2026
#CreateConnectCare Awards Gallery

Some days feel heavy,
like the sky forgot how to shine,
like every step forward
takes more strength than you can find.

You smile on the outside,
Say “I’m fine” like you should,
But inside it’s louder
a storm no one understood.

But listen
You don’t have to carry it alone.

It’s okay to pause,
to breathe,
to rest without a reason.
It’s okay to speak,
even if your voice shakes
like leaves in a changing season.

Healing isn’t quick,
and it doesn’t come in straight lines,
But even the longest nights
are followed by soft sunrises.

So be gentle with yourself.
You’re doing better than you think.
And even on your hardest days,
You’re stronger than the brink.

Because asking for help
is not a sign you’re weak
It’s proof of courage,
Every time you choose to speak.

And maybe, just maybe,
Hope is closer than it seems…
in small quiet moments,
and in unfinished dreams.

One moment you’re fine

The next you’re on the line

On one side there’s happiness

It looks so divine

The other is gloomy

It’s so cold and dim

But suddenly you topple deep within

The depression and darkness

That makes you begin

To drown and splutter

In the stress of life

But suddenly there is a little light

It is a flicker of hope

That might, just might

Push you up and out of this horrible fight

Away from the darkness of the night

And towards the warmth

Of the other side

That light is so simple

So very small

Just a compliment, a wave, a smile

That’s all

It could brighten someone’s day

And all you have to say

Is a hello to somebody new everyday

You never know what someone’s going through

But if you were them you’d like it too

I can’t sleep tonight. I’m supposed to be up in 5 hours, bright-faced and rested for the presentation, but I can’t sleep. I turn to the right, then the left, then back again. I switch to the other side of the bed. I lie face down into the pillow, then hang off the sides of my bed. I beg my body to shut down, to stop thinking, but it can’t and it won’t. My whole body shakes, even after the four blankets I’ve covered myself with. I’m hot, yet my body lies cold in the dark, as if even the knitted quilt my grandma gifted me is not enough. I’m sweating, but my hands are still numb and purple. The last time I glance at the time, it is 2:47 A.M. 

I wake up the next day, exhausted. I tie my hair as tight as possible, then tell my mom I can’t eat. She cries, she says I never eat, that she’s worried. She shows me photos of anorexic people, but I tell her that’s not what I’m worried about at all. I grab a banana to make her happy. In the car, I can’t look at the flashcards in my hand because I fear I’ll throw up. My stomach is bubbling, but it’s not from hunger. It’s never from hunger. But I don’t say that.

In the passenger seat, I press my foot against the floor, the imaginary brake I’ve invented to make myself feel more at ease. Every time my sister goes even slightly faster, my heart climbs up to my chest. I watch the road more than she does, checking the mirrors for her, telling her to slow down even when we’re already under the speed limit. She yells at me, telling me to “calm the fuck down,” and I don’t say the words I want to say. Because it won’t help, and it never will. She’ll tell me it’s normal, that everyone feels that way. But my hands grip the edges of my seat, so tightly my already-red knuckles start to burn. A million thoughts overlap in my brain, and I want to hit my head and stop it all. They are loud, so loud I stop hearing the sound of anyone’s voice, not my sister or my favorite song. 

By the time I get to school, it’s hard to believe the day hasn’t started yet. My hands start to shake, slipping off the door handle just before I get to class. It’s just a tremor in my fingers. I grip the flashcards tighter, pressing the sharp side of the paper into my palms. My arms feel disconnected from my body, and something wraps around my heart, my chest, my throat. 

I don’t feel it when Sam hugs me, not until he says, “Sasha, you’re shaking.”

I cling onto him tighter and longer than I should, but he pulls away first. The loss of contact almost sends me to the floor, but a girl’s hands catch me. She repeats it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, probably a hundred times. She raises my arms and tells me to breathe, then lowers them and says to breathe out. I don’t hear her fully, but I pretend to do what I’m told. 

My breaths get stuck halfway, and I feel like a dozen feet are standing on my lungs, waiting for me to die just to laugh at me afterwards. I feel like I haven’t had water in years, but I stop myself from reaching for my orange bottle. It’ll make things worse, it’ll make me sick. The voices around the room sound amplified, as if the chairs are scraping directly on top of me and not in front of me. 

