Beyond the paper walls

The ruins of yesterday

Yes, I did harm myself a lot, to be honest. That’s how I learned to cope with my pain since I was not even a teenager. That’s the prime reason I was in therapy. Once, Maya saw me doing it, and she was terrified that I might hurt myself seriously. She thought that getting me into therapy was the only way to help, though I hadn’t told her anything.

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“What—what are you doing, Ari?”

I was dumbfounded; nobody had ever seen me doing it before, and I always wore long sleeves to hide any marks. I didn’t turn to face her.

“I’m asking you something. What are you doing? Turn and tell me—what is that?”

“Oh… nothing. It was just there, so I was just looking.”

“Are you sure you were just looking? Because I can see blood there.”

“Oh, I actually pinched myself with it…not a big deal.”

“Uh… are you okay, sweetheart? You can tell me anything you want to. I’m always here for you… you know that, right?”

“Yes, absolutely. But I’m perfect, as usual.”

That day, she didn’t believe me and got me connected with a therapist. That was the last day I spent at home.

Our mom had always wanted us to stay together until we all got married. But I wasn’t going to let them know what was really going on with me, so I just left and never looked back. I saw my parents here and there, but more often than I’d like to admit, I missed them. Being with them made me feel less anxious and lonely.

My parents have done a lot for me—my mom, my dad. They played their parts the best they could, working all the time, providing a roof over our heads, giving us the best education, or anything we ever wanted. They did their best, and I love them wholeheartedly for that. But they couldn’t change what I had already been through. That’s where the problems arose.

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Imagine one selected day struck out of your life, and think how different its course would have been. Think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day.

I wished I could take one single day out of my life—that day when my biological parents decided they didn’t want us anymore. I still can’t understand why. But instead of getting us into foster care or adoption centers, they just left us there and left the country without a word.

My biological mom was an alcoholic, my dad a drug addict—both trying their best to traumatize us in any way they could. I tried my best to impress them, to earn their love, but all I ever received was abuse—physical and mental. It was somehow always just me because Maya was too young to be aware of or remember any of it.

I still remember the day my dad told me we were going out for a family dinner.

July 12, 1998. Twenty-six years ago, what I thought was a family dinner turned into something so tragic, I still can’t wrap my head around it, even now.

I was wearing a baby-pink dress, and Maya was in a blue one, with matching shoes and clips… rare moments in our family, where my parents got us something new. I was thrilled. “Hey, Mama? Can I have lasagna, please?” I asked, trying to please my mother.

“And I want a burger!” Maya jumped up.

“Uh… yeah, sure, why not?” my mom said, sounding distant, distracted.

“I would love to have both of them,” my dad laughed.

“Yeah, sure—if you could afford them,” my mom replied, irritation creeping into her voice.

We had the best dinner I’d had in years. For someone who came from a family that could barely afford two meals, having lasagna was a luxury, and I loved every second of it.

Walking back home, I skipped along the road, while Maya was in my dad’s arms, swinging her legs. It was one of those few days when we actually looked like a happy family.

As we got into the car, I noticed something strange. "Dada, how do we suddenly have a car now?"

“Uh… I just rented it for today,” he said hesitantly.

Everything felt good, but there was this faint sense of wrongness about that day that I couldn’t shake. I was too tired to think much of it, though, and eventually, sleep overtook me—a sleep I wish I hadn’t surrendered to, but maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything.

I woke to the loud honking of a car. I hated it, as it was deafening and jolting. Maya was next to me, also woken by the noise, and she started crying. That’s when I realized that my parents were nowhere to be seen.

I held Maya, got out of the car, and started looking for them. They were nowhere in sight. My anxiety rose with each passing second. Maya was in full-blown tears, and as I tried to calm her, I could feel myself breaking down too. I didn’t know what to do, alone on a deserted road, with no one around. I didn’t know how to drive, and walking was the last thing I wanted to do. But that’s exactly what I did.

I took Maya, and we started walking, hoping to find someone. I tried and tried. I walked for what felt like days before I stumbled upon a shelter. They were kind enough to let us stay.

I waited for days, then weeks, but nobody came for us. Hope faded, replaced by a void I couldn’t fill. Eventually, Maya and I were sent to an adoption center. We spent four months there before someone adopted us. We were among the lucky few who found a way out.

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But I never forgot those nights spent on the road. I was abused, neglected, and starving. A meal a day was a blessing. I met people who didn’t care that I was just six years old. People who showed me the darkest parts of the world, who shaped me into who I am today.

These are the incidents that scarred me, the ones I don’t talk about. The ones I’ll carry to my grave, etched so deeply that even after all these years, the pain feels fresh.

Some memories are so buried I barely want to recall them, while others linger at the edges, dark and uninvited. There are events I’d rather forget, and then there are those I can't escape, memories so potent that just thinking about them leaves me gasping for air. Some moments from my past feel like a shadow that, if exposed, could unravel everything I’ve built, laying bare the cracks I’ve tried so hard to conceal. These fragments are the ruins within me—the parts that didn’t just haunt my nights but altered me forever.

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After being adopted, I lived a fairly normal life. That’s why people find it hard to believe that, despite all the love and care I received, I am who I am now. Ruthless, sadistic, malicious—so many words I can barely comprehend.

These experiences make it hard for me to get attached to anyone. I’m afraid they’ll see the real me, become frightened, and eventually leave. I know I am someone people don’t want to share their lives with, someone who will always be, at the end of it all, the ruthless, sadistic, malicious woman they avoid.