It's been a long year. Way too long... Money is so scarce this year. I have a spending problem whenever I do get any bit of money. Last year, I lived somewhat comfortably for once. It's hard now. I've grown up at such a rapid pace that I forget how old I am. 20... I'll be 21 in about a month. The days go by so fast nowadays I lose track of what month it is, the hours go by so fast, yet through all that... it feels like this year is never-ending. 

    My mental state this year is different. Is it worse? Is it better? It's just different... Many of my childhood memories were repressed for so long and they are coming back to haunt me when I am most vulnerable. When I have nowhere to go and no one to talk to. It's nights like these where I miss my sister the most. I wish I could've given her a good life when we ran away, but I couldn't protect her. It hurts everyday, and it's a type of hurt that can never truly go away. My repressed memories that resurfaced... they are terrible. They are horrifying. I have nightmares nearly every night now. It's hard to sleep, and life has seemingly been paused. The endless amount of injustices in the world don't make it any better. I'm putting off talking about it but.. it must be said. I have no place else to vent, anyways. If you've read my blog, you know about what happened when I was 11... at this point it was almost 10 years ago and I've been dealing with that nonstop trauma-battle for so long. But that was not even the beginning. It went farther than that. I had been dealing with it for longer than that. I've kept it in for such a long time that I had nowhere to turn. I was in complete darkness. That's why we ran away. My parents were hurting me. They were hurting us. We needed to leave. We were destined for a life of pain, and as much as I wanted to save us, it didn't work out in the end. Am I too old to save myself at this point? I want to grow past this but every night it's something new that resurfaces. There are nights I stay in the bath for hours trying to get clean but it never works. I am rotten, from the inside out. If you pull back my skin, you can see my liquefied guts. 

    My body feels like a massive weight, the way I carry myself around. My back hurts everyday from having such a large chest, and I'm fairly tall compared to the people in my "family." I grew up feeling ugly and out of place yet I had features that many people would consider "desirable." I felt like my body grew too quickly for me. As a child, I didn't get to have a child's body for very long. Puberty hit me so early that in elementary school I was mistaken for a Woman. I've dealt with a complicated relationship with my body my whole life. My sexuality was at stake since childhood. I have never had a doubt in my mind about my sexual orientation though. I am a lesbian, I've known that my whole life. I love women, in every shape and size. The only woman I've never loved is me. If I met myself as someone else, I would be compassionate towards that Aiko, I would try my best to help her. But my compassion never works towards myself. My body should be beautiful to me, but most days it seems like "damaged goods." I dress in a way that accentuates my curves yet I feel like no one should see them. I want to show off my body. I may not always love myself in my physical form, but it is still my body as far as this life goes. I dress "sexy," though it doesn't mean I always feel that way. If only I grew up with my body being respected, maybe I'd see myself a bit different. 

    The feeling of being touched creeps up at night while I try to sleep. I hate the feeling. Being touched without my permission, even years after escaping the abuse. I want to enjoy being touched but I can hardly remember what it feels like to experience romance. My girlfriend had to leave the state. She's been gone a while, but every so often I get an email from her. I miss her. I wish I could feel her touch again. It's so lonely here. I don't do much now. I don't go out much now. 

    Sometimes I feel I will never be clean. 

    My insides are swarming with maggots, and every movement makes them squirm even more. 

    Some nights I feel like I'm being torn apart limb by limb. 

    Maybe I will never be clean. Maybe someday I will. Right now I don't know where I am or where I'm going. But I want something different. Maybe I have hope for a better future? 

    I repeat myself too much... I have nothing of value to say. Is anyone listening anyways? Am I different now? I hope I am. I need sleep, but I'm afraid of the nightmares. Maybe I write here more often. Maybe it'll help me sleep. I just want to change. I don't want to be afraid of monsters under the bed, or in the closet. I need to grow up. I need help. But where do I start? Is anyone out there for me? 

    Every so often I come here and spit out the same essay like verbatim. Am I changed? I am living on a tightrope and I'm losing balance. My life is an internet circus act, I am the freak everyone watches. Isn't this a live viewing of self destruction?

