BlueJay06 Member Profile

An essay for a scholarship

General Support / by BlueJay06

June 22nd, 2025

...See more Hello everyone! I’m writing an essay for a scholarship and I would love any feedback or critiques you have. Prompt: Please tell us about your personal background, the adversity you've faced, particularly as it pertains to your financial circumstances, and how you've overcome it. Why are you passionate about your particular (STEM) field and what type of impact would you like to make in the future through your work? Everyone’s life is different. Some are born with a supportive family, a strong financial background, and many different opportunities. Others are born with less supportive family, a challenging financial background, and fewer opportunities. I was born somewhere in the middle. I have a good family, good opportunities, and now a decent financial background. But it was not always that way. My parents married when they were 18, right out of high school, and they started a family before they had even figured out what they wanted to do with their lives. They had my sister when they were 21, and they had me nine months later. Life was not easy. My parents have memories of living in a house with almost no furniture, all they had was beds for the kids, and a mattress on the floor for them. They always made sure that we were taken care of, even if it meant they had nothing. After my dad graduated high school, he went into construction and commercial painting, while my mom stayed at home with us. He worked long and crazy hours. He would wake up at 6 AM and get home close to midnight, he would be out of state, sometimes for days. He never liked being away from us, but it was his only choice. It was hard on him, but he never quit. Watching him provide for my family, seeing him put in the hard work, it has instilled in me the same hard work and passion for work that he had at 21. In 2009, my dad made the tough decision to quit his job and pursue a higher education. He attended Utica College, now Utica University and he graduated at the top of his class. While my dad was in college, he decided to major in pre-med, and after graduating, he applied and was accepted into Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. The move to Baltimore was challenging. We moved to a whole new state, we had no family close by, and we had piles of student loan debt. We stayed in a small three bedroom apartment, it wasn’t much, but we were safe. My dad financed his schooling through student loans, which he is still trying to pay off years later. I have memories of being young at the store, using a calculator to track how much we had left of our monthly grocery budget. I remember making a shopping list and only getting what we truly needed. My two siblings and I never asked for non-essential items, because we knew we couldn’t afford them. I remember always making my parents homemade Christmas gifts out of whatever items lay around our home, because I didn’t want to take away from what they were working so hard to achieve. It was hard on everyone, but through hard work we made it to where we are now. My dad completed medical school and residency, and is now an emergency medical doctor in our local emergency department. I am incredibly proud of where we came from and how far we have come since then. I am immensely proud of how far my parents have come. Getting married at 18, starting a family at 21, and doing it all by themselves. They have an incredible amount of trust in each other, and they raised three kids to be kind, passionate, and to work hard. It was these experiences that made my siblings and I make a promise to ourselves and to each other. One that we will never forget. We promised each other that we would never allow money stress to divide us. As we were growing up, we saw the stress it put on our parents. We watched and helped our parents keep to a budget. We learned how to adapt to challenges and how to be creative with what we had. Living through these challenges didn’t just teach me resilience; it shaped me into a relentless hard worker with a deep drive to learn and understand. It shaped me into someone who can be creative and think outside the box. It shaped me into who I am today. I dreamed of being a lawyer when I was a kid, but as I grew up, I knew that being a lawyer was not the right fit for me. I knew I wanted to stick to some type of law enforcement, I was never sure what exactly I wanted to do with my life. But after taking that forensics class, I knew. That is what I want to do. Learning about all that forensic science entails, experiencing some hands-on learning—such as a fun class activity where we became detectives, dusting items for latent prints and matching them to samples—cemented in my mind what I wanted to do. While taking the forensic science class, I realized that forensic science is essentially a life-like puzzle, where every piece has to be just the right fit to get the finished puzzle. You could have a million different fingerprints, but there are small details that separate one person's print from another, and if you match it correctly, you may have contributed a big part in solving a case. From taking fingerprints and looking at the different arches and marks used to identify whose print belongs to whom, to analyzing blood spatter patterns caused by different weapons, there always seems to be a puzzle to solve. My long term goal is to work for the FBI. I would love to have the opportunity to work with a large group of people who are making a difference in the world. Maybe not through a conventional sense of the phrase, but are making a difference by using our skills and what we know to help give closure to those who have been hurt.

