On a warm spring day, a girl was born into the world of humans. Like all newborns, she went nameless for a time. But the moment arrived when she was given a combination of letters, woven into a word, and that word became hers. It could have brought success and peace, but a curse crept quietly behind the name.
A poisonous shadow hung over the lineage of those who bore the same name as our heroine. Death and misfortune struck everyone who received that particular arrangement of letters as a gift.
Women died in childbirth, succumbed to alcoholism, had their children stolen, and were often frail and sickly. Husbands were cruel to those who carried that name, frequently leaving their families—not only by choice but also by the hand of death. The girl’s mother knew this. She was furious when the father gave their baby such a terrifying name. The mother didn’t want to burden her child with a cursed, death-bringing name, but her husband had already announced his choice to everyone, and retracting it felt awkward. People would talk too much. So, she relented, and the paperwork was completed.
The girl herself didn’t know her name was dangerous. How could she know the history of her lineage? But her mother’s fear, mixed with resentment, seeped into the child along with her milk.
The curse dogged her heels, making its presence felt little by little. The girl was scolded for everything, beaten, and sent to stand in the corner. The demon of the curse possessed her mother, fulfilling the prophecy of misfortune. No one knew the wicked sorcerers who had set this tragedy in motion. Who had cursed that name so many years ago? And why did it now bring such pain? There were no answers. But there was the name. And that name began to seem ugly, plain, and alien to the girl. She didn’t know whether to love it or hate it. Her mother said that if she took a new combination of letters, her life would change, and she would embark on a new path.
As a young woman, the daughter called herself by various nicknames, trying to hide from the evil fate of the name Catherine. But it didn’t solve the problem. Misfortunes and illnesses rained down on Cathy’s head. At school, trouble often awaited her; at home, there were scandals. The prophecy of the cursed name came true every single day. Her self-hatred grew alongside her desire to leave this planet.
At 17, Cathy decided to die. The relentless pressure at home was unbearable. Things weren’t going well at college either. Love was nothing but misery. The person she considered a friend turned out to be a traitor, a racist, and a nationalist. This friend condemned Cathy for befriending anyone who wasn’t American (while being Jewish herself). Cathy was in love with a Tajik boy. They met while buying a passing grade for a bioethics course (as if you’ve always been completely honest with your assignments). He never loved her back, and her friend nagged her endlessly with disdain. To stop Cathy from befriending foreigners—and especially from loving a Tajik boy—her friend vividly (and deceitfully) told Cathy’s mother that her daughter was throwing herself at men, especially foreigners (oh, the horror).
The demon inside Cathy’s mother erupted at this news. Shouting and accusations followed. Her mother waved her hands in front of her daughter’s face as Cathy shrank into a chair in terror. Cathy was so tired of all this garbage. Simple hugs with acquaintances and friends were twisted and turned into filth, and her mother believed it. Of course, back then, the girl didn’t think the problem lay in her cursed name. But I assure you, the name was the root of it all and nothing else.
That same night, Cathy deleted all her photos from the computer, took down the pictures hanging on the walls, and shoved them under the bed. Her movements were steady and deliberate. She opened a kitchen cabinet and began unpacking pills. Her younger sister caught her in the act. But Cathy threatened that if she told their mother, she’d cut her own throat with a scalpel (which she waved demonstratively while speaking). Her sister went back to bed. And rightly so. A bloody scene was avoided.
Grabbing handfuls of pills, Cathy began shoving them into her mouth, washing them down with water. A gag reflex hit quickly, and everything surged back up. She forced the vomited mass back down, swallowing with effort. She kept pushing until the white sludge stopped coming up. She washed her face with water and lay down in bed. She felt no regret or fear. Her head grew foggy. Her tongue went numb. Darkness.
In the morning, Cathy opened her eyes. Her head was heavy, her mouth dry, and nausea gripped her. Most of all, she was disappointed. There was no trace of joy in waking up. Her plan to die had failed, and she had to keep living this wretched life. She drank some yogurt and decided to seek medical help since she was still alive. Her mother hurled more insults at her daughter upon learning she felt unwell (Cathy had just gotten braces, and her mother believed they were the problem. Of course, the braces were to blame—and the name, too). Cathy’s regret over her failed self-destruction intensified a hundredfold. Later, her mother learned what had happened that night. Cathy received some pity, but she was told she was bringing shame to the family with her actions. Naturally, those words greatly encouraged the girl and her depression.
Our heroine’s life story is filled with sorrow and a constant walk on the edge of death. She would attempt to leave Earth several more times, but someone always stopped her. She would encounter toxic men, endure emotional and physical abuse, hate herself, and even lose a child. She would destroy herself and reject help from those who genuinely cared about her. She would lose faith in goodness. She would expect death around every corner and begin to fear it. Wasn’t this what her mother had foretold when she dreaded the name “Catherine”? The curse was working at full force, and there seemed to be no way out.
But one day, the girl stumbled upon the word “psychology,” and it began to pull her out of all the wretched curses. Step by step, Cathy climbed out of the sticky muck and refused to swallow the garbage by the spoonful.
Yet the weight of her name and her dislike for it lingered. After falling ill with tonsillitis yet again, she decided to rid herself of that destructive combination of letters. Her parents didn’t object to her decision. Her mother was fully supportive. Cathy was overjoyed that her family backed her in this and rushed to cast off the curse. She replaced all her documents. And so, she became Yvonne.
Many people took it in stride, but some felt the need to throw in their two cents and harass Yvonne. They called her crazy and said she was disrespecting her parents by making such a choice.
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