Mental health is important to me as a student because without my mental health experiences, I would not be so invested in studying Psychology and aiming for medical school in the future. But first and foremost, mental health is important to me because I've seen my family and other loved ones deal with the aftershocks of the gigantic earthquakes I've created due to my mental health struggles. When I was in high school, I attempted to end my own life. I was terrified and numb and overwhelmed - I felt so incredibly alone. I thought the world would be better off without me in it and that my loved ones would be unburdened by my absence. I was wrong. From the moment I attempted, I realized just how deeply my depression affected others. The look on my mother's face as I laid in the hospital bed will never leave my mind, and to this day, she is one of the biggest reasons as to why I try so hard to propel myself forward in life. I know how all-encompassing depression is. I've felt the weight of billions of tons of lead on my body, where I couldn't leave my bed or brush my teeth or eat for days and weeks at a time. I've felt the cold darkness that seems to seep into the soul, until there's nothing left but a faint numbness. But I've also seen the light that shines in my loved ones' faces when they laugh. I've watched sunrises and sunsets with friends, felt the warm breeze of summer air, and smelled early morning dew. It's because I've experienced the devastating lows of depression that I can recognize and so intensely appreciate the beauty of life. And because of my experience with mental illness, I can fervently advocate for mental health awareness in my community. I would not have such intense empathy for others if I had not experienced firsthand how depression, PTSD, and anxiety warp reality. My insight into various mental health issues has helped me during my time volunteering at Agora, my campus's mental health warm line, which has allowed me the privilege of extending a warm hand out to those who feel like they are alone. I am also the newly elected Director of Advocacy for my college's Residence Housing Association, where I work to foster and create a safe and trusting environment for all students. I hope to be someone that anyone, from all walks of life, can come to for support and guidance on important issues such as mental health. In addition to my volunteer efforts in my college community, I try every day to be someone that my friends and family can rely on for mental health guidance and support. When my older brother was diagnosed with Leukemia, I stayed at home with him during the months he received chemotherapy and listened to his worries, fears, and regrets. I held his hand and stayed overnight at the hospital to be with him. And I hope he knows that I would listen to him rant about anything, hold his hand while he cries, and watch silly TV shows with him a million times over again if it made him feel even a tiny bit better during his time of need. I hope that everyone in my life knows that I would do those things for them. And I hope that anyone I encounter, whether a stranger or future friend, knows I would do those things for them, too.

When I was a child, I viewed walking quietly, without disturbing my father, into the kitchen to cook myself whatever was in the fridge or cabinets as a success. I viewed the days when there was peace at home as a success, when my father was calm and my mother was stable as something to celebrate. My successes were based on my survival, and as a child, I rarely ever thought about a realistic future because I never really believed I would get to have one. But my child mind did imagine flying to other planets, talking to animals and bugs, and hoping for a world where my parents and loved ones were happy. Imagining different worlds where things were alright and people were happy helped ease my mind, and I’m grateful that I had my imagination to fall back on when things were unpleasant. As an adult, I still imagine flying to other planets, talking to animals and bugs, and hope for a world where my parents and loved ones are happy. But my view of success is no longer dependent on what my father had in the fridge or dusty cabinets to eat, and his peace is no longer a concern of mine. Instead, my success is decided by me. My goals, my happiness, are all decided by me. I’ve decided to shoot for the metaphorical stars, flying to the planet of college to complete a bachelor's degree in Psychology and hopefully go on to medical school to become a Psychiatrist afterward. Because although I may never truly be able to talk to animals and bugs, I can talk to people. I can hear their stories and listen to their pain. I can let them know that they are not alone and that I care about them. Success to me now is completing my degree in Psychology and working hard to get into medical school, where I would study in order to become a Psychiatrist. Success to me is helping others and hopefully helping to make the world a better place for everyone’s parents and loved ones in order for them to be a tiny bit happier. If I had to go through the pain of abuse and neglect, I want to use that pain to lift others from theirs. This opportunity would help me with that dream because it would give me the funds to make it through my bachelor's degree program. It would give me breathing room and lift copious amounts of financial stress from me. It would help me continue on my journey toward medical school and would allow me to continue my volunteer efforts with a local healthcare clinic where I am currently being trained and accumulating my clinic hours for medical school. It would allow me to continue to volunteer on my campus as part of the Residence Housing Association and the National Residence Hall Honorary, where I help plan campus events and participate in campus clean-ups and more. My view on success has changed greatly over the years, and so has my self-confidence. I believe in myself and my ability to achieve my dreams and goals. The realistic future I never thought was possible as a child is now well within the realm of possibility for me. I want to create a lasting impact on this world by making it a better place using my unique perspective and experiences in order to help heal others' pain. Given this opportunity, I will continue on my journey to do just that. I will achieve my goals and dreams, and I will work hard to use every last dollar of this scholarship in order to help me achieve those goals and dreams. I hope that by working hard and being passionate in advocacy, justice, empathy, and Psychology, I can help others realize their dreams, too.

