What makes me happy? Well, I could give you several different answers to this question, but none would satisfy me as this one does. Growing up in a low income household with a single mom, you learn to appreciate things. So, what makes me happy? I remember as a kid, every Saturday my brother, my mom, and I got up early in the morning and drove to the other side of town. The other side of town held the most magnificent memories. Every Saturday started out with a seven dollar pizza buffet that was run down and set at the bottom of a lake. We then went to the big library in fort smith that always had an earthy smell to it. My mom, my brother, and I spent hours on end at this library reading, working on homework, or even talking to the ladies behind the desk. After we spent half of our day at the library, we went across the street to the local park. If it was a Saturday after payday, me and my brother would get to ride the little train around the park. The moral of the story is, you start to appreciate the things you have and cherish the memories forever. So, what makes me happy? The nostalgic memories of those Saturday evenings that I spent with my mom and brother.

Hello, my names whitley gray and I’m diagnosed with severe depression and a anxiety disorder. In this essay I wanna talk about where my mental health came from, why I was diagnosed, how it’s impacted me and the people around me, and how I’m dealing with it up to date. Since I could remember I’ve always had pretty bad anxiety. From tests, walking in front of crowds, and having a hard time concentrating, anxiety was always there. My family runs deep with a long line of mental health problems so my mom seen it coming. As a kid I lived in a low income apartment with my mom because my dad left when I was three. We always struggled but my mom always made sure that I was taken care of. A tragic family death occurred my fifth grade year that caused us to move. At my new school I was brutally bullied for my weight, my red hair, and how “ugly” I was. I put up with the bullying for four years. My freshman year of high school my mom was in a very abusive relationship. She was in some in the past but not as bad as this particular one. Growing up seeing my mom getting hurt tore me apart. I couldn’t do anything to help her. I moved schools shortly after one of the worst years of my life. I then made it to Arkoma high school. Why was I diagnosed? Well, this last year, my junior year, was really tuff. After the COVID-19 quarantine I was really on edge. I spoke out to my mom about it but she didn’t really understand. I’ve always been the type to keep things to myself and just suffer in silence. This all changed Christmas Eve. I was taking out the trash and my mom called me in to her room to talk. She sat on her bed, tears in her eyes, with my suicide notes. I was stunned. I never wanted to see my mom in so much pain. My mom didn’t recognize it till that very moment. I thought it was all my fault. I never attended to commit suicide. It’s almost as if I don’t want to be the one to do it. The notes were written just in case. Just in case I did it. Just in case something happened to me and they would have a goodbye. My mom took me to several doctors, therapists, and even put me on medication. When people think about mental health, they mainly think about the person themselves, but in reality that persons mental health affects several people around them. After my mom found my notes she was very upset. She went into denial, anger, sadness. It wasn’t only my mom, but it was my whole family. I was always viewed as the happy, “quiet” kid, in the family. The girl that worked her butt off in sports and in school. Now they see me as the girl that needs help. Family gatherings are a little weirder now. You can hear the subtle talks behind your back. Your family asking how you are and all you can say is, “ I’m doing good, how about you?”, but in reality your trying not to cry in the living room. My family is so caring and they all want to help, but I feel as if they think they have to love me more and talk to me more. I’m showered with gifts as if that’s what’s gonna make me stay. I’m great full beyond compare, but it’s different. My family is complicated, but what family isn’t? I’m the reason they started paying attention to minor details. Not only me, but my brother came to my mom saying that he also has suicidal thoughts and it tore me apart. It was an eye opener, to hear that my own brother had these problems. It made me feel like how I imagined my mom felt when she found my letters. How much of a sad reality it truly is. With all of these problems being very up to date, I’ve struggled tremendously. Constantly up and down. Medication every night before bed. Therapy on Wednesday’s. A constant battle in my head, and I don’t even know when it will end. With this all being said, I’ve learned to reach out when I’m at my lowest. Yes, I still struggle, but it takes time, right? I’m still constantly worrying about things I don’t need to be worrying about. For instance I am constantly worried about how I’m going to pay for college, my moms well being, and if I’m gonna grow old. Things that may not seem important to you, but are extremely important to me. I’ve tried to stop overthinking things and love my life as a teenager should, but it’s not easy. Friends and family do help, though. Constantly pushing me to do my best, checking in on me, and making sure I have what I need. Mental health is a serious problem. Nothing anyone can control. The thing is, people tend to look at mental health and say that someone’s trauma doesn’t amount to another persons trauma. No matter what you’ve been through we all look at trauma differently and handle it differently. So, mental health shouldn’t be belittled or taken lightly. People, like myself, have to live with mental illness everyday. Some worse than others. All I can say is, is that I’m entirely great full for the friends and family that I have for constantly being by my side. Helping me push through everyday.