    Maybe I should visit those train tracks again. I miss my sister. 

xoxo,

         Aiko Ayumi. 

Growing up

I forget to come back to this blog a lot... I get busy, but when there are things that are bothering me I write about them here. I don't have anyone to talk to, and if there's someone out there who reads this and cares... Thank you. Recently I turned 20, on October 16th. It feels surreal to say the least. I remember when I was 16 and started this blog. A lot has changed. People come and go- I never would have imagined it'd turn out like this, but here we are. Alone in a city where I know no one, I have no family, no friends, and I barely have a job. I WANT to get help for whatever mental illness I have from the trauma of ... that. I want to be happy. I want to wake up every morning with something to look forward to. Because I'm scared. Everyday. Constantly. My worst fear, I think about it everyday. Something that doesn't even pertain to me anymore. I'm so afraid of pedophiles. What happened to me when I was 11 has ruined me, completely. And maybe that was their goal. I don't know. I will never understand the mentality it takes to look at children with lustful eyes. There is nothing to be desired. My virginity, my innocence... that was not yours to take. I don't know if I was the first child they raped, the last, or even the only one. But I know that there are disgusting excuses for human beings out there. My body was left broken. A child's body is too small and too delicate to be used like that. I am no longer small. I no longer look like a child. I'm 5'9 and have a "womanly" figure. I am not desirable to pedophiles, but I always feel watched. I feel like though my body is mature, my small & childish frame I once possessed is always visible if you look hard enough. I have nightmares about becoming physically small and not being able to run away. I just need to get it off my chest. Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if my body became this way as a defense mechanism. I felt like I grew into a woman's body while I was still a girl. Soon after the "incident" happened, I was 12. I started physically maturing. And it scared me. I was busty from a young age, and it felt like older men looked at me more and more. I don't want men to look at me for the body I didn't choose. I don't want men to look at me period. I couldn't tell if they were looking at me because I was a child or because I was a child with a "voluptuous" figure. I didn't care anymore. This body I possess is tainted. Since that day I've felt disgusting. Guilty, even. I didn't want to be a "lolita" or "nymphette," I just wanted to be a child. Sometimes in the mirror it seems my flesh is rotting. Sometimes I see myself and think I'm looking at a corpse, or something that used to be alive. Physically, it feels like everything inside me has putrefied into black mush. It feels like there are no longer complete intestines and organs, just a pile of black, rotting guts. I keep thinking there's maggots coming out from inside me. I'm so paranoid that I'm rotting from the inside out and becoming a host for maggots and roaches. Maybe it's a form of self hate, or maybe even my mind trying to convince me I'm just "meat." But I don't like to believe that I am. That's not what I want to be, so that's not what I will believe. I am nobody's doll, nobody's piece of meat, and nobody's fucktoy. Though I stand by that, it doesn't change what my mind tries to convince me of. My insides still feel like they're decaying. I still feel the insects crawling. I don't know if that will ever go away, but I hope for a day where I can look at myself and believe I'm okay. I'm trying so hard to move forward on my own, but it's hard. Despite my "cold" and "harsh" exterior, I do have feelings. I'm not a robot. I don't want to be alone. I want a sense of normalcy. Though I don't know entirely what it's like to live a "normal" life, I wish I could. I know I've gotten off topic... I came here to talk about my fear of pedophiles, but this blog is the only place I have to share my feelings. And I'm scared. Right now. I'm scared of dying alone. If I were to die today, there would be no worried family members, there would be no search party. When my sister and I ran away, our parents genuinely didn't care. My sister was adopted, so she didn't have a very big connection to our parents... but neither did