Not that there was much to destroy. To be honest, everything before age 7 is pretty hazy, so there's not much for me to reminisce. I remember only two distinct memories before then. The first was when I was four. The family and I were in line at Walt Disney World and I went up and hugged a stranger's hairy legs. Apparently my father wasn't the only guy wearing tan khaki shorts that day.

The second memory took place between age four and five, I believe. I had a nightmare that made me wet the bed. My mother was too exhausted, so she slipped a new nightgown on me and laid a towel over the wet spot of the bed for me to sleep on. I don't think I slept for the rest of the night. I don't remember remember how the dream began, but it ended like a hitchcock film, where I turned to reveal my horribly disfigured face that had somehow shattered into pieces. I took the dream as a sign of things to come. To prepare myself for the following evening, I was able to obtain a jar of Vaseline I found in my parents bathroom. I smeared the greasy ointment all over my face, from the very top of the forehead, down to the bottom of my chin. I also made sure to get enough on my cute, cubby cheeks, since that was something that gave me a lot of attention. Adorable was all I had, I couldn't risk losing the cheeks.

I've been told the Vaseline became a habit that lasted a good year. Ok, maybe a year and a half. All because I sincerely thought my face would fall apart and Vaseline was all that was able to keep it intact. 

After that, I started obsessing about other more rational things. You know, like, poisons in the air, cancer, HIV, etc.

The whole poisons dilly dally doggle wasn't too bad. I just thought the air was poisonous, so I was afraid to swallow my saliva. I kept spitting into the long sleeve of my shirt throughout the day to get rid of the toxins.

That lasted a good year, too.

Then it was the cancer/HIV obsession. It was a back and forth ordeal.

Some days I would think I was dying of cancer. Never mind which kind, it was just regular plain Ole cancer. The bad kind.  There would be days where I would constantly be searching for lumps and bumps, usually around the neck and head area.

As for the HIV side of things, it was nothing, really. I just thought I bumped into someone who may or may not of had an open wound that touched an open wound of mine. And since it happened in NYC, I was convinced they must've had HIV.

Both these obsessions lasted a good three years, up until I was thirteen, when my doctor suggested I needed to talk to someone, preferably a mental health professional.

And then so began my journey through the world of therapy and prescription drugs.