Apart from the acrylic childhood paintings in my Granny's kitchen, I never received training for any art - whether from sketches to oil paints. I only drew what I knew and practiced. It stopped around the time my family, and I moved to Florida, around the time I moved from my Granny, the best woman I have ever known. Any drawings or doodles I kept to myself. I was not very forthcoming, to begin with as a child, and even less so since no one asked. Being raised by a mentally ill mother and absent father did not encourage creativity, much less self-esteem, especially when I did everything "wrong." It did encourage a healthy sense of depression, self-mutilation, anxiety and tiptoeing around the latest debacle. When slamming of cabinet doors started, I wanted to become invisible. Adrenalin rushed, and I transformed into a silent, ghost-maid; cleaning the house quietly and playing the "good child." If my faults were pointed out, I would gather my belongings and lay them on her dresser as penance for my "misdeeds." I didn't realize how much I was damaged until I left for college which was shortly followed by my first relationship.By my first semester of college, I had full-blown seasonal depression- like a yearly allergy to the dark, cold streets of Brooklyn. Upon my second semester, I entered an abusive relationship - I didn't know it at the time, and I thought that because it was the same love I received at home, it was the same love I deserved in college. I dated "normal" guys but somehow felt nothing (if you read some of my previous research on dopamine's role in neonatal pups during traumatic experiences with a maternal presence it will explain why). I was permanently transferring codependence from my mother to a significant other - who happened to have the same controlling, jealous, angry aspects. By April 2015, the semester I was due to graduate, I was admitted to NYU Tisch Psychiatric Ward for a suicide attempt. That past year I drank heavily, missed the majority of my classes because I could not leave my apartment, was heavily medicated on Zoloft and Klonopin, and felt I was failing my life entirely.I needed someone to accept me wholly and show they cared; however, and as corny as it sounds, I needed to accept myself. This process took the better of two years and is still in progress. Learning to make my own mistakes and the good with the bad with most people was a large part of it. I received a lot of support from a close family (not mine, of course) I met that year. I also consistently worked on Dialectical Behavior Therapy and art therapy for the emotions I could not manage. Art enabled me to transport myself away from the labyrinth in my head. Most of my work circles around human anatomy, expressing depression, panic attacks, anger, and other emotions. The collection of these works developed into Fallrisk Art - named after the wristbands given to patients upon entering the hospital.Fallrisk is an interactive art show dedicated to increasing mental illness awareness, reducing the stigma attached to mental illness and increasing funding towards research. If all goes well, and I'm not too busy with work, school, and applying for my Master's, Fallrisk Art show should take place in August 2019 with funding on Indiegogo starting January 2019. Although Fallrisk Art show is a primary goal of mine, it is not the end goal. I plan to continue a Fallrisk Art exhibition every year to promote the three primary goals stated above. Additionally, I want to incorporate my extracurricular paintings into my graduate portfolio. Please feel free to contact me for further questions and comments!