I, and I was their biological child. My parents were both unstable, unfit for family life. My dad would get so irritated that he would grab me by the hair and throw me to the ground. If I didn't clean my room exactly how he liked, he would come in and destroy my things and make me start again. I was constantly called stupid and useless. Maybe something that contributed to me being a vulnerable child. My mom would yell at me about how I looked and would threaten me at times, then would cry to me that she was sorry. As stated in a previous post, our parents weren't home the day I was raped. I never told them when they came home. Or the day after. Or ever. I didn't feel like I could trust them. I already felt dirty and repulsive, and I figured they'd make me feel that even more so. I had enough at that point. I didn't want to to be around them anymore. I was finished with the abuse. At 14, (my sister 13) I decided I was leaving. My sister wanted to come with me. I didn't want her to stay with our parents anyways, so we planned to run away together. One single thing made me snap. One thing made me realize we didn't deserve the life we were living. But things had already been destroyed. Our choice was final. My family was even more broken than before; I was distant, my sister was unhappy, my parents fought constantly... I wanted to be our savior. I was just fucking things up more and more. I was making mistake after mistake. One stupid decision as an 11 year old, and several more mistakes later, I realized I had lost everything. And I didn't have much to begin with. My sister, the only person I wanted to protect, was gone. In a split second. And I can never unsee what happened to her. My one mistake had snowballed into a life time of despair & a series of bad luck. I kept think about what kind of people started this for me. To hurt a child, you must be very sick. And that's what pedophiles are. They're sick, vile, disgusting monsters. Even if they have "no desire to hurt children," they are still awful. The desire to have sex with a child is the desire to kill them. Looking at a child with lustful intent is appalling. These people ruin lives. And I am a product of that. I cried every night hoping my sister would never go through the same thing. If anyone looked at her that way, I would do anything to stop it. Even if the men who raped me don't say they're "attracted to children," the desire was there. The loss of all morality was there. To even consider it, especially towards a child, your sense of reality was already gone. There is no single excuse. None in the entire world. I did not "look older than 11." I looked 11. You deserve no sympathy. I can never forgive you. I don't know your names, and I can't remember your faces... but when, or if I ever see you again, I will know. My life has gone to shit because of my 1 mistake, and your inability to see other people as human beings. I lost everything because of this. And sometimes, I truly wish I could start over. I don't enjoy being miserable. I don't enjoy looking like the face of death. But I don't know what to do anymore. I have nowhere to go. I try so hard but I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I research online for help but it just isn't enough. I want to live. I don't want things to end like this; I want closure to the thing that led me where I am now. I'm getting older... I'm not the determined 15, even 16 or 17 year old I used to be. I have to grow up... But inside, there's just so much fear and doubt, it's hard to know what I want as an adult. I'm 20 years old. I'm not that little girl anymore. I'm not a teenager with a dream of new life. When I started this blog, despite being cynical, I was still hopeful of changing. There's no one to tell me I've changed, and no one knows what I'm like. Maybe I can change. I need something to keep me going. I need to know I'll be okay. Recovery doesn't mean forgetting about the past, it's moving towards a future. The sky I want to see is blue. No more grey, no more feeling like I live where there's no sun. I want my reflection to smile back at me. And I want to see my real face again. I sound like a dreamer right now... so maybe I still have hope in me. But until then, I will carry on as long as I can. I have to live right now. I have to stop looking back so much. Thank you if you listen to me, even if you don't know who I am or don't care.