I’m cold, I say to my team member. But I’m not cold, I’m burning. My face is hot, my skin two sizes too small, my heartbeat pounding so loudly that I’m convinced half the world can hear. 

In, out. Up, down. I repeat the movements, lifting my arms and lowering them. But my breathing is still uneven, and it gets even worse as I try to control it. My fingers start to tingle, as if someone is pushing the tiniest needles into them. I clench them into fists. Then, I stop feeling them altogether. My vision blurs, the room around me tilting sideways, and I feel like I’m falling somewhere deep, I can’t stop falling. 

What if I pass out,

What if I throw up,

What if I forget everything,

What if I can’t speak?

What if I die?

My hands are numb, but that’s so scary that I almost ache for them to burn again.

“I can’t feel my hands,” I think I say to the teacher, though I’m not sure. I’m not in my body anymore, I’m simply a spectator. 

This can’t be normal. I can’t be normal. 

I press my hands against my chest, then my head. 

No one else looks like this, everyone can breathe. 

“SASHA,” I hear the teacher yell my name. 

My head is still in my hands, but I can’t lift them. I can’t move.

He says my name, over and over and over again, as if that will change something. 

I need to get out, I think. I need to breathe. I can’t breathe. But I don’t say that. Because there’s no proof that what I’m feeling is real, no words to describe this at all. 

And maybe that’s the worst part, not knowing what to call it. Because when something doesn’t have a name, people don’t see it. And when they don’t see it, they don’t believe it. So why should I?

I’m broken.

Broken.

Broken.

Hurting from piercing words,

Aching from barbed actions. 

Falling, 

Pushing,

Trying to escape

Trying

trying,

 trying.

But not quite reaching.

Do you see me in this struggle?

Is there a way to signal?

I’m broken, 

Again 

And again.

I cry out

But those around me only hear silence.

Sometimes

Someone reaches out

Tries to help

But they don’t understand.

Because only I know the anguish of myself.

I’m falling

falling,

falling.

Down a hole,

Penetrating the depths of my mind

Thoughts subsided

Doubts,

rising.

Waking me up

Arousing me.

I glance up from my spiral of misery.

No sun,

No colors.

Why are my thoughts blooming faster than the flowers?

Just me,

My burdens,

My mind.

Crushing me.

Excruciating pain,

Gripping me.

But only I can feel it.

Until

Suddenly

I see a hand,

Reaching into this darkness.

I gain strength to reach up,

But our fingers

Can’t find each other.

I’m stuck

stuck,

stuck.

In this everlasting constriction.

I’m uncomfortable in my skin.

This person I am

Is not the person I long to become.

I glance up again.

Something’s different.

This time,

I start to see colors.

I see flowers blooming.

Is the sun coming out within clouds of angst?

Suddenly

You start to see me.

Can this be true?

Do you understand me?

This time,

Not just our fingers,

But our hands

Grasp onto the warmth of each other.

You pull me up,

Out of my spiral 

Out of despair.

This time,

When I glance up,

I see the lights.

No longer darkness,

I am no longer

Broken

Broken,

Broken.

No longer

Falling.

I still have pain

But

This time,

I no longer hold it to my suffering heart.

I reach my fingers out

As far as they can go.

This time,

I take a deep breath.

This time,

I let it go.

The Living Canvas

The Outside World is gray with no colors, the sky, the sidewalks, the people are all dull, bleeding into monochrome hum. My soul feels like it’s held in black and white, waiting for a light that never turns on.

But then, I find myself in a room filled with big mirrors, colors all around, music that you can hear across the halls, people dancing, laughing their hearts out. The moment my feet touch the floor, the silence changes. I take the first steps, and the floor isn’t just wood anymore, it’s a blank canvas. I am not just a person anymore, I am the brush dipped in the deepest hues of my own spirit. The first turn I take, a streak of crimson flares behind, cutting through the shadows and the gray that is in me. A leap, a spray of gold and electric pink splashes against the mirror, vibrating with the music. The Landing, the colors coat the walls thick and vibrant. I dance my soul out until the gray is gone with every movement I take. I am painting a masterpiece of freedom. In this room, I don’t just see colors, I create them. When the music stops, the room is no longer empty, it is a shimmering, pulsing gallery of every emotion I was too afraid to speak now showed in thousands of different shades.