This is not my usual blog fare, but last night I remembered an event in my life that happened 21 years ago today. Today – my 34th birthday.

When I was twelve, I began experiencing intrusive thoughts of self-harm. I didn’t want to die or hurt myself, and I didn’t understand where these thoughts were coming from. I knew more about Catholicism than I did psychology, and I was afraid that I was possessed by the devil. I finally got so scared, I confessed all this to my mom the night of my 13th birthday. I wasn’t sure how to break the news to her, so I told her that I wasn’t sure if I would make it to 14.

Soon I was meeting with a child psychologist, and the thoughts went away. I got help, and I got better.

I’d nearly forgotten about that, but I wanted to let the thirteen-year-old version of me know:

You’re going to see 14. And 24. And 34. And you’re going to be so damn happy. Happier than you ever thought you would be. You will see and do things you never thought you’d be able to. So ask for help, and keep holding on. You’ll get there, I promise.

Love,
Kaye

p.s. You’re not possessed, you have untreated anxiety.