-Love, Aiko Ayumi.

The Day

Last night I woke up in a panic. I woke up crying. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know where I was for a minute. My room. My cold, dark room. Why did I think something had changed? I’m still here. I wish I could go back in time. I’m sure future me would too. I wish I could tell myself things would be okay in the future. I’ve been alone for... 5...6 years now... It’s painful. It’s quiet. It’s boring. I want a hug. I want to feel another person, because at this point, no one else feels real. I don’t even feel real. I feel trapped in a nightmare. I’m forced to survive alone. I just want my sister back... I want my mom... I want someone to tell me it’s ok. I don’t want to be alone any more. 

I don’t like this. 

It’s always dark here. 

It’s May 22nd. The anniversary. The day my innocence was stolen. The day I realized humanity is evil, cruel, foul. I woke up sweating, I wanted to vomit. I felt it again. And again. And again. It’s so disgusting. 

#3.

I’m back. It took over a year, but, here I am. I did a lot in the past year. My second to last post went into detail describing the horror I went through at age 11. I’ve tried, for so long, to overcome this, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that this truly HAS ruined my life. I did it. I went back to that spot. I went to the place my innocence was stolen from me. I went to the spot the worst of this misfortune started. I went to my grave. I could swear, I felt it all over again. That feeling was probably one of the worst things I had ever felt in my life. I felt... trapped- much more than when I had held the clothes again for the first time. This was a different kind of trapped. I was there. I was standing in the very spot my soul died. I wanted to cry, but... I couldn’t. I didn’t know what I was feeling; maybe I wasn’t feeling at all. I walked through the alley, pocket knife in hand- I wasn’t taking any chances this time. Truth be told, I didn’t know why I was there. I had no reason to be there. Nothing had changed. When i was 11, I got stabbed in the side when they raped me. Something came over me, and my scar tingled... I looked down, and  

I was standing over it. I looked down and saw the blood stains. My blood rested on this concrete for 6 years. I remember so vividly, sitting there, wishing they had killed me. That’s when it hit me. The tears finally fell. I was so tired of being afraid of one spot- I was so tired of being afraid of everywhere. I was so tired of being scared. I was so tired of being tired. I could hardly breathe- and I felt that all too familiar feeling once again. I hadn’t had a panic attack this bad in... God knows how long. There I was again. Crying. Unable to breathe. Clenching my sides. Feeling... off. Feeling exactly that feeling from 6 years ago. Fear so deep I couldn’t hold it in. I wet myself. At this age. Everything was exactly the same. I was wearing a tank top. A skirt. A jacket. Nothing had changed. I would walk home in shame once again. Only this time, my sister wouldn’t be there to greet me. So I left. I knew what I needed, and what I wanted. I wanted to leave from that spot. I didn’t want to be there. So I left. I got home, and once again, I was greeted by nobody. 

While on the topic, I should finally disclose what happened to my sister. She was killed. She was hit by a train. I know it wasn’t “my fault,” but I will always feel like it is. If I hadn’t contaminated her mind with the idea of running away, she would still be here with me. We were standing on the side of the train tracks, in a more abandoned part of the city. We got into an argument. She wanted to go home. I told her to hang on for just a little while longer- we would be free soon. She wouldn’t listen to me. She was crying and crying, stepping onto the train tracks unknowingly. If i had just 5 more seconds in that moment, I could’ve helped her. She was reaching out for a hug. “I’m sorry, Aiko.” And then the train came out of nowhere. The last I saw of her... she smiled at me. It’s my fault she’s gone. It’s all my fucking fault that I’m alone. I pushed her over the edge. My own fucking sister is gone because of me. She’s never coming back. I can never say goodbye. I cant hold her hand anymore. I didn’t get the chance to hug her and say I was sorry. And I never told her I loved her that day. She probably died thinking I was mad at her. I’m sorry, *****. I love you. I really do. 

After that happened, I couldn’t stand myself. I hated looking in the mirror. I hated seeing the bitch that killed my sister. I feel like I killed my sister. I started wearing a mask. Now with the mask and sunglasses I had already worn prior to cover my eyes... my face is hardly visible. When I see myself in the mirror without my glasses and mask, I feel sick. I feel like throwing up. My face warps when I see it. I don’t think I see me anymore. 

I don’t know who I am. 

Am I Aiko Ayumi? 

Or am I what’s left of her? 

Important note- I am in fact leaving this city very soon. I no longer wish to stay in such a place where my own mental state is held against me in such a way it is here. Currently I have no set location, but anywhere is better than the Hell-hole I'm currently residing in. I have to leave as soon as possible though. If they find out I'm leaving then this is the end for me. The only reason I want to put this out for people to see is so in the circumstances that I go missing, or anything of the sort... You know where to look. Check the building, the closet, the sewer. I'm still underground. I'm still watching. They are watching my every move. Fabrication and elaboration are key. I'm leaving. No one will fucking stop me.

