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?