One summer afternoon, when I was around five, I remember my father taking his shotgun out from the mudroom wardrobe, tugging me outside along with him. I remember his look of concentration as he held the shotgun up to his shoulder, the side of his face against the gun. And I remember the force of the blast as he fired and the tiny screech that sounded after. He had shot a groundhog, and the expression of pure nothing he wore afterward scared me. He tugged me along once more, forcing me to carry a full-sized shovel in my tiny hands, and I remember trying my very hardest to hold it above the ground so it wouldn’t drag against the dried dirt. I had to focus on something. When we finally approached the groundhog, it was twitching uncontrollably in a pool of its own blood, tiny agonized squeals erupting from its body. My father then instructed me to put the groundhog into the shovel. I protested, saying it was still alive. In response, he forced me to watch as he stomped it to death. I still remember the sounds of the bones crunching, of the groundhog's final breath. How the innocent animal’s twitches had stilled, and how my father's brown boots were now bloodstained. I put the groundhog in my shovel without any protests afterward. My father then instructed me to follow him. I did. We walked past our house, down a small trail on our property. We came to a stop, my father standing in front of me. He then grabbed the shovel out of my tiny hands and threw the groundhog into a pit. I was crying at this point, and although I tried to hide it, the grass I was staring at started becoming a burry mass of green. My father noticed, and he told me to look at the pit. Out of fear, I followed his orders. The pit was filled with the dead bodies of dozens of animals, some just bones by this point and some half dead and rotting. He kneeled down to my level, staring into my tear-stained eyes, and grabbed the sides of my face, hard. He said, I remember vividly, “If you don’t listen to me, this is where I’ll put you.” The fear I felt was unimaginable. My body felt like stone, and yet I remember somehow running away from him. After that, the day is a blur - like much of my childhood. My story is just one of many neglected and abused children’s stories. It is not unique. I am not unique. But I have stopped running. Instead, I’m sprinting toward my future - my goals, my dreams, and my happiness. For the longest time, I believed my life would amount to nothing and that the world was a bleak and terrifying place. I never realized that being outside the darkness of my past was possible - not until I came to college and started studying for my bachelor's degree in Psychology. My childhood gave me deep insight into many different mental health issues. My fathers, my mothers, and then my own. If I had not experienced the things I had, I doubt I would hold such a deep sense of justice and have such strong empathy. I would not believe in myself as much as I do, and I would not be so incredibly interested and enthralled with Psychology as I am. My childhood and my own mental health struggles, whether it’s dealing with my PTSD, depression, or anxiety, has shaped who I am. And it has influenced my goals deeply. If I had not witnessed my parents’ struggles and gone through my own mental health struggles, I doubt I would want to help heal other people’s anguish so much. I want to let others know that they are not alone, that their emotions and feelings and fear are heard and listened to. And what better way to help heal others' mental anguish than by aiming to be a Psychiatrist? My understanding of the world when I was a child was that it was cold, uncaring, and dark. But as an adult, I realize life is full of light if we choose to be the light that shines in the darkness. So, every day, I choose to make my life bright. And hopefully, I shine that brightness onto others. I have volunteered at my campus warm-line, Agora, and I currently volunteer at a local healthcare clinic, Simply Salud. Both of these incredible experiences have made me realize I truly love Psychology and medicine and have re-solidified my goal of becoming a Psychiatrist one day. I'm also involved in my campus’s Residence Hall Association and National Residence Hall Honorary, where I volunteer and try to make my campus a better place for all students through campus events, campus clean-ups, and more. I try every day to make our world a better place, where kids like me can become something. I have found wonderful, supportive friends here on my campus, whom I hope to know 50 years from now. I feel happy, something my five-year-old self would never have even hoped to imagine. And I feel lucky. Lucky to be at college, to be studying what I love, and to be helping people. So, to all the people like five-year-old me who felt as though their trauma will never end, that life is better off without them, and that they don’t matter: your trauma will end, life is better with you in it, and you do matter. Depression may come and go, and trauma may stick with you. But life is bright and wonderful and so full of amazing things. Five minutes from now, maybe a friend will call you to tell you about their day, maybe your cat will meow, or maybe the sun will rise. Maybe none of that will happen - maybe all of it will. Our lives are uncertain, but in uncertainty, flowers can bloom.

The first time I realized just how deeply my depression affected others was when I was laying in a hospital bed. I remember watching as my mother broke down, sobbing uncontrollably at my side. I remember the way she looked at me, the way her eyes were so heavy. And I'll never forget the cracks in her normally solid voice as she said she loved me. I realized then that I had almost taken my mother's daughter from her. I had almost ripped the heart of the person that had raised me in half, and that she would have never recovered. It broke me, even if I was already broken. The second time I realized just how much I had influenced the people around me with my mental illness was when my older brother was diagnosed with cancer. It was the first time I had to put my feelings aside, really, truly aside, and care for someone else. Over the months that he received treatment, I witnessed his own mental health struggles. I witnessed him express his sorrow, his depression, his anger, and his fear. I witnessed him cry and scream. I was like my mother, when she had been sobbing and holding my hands as I laid in the hospital bed. Except now, I was the one sobbing, alongside my mother, holding my brother’s hands as he laid in the hospital bed. It was because of my mother and my brother that I vowed to myself that I would stay in this world. I knew that the broken part of me would never leave, and it still hasn't, but I vowed to myself that I would do something. Something other than allow my depression to win. It was my own broken part, the part of me that led me to attempt to end my own life, that has led me to love people with a sort of kindness I don't think many people are capable of, or that many people can even comprehend. That same broken part allowed me to care for my brother when he was going through his own time of grief and fear, and it showed me that I don’t want others to feel the things I feel. It has led me down the path of medicine because I want to try to help heal the broken parts of others because I know how much it hurts. The part of me that is broken has made me a better human being. Because even if living while broken is difficult, and some days, basically impossible, it allows me to see the light in what other people may label darkness. And maybe, I'm not really broken at all. Just different. I would not have such a passion for medicine and psychology if I had not first experienced my own depression, and then second, saw someone else experience depression and grief in such a horrific way. If I had not witnessed healthcare professionals care for my brother, I doubt I would want to become one so desperately. I do not just want to help myself, or others like me, but I want to help all the brothers and sisters and daughters and sons and children and parents in the world. I want them all to know that even if it is not ok, they are loved. They are seen. They are heard. That I see them, and hear them, and love them. And that even if it is not ok, that maybe I can help it be a tiny, little bit less painful.