Sometimes, I still think about what happened nearly 7 years ago. When I was just a child, my innocence had been stolen from me. I was still new to the country, having only lived here for 6 or so months. My english was still not perfected, and I knew only basic phrases. I hadnt been enrolled in school yet, so I spent my days playing outside, alone with only what I could find. On occasion, a cat would pass through and I would pet it and say hello. My parents allowed me to take my bike to the park down the street, which I enjoyed. I would sit in the swings and watch the young children and their mothers play. It was calming, and I  almost envied it, in a sense. Being a child, of course, I broke rules. I was allowed to go to the park and back, nowhere else. There was a small store though, just another block down. I had been there before with my parents, to get a candy or a bag of ice. I had a few dollars I had found around the house that my mother allowed me to keep. In an almost proud way, I rode my bike all the way to the store and bought myself a cherry lollipop. The man that always stood behind the cash register was strange, and I could always see a bit of weed on the counter, as he tried to hide it. There was always a slight smell of the smoke, which I didnt like, so I left as soon as I could. On my way out I took the lollipop and put it in my pocket and planned to save it for my later trip to the park, so I wouldnt grow hungry while swinging. I had decided I would go around a sidestreets ally to get to the park, as it seemed much quicker in my head. I did feel somewhat scared, as I had never been that way before. I thought to myself that nothing could happen, and I believed it. While in the ally, which was dirty and trash covered, two men in a truck drove slowly next to me, which at the time, didn't seem too unusual to me. They asked for directions, but I couldnt understand to where. One stepped out of the car with a map and asked to point out the way to the next city over. I tried, but wasnt really aware of what was going on. With my back turned, the man in the passenger seat got out and grabbed me from behind, hushing me and holding a switch blade. He assured that everything would be okay, but in that instant, I knew it would not. I thought to myself over and over, "I'm going to die. Theyre going to kill me." That hadnt happened, though at times I wish it had- in that case, I wouldnt have to live with the trauma and constant fear of assault. My eyes filled with tears as the second man put his hand over my mouth, nearly making me hyperventilate from my already manic terror. My legs were weak and I couldnt move an inch. My knees trembled in fear that no one would know that I had died. I thought it was over. The ally was rid of any life, other than my own and the two men. No one came through this ally. No one would see me, no one would hear me if I could scream. The first man grabbed me by the waist and took my jacket off, which at this point had already been tear stained. At that point, my shoulders were shaking and I could barely compose myself. I had no idea what was coming for me. I had no idea how much this would rip my life to shreds. I felt completely void of any emotion other than fear, and was paralysed. The second his hand touched me, nothing felt real. It all felt like a nightmare. Everything was so surreal and completely horrid, I could swear the sky turned black in pity of me. I felt a trickle down my leg, and I had wet myself before I had a chance to stop it. At that point my skirt was pulled down and I had truly been violated. With a slip of the tongue, my voice finally came back and I cried, begging them to stop. They didnt care that this hurt. They didn't care that I was a kid. I kept on pleading for them to let me go and that I wouldnt tell anyone, but my pain was ignored. Eveything felt tight and pained me. I felt the course discomfort breaking me more and more every second. It had only been a minute, but I was already ripped apart by their distorted and forced infliction of lust. I was lost. This was tormenting me. Every physical aspect and mentally as well. This wasnt smooth and it didnt feel good.  I felt a sharp pain in my side, and shrieked as blood ran down my side. I now had a stab wound, probably so they could get me to shut up. Everything felt dragged out far too much. I wanted it all to end, but I had no control over anything, and hadnt for a while. The first guy grabbed me by the neck while the second took his turn destroying my psyche even more. A slight but sudden rush of shock ran through me, as I felt all of him inside me. I couldn't breathe and no longer could take this. It was too much for me, and I was weak. The man holding me by the neck choked me for a second, and then threw me to the ground. My face was washed in dry tears, my mouth slightly open from the shock. I felt completely numb at that point, and didn't move. The guys got back in their truck and sped off. I never saw their licence plate, I never would be able to report this. Even if I did know it, I still couldn't report it. This was my fault. If I had just been an obedient child, if I had just listened to my mother... Maybe this wouldn't have happened. I blamed myself completely for what they did. My bike still thrown to the ground, trash piled around it, I tried to get up and get it. I still layed there, left for dead. My shirt was bloody and my skirt and underwear were soaked in urine. I had no way to get home. I decided I would try and wait out the pain. My parents were both working late, so they wouldnt know that I didnt get home before my curfew. Cyndi was still by herself at home, though. I had to go to her. My parents told me to make her lunch, which I had forgotten until that moment. I forced myself to stand, though I was beaten and bruised. I shakily picked up my bike and walked it the rest of the way through the ally. I wiped the blood from my side with my jacket and squeezed what I could out of my skirt, so I could look decently presentable walking down the street. Deep down, I knew what I looked like though. I looked defeated. I looked broken. To my luck, I didnt pass anyone on the way home. No one saw me in my greatest pain. I finally arrived home, after limping most of the way. I locked up my bike, which was now even more scratched and dirty than it was before. I walked up the stairs to our apartment on the second floor. I had forgotten my key, so I hastily knocked on the door, hoping Cyndi would hear me. I heard her run to the door and she looked out the window and smiled, glad that I was back. She opened the door, and greeted me with a hug. I flinched for a split second, at that point I was afraid of anyone touching me. But I knew Cyndi meant good. She asked me if I was okay, and I lied. I told her I was fine, and that I had just fallen while riding my bike. I asked her not to tell mom and dad, which she agreed to. I went to my room and changed my clothes, putting the dirty ones in a bag. I shoved the back into the back of my closet, hoping no one would find them. I changed into my pajamas and brought myself to the kitchen, made Cyndi her food, and went to bed. No one would find out. This would stay a secret. I would suffer in silence, alone, for the rest of my life.

