As a child I was already affected by mental illness. My mother was a recovering alcoholic and my father was raised by abusive alcoholics.
Both my parents were separately the best people you could expect with those type if backgrounds, but together it was a bad combination.
In high school I started to become depressed and withdrawn, an early symptom of schizoaffective I was later diagnosed with.
By the end of high school my parents divorced. Then shortly after my first semester at college, I had my first mental break. I was hospitalized for one month and took a semester off of school. I was in a lot if distress. After coming home from the hospital my friends were gone, my mother moved out and I quickly realized I was soon on the road to recovery.
I transferred to a new school and changed my major all at once. With so much happening I asked myself if there was any hope for a bright future like the one I planned.
Skipping to the best part of my journey to a hopeful person, I am happy to share that I have fought every day of my life since my first mental break to be proud of who I am. I have recently received an invitation to an international honor society for people with disabilities and show academic successes well as initiative to educate and incorporate more people into the understanding of mental illness.
Not only is there hope, but maybe future promise.