experience only served to develop a prominent sense of independence, as well as a longing to understand the disconnect in our relationship. My second encounter with depression arrived in middle school. It was with a new friend; we had bonded quickly over our shared desire to understand others and ourselves as well as discover how the world worked as a whole. However, light was shed on her true mental state as soon as she began to trust me with her personal life. She felt as though she was being constricted, she had told me. That every day that passed seemed more like a chore than an opportunity. My heart ached for her, and I did everything I knew how to at my young age-- it wasn't infrequent for me to spend nights up in bed, letting her vent her frustrations through the Google Docs app on our school-provided iPad. She eventually sought therapy and received a diagnosis, continuing to lean on me for support all the way. The event had brought me a sense of belonging. It felt right to be involved in someone's struggles in such a meaningful way, and know that I was part of the reason they were able to overcome them. From that point on, I knew that I wanted the rest of my life to reflect this part of myself and that I wouldn't be satisfied with a career that wasn't assisting others' more profound, unseen challenges. When I entered high school, it came time to prep for potential college choices, and I found myself doing what many others also do: taking a career quiz. When I submitted all of my answers and began to browse my catalog of matches, a single word stood out to me. Psychologist. I clicked on the word, and a world opened to me, its introduction describing everything I had been looking for. Now, I had a title attached to the feeling I'd had nagging at me for so long. It is a title I continue to pursue as I ready myself to navigate college by browsing official university sites and typing out scholarship essays. It is a light at the end of the tunnel, a reminder of why I continue to put effort into every submission I make. Because of my experiences, I now know that my purpose is not only to support others in their darkest moments but also to provide them with the tools and understanding they need to rediscover the light within themselves.

My top three songs from Billie Eilish are Getting Older, BLUE, and Everybody Dies. Billie has always been an inspirational model for me; she isn’t afraid of writing hard-hitting, vulnerable lyrics. Through her music, she’s helped me through many of the emotional challenges that come with growing up, especially in a world that feels detached from who you are. I live in Texas, which houses a public school system full of loud, occasionally particularly brash kids. As a woman, especially one in the LGBTQ+ community, feeling isolated from the people around me has always been something I had to grapple with. However, even when I was struggling through intermediate school, Billie’s music was there, at that time specifically through her song Everything I Wanted. She was never afraid to be raw or off-beat from other popular music creators at the time; her refusal to live in the black and white of the music industry had given me the motivation to forge my own unique path through life. Throughout the years, Billie Eilish has never stopped being someone to look up to, and someone whose art I can lean on for emotional support. My loyalty as a fan has stayed just as strong; there’s never been a year where she hasn’t been on my Spotify Wrapped, or been given a spot on my phone home screen as I’ve continuously redecorated it. Her own words in my current number one favorite, Everybody Dies, express the exact sentiment that I had spent so many years receiving from her music. “You are not alone,” she assures both me and countless other young people that I know have experienced the same loneliness I have. “You are not unknown.”