Today, as I sit here typing this, telling the world about what happened, I still shed tears. Everyone believes I'm an emotionless robot. I'm not. I have feelings, but, I hide them. I don't want to burden people with all these heavy emotions. When I put on this blank mask, I am intimidating. When I show my face with true emotions, I am vulnerable. I have no choice but to conceal myself. I took off that mask today, though. When I opened a box, and found that brown paper bag with the clothes from that day. The blood smelled metallic and old, the urine stale. For a second, holding those clothes pained me. I felt trapped again. I felt like a liar. I thought back to the days before that. When Cyndi and I could be happy. When she didn't know about what happened. I did eventually tell her, when I thought she was mature enough to understand. She was there for me when no one else was. She was the only person I could trust. And I lost her. Because of me, she's gone. If I hadn't contaminated her mind with the idea of us running away and finding a better life. Cyndi, I'm sorry. Mom, dad, I'm sorry. Everything is my fault. Its my fault this family broke. The lights are off and I'm sitting here, talking to a computer screen. I'm so lonely. I'm always going to be alone. I lost it all for nothing. If you've read this whole thing, thank you. At least someone finds my words worthwhile.

Though it seems I had come to my demise, I assure you all, I am still here. Ive been distant, recently... I've nearly given up everything I have worked for. I have lost sight of what all of what I have wanted. And, though, yes, I wish to leave at times, I have wished death upon myself and others. Yes, I have nearly given up. I am still here though. And though time and time again, I have betrayed so many, I will not let that stand in the way of my escapism. I will leave this place, I assure you of that. These people cannot keep me chained down. I will avenge all of the horrors that have crossed me. Cyndi's death will not be the end of me, Leezi's departure from my life will not hurt me this way any more. I know I have nearly lost it all, but I still have myself. Not much left of me, might I add, but, still, here I am. Every drop of blood that has been spilled within these years, have coagulated. They matter no more. The dreams that have been shattered, have been thrown out. They matter no more. In all my years of trying to restore the life I once had, I have decided it is no longer what I want. To dwell on what I once had will do no good. I will accept and never forget what had happened to my dear sister. It is my fault she is gone, but I have come to accept to fate that she so dearly met. With this outlook on life though, often being contradictory, I've been left with no choice but to, as well, just accept it. Of all things I have done, leading Cyndi to her death, is the worst. I do apologise, about this.