The Never Ending Cycle

Poetry / by BlueJay06

June 8th, 2025

...See more ***TRIGGER WARNING*** This poem has some descriptive moments of abuse, and tense situations. Every person, they say, deserves kindness. Every person deserves happiness. Every person, an inherent right, deserves safety. I remember hearing those words spoken once, a clear voice, a gentle declaration, and a distant, unfamiliar ache began somewhere deep within my chest. But what do you do when the very hands meant to shield, meant to nurture, become the hands that strike? When the voice that should soothe, the voice that should guide, becomes the roar that shatters the fragile glass of everything you thought was safe. When those sworn to protect you, hurt you. For years, I breathed this air. They told me, their faces stern, their noices cutting through the quiet: This is not normal This is not safe. This is not what everyone goes through. And I'd nod, eyes downcast, a small knot tightening in my stomach. But for years, it was my normal. Expected. Anticipated. Feared. I thought everyone lived with that hum of tension, just beneath the skin. The silent hum of a preasure cooker, always threatening to blow. Then, the sudden, hot rise of sound- the raw, primal yell. The quick, sharp burst of anger, a flash of blinding white. The heavy thud, a door being slammed, a table being flipped. The sharp crack. The deafening bang. And then, the quick, sickening contact - the sting of his hand. It didn't always leave a mark that others could see, but it left a bruise deep inside, where the air never quite reached. What do you do when the one who holds the key, the one who could stop it all, the one who should understand, looks at you, eyes blank, and tells you you are just being dramatic? A word that wraps around your throat, stealing the last gasp of complaint. Dramatic. So you learn to bite your tongue. So you learn to swallow the scream. So you don't. You suffer, quiet. Like a mouse pressed against the wall, invisible. No one to tell. You learn to normalize it. It becomes the wallpaper of your life, fading into the background until you forget it’s even there. And then, sometime, the hitting stops. A sudden, unnerving calm descends. The silence after the storm. A breath held, shallow and quick. And a fragile hope unfurls, like a crumpled flower trying to bloom in the thin light: Maybe. Just maybe. It's getting better now. Maybe it's really over. Maybe. No. The silence breaks. The yelling returns, louder, harsher than before. The cussing, a stinging lash of words. The banging, a deeper echo, a rythm of dread that sinks into one soles of your feet. The cycle, a relentless gear, grinding, and you are caught in its teeth. And always, the quiet voice in the back of your mind, a parasitic thought whispering: Did I push too far? Was it something I said? Did I make him angry? Will he hit me again? Footsteps on the floorboards, a slow, measured count. Each creak a warning. Each shadow a promise. You never know what the next hour will bring. What the next day will unveil. Each day, a question mark you can't answer. Each threat, a promise weighted with invisible chains. Waking in the dead middle of the night, a sudden jolt, heart racing. Body frozen, wired tight, afraid to move a muscle. Breath held, terror stealing it away. Straining against the silence, straining for the low hum of a distant TV, any sign of ordinary life. If it’s not there, only the dark, and the suffocating weight of fear. Your mind races, a trapped bird: What if he heard something? What if he found something? Is he coming now? Is he on his way to make good on his threats? It wasn't until I walked into those loud, unfamiliar halls of public school, and heard laughter that wasn’t careful, and saw bodies that didn't flinch or brace, and watched friends talk about their parents without flinching, that the wallpaper started to peel. Piece by aching piece. My best friend said, "my dad never does that," and the floor dropped out from under me. Му normal. It wasn't. And that's when the cage became visible. The bars, once invisible, now thick and cold around me. The heavy lock, a click I hear now, always there. I am trapped, a life lived in constant anticipation, a heart beating in a constricted space. And all I want, more than anything, is to break these bars, to breath air that doesn't sting. To simply, finally, be Free. But then, the future looms. College, a supposed escape, Feels more like a gilded cage. Hours away from him, yes, in an apartment with my sister, a new city. a new kind of distance. Yet the fear travels further. What if I do something he doesn't like? A wrong word. A misplaced glance. Will he stop paying for college? Will the money for rent vanish? Leaving me adrift, just as I try to stand on my own two feet? You can't enjoy the milestones. The graduation cap feels heavy with dread. The first day of class, a performance. You can't fully immerse yourself in life, not when every choice, every breath, is weighed against the possibility of losing the little bit of freedom you have. And the thought of reaching out? A phone call, a quiet whisper for help. The fear of discovery, a cold knot in the gut. What if he finds out? What if my sister finds out? The past echoes: a report, the police showing up, the officers face, cold and imposing. So you don't reach out. You cling to the quiet, to the burden carried alone. The fear of angering him, a constant, suffocating vice. And the cycle of fear continues. A never ending cycle.

Painting

Arts & Crafts / by BlueJay06

June 9th, 2025

The weight I carry

Poetry / by BlueJay06

May 30th, 2025

Question

Eating Disorder Support / by BlueJay06

June 9th, 2025

My situation

Newbie Hub / by BlueJay06

May 19th, 2025

...See more I want to share my general situation. I am not sure what to do. A lot has been going on and I don’t have many people to talk to about it so I thought why not just put it out there? Get it off my chest. So here it goes. I am an 18 year old female. I was diagnosed with trichotellomania, basically meaning I pull out my hair without being able to stop. Dermatatellomania, which is picking at my skin, and anxiety and depression. I believe I have an undiagnosed eating disorder as well as slight OCD. I have been told I am in an abusive environment. Maybe I am too close to truly see it but I am questioning whether or not it’s true. People have told me my dad is mentally and emotionally abusive. I am scared of older men, men in positions of power, men who weigh more than I and are stronger than I, and men who are taller than I, men who look even remotely like my dad. I used to be in therapy after I talked to a school counselor months before I graduated and they called my mom basically telling her either I was put in therapy or I couldn’t go back to school. I was in therapy for 3 weeks before my dad decided I did not need to talk to her twice a week and had my mom change the scheduling so she has to call to set up online appointments. But I am not comfortable with that so I have not been talking with her. I am not allowed to have a job so I have no money, I am not allowed go anywhere by myself, to go to friends houses without my mom, I’m not allowed any online accounts. They do not know about 7 cups. Up until recently I had an app on my phone that monitored everything so I could not reach out for support. I unfortunately am a people pleaser and tend to do things I do not want to do just to keep people happy and to avoid yelling. I am scared of yelling and loud noises due to some stuff that has happened with my dad. My sister is taking after my dad and I have to live with her when I leave for college in a few months. That was my parents condition for letting us go to college a few hours away from them. I don’t talk to anyone about myself, and if I do I feel ashamed and guilty. I mostly fake a smile and say I’m fine. And I’ve gotten so used to it that I can’t stop doing it. When I did talk to someone about it they called the police for a wellness check and I lied to them and convinced them that they had the wrong place and person. I know I shouldn’t have and I feel bad about it still. So I do not talk to anyone about myself nor do I trust many people. I am not sure what to do about all of this.

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