My therapist is bugging me to blog, write, something, just to get this all out of my system. He claims it will work, and I might become a better person. My History, the Condensed version. Part 1

My time at Yamanta orphanage has left emotional scars for life, and anger at being forced to endure and witness many beatings, on myself, my sister and others. A childhood devoid of love, kindness and understanding by these carers: fear being the only emotion that was readily displayed by the children. Anger at the people who, with obvious psychological problems, no self discipline, ignorance, inexperience, lack of ability and a callolus indifference in looking after the children and their needs. Being allowed to treat kids in the way in which they did had a devastating effect on my life.
My Parents were killed when I was 5 and Emiko was 2. Our arrival at Yamanta, we were referred to as half breeds, or devils children due to our being both Japanese and Chinese descent. This would set in line years of abuse by the staff, volunteers and other residents at the home.
Constant beatings were the least of our worries. When I turned 7, Emiko was taken somewhere. To this day I have not been able to even find record of her being sent to that place. She vanished. This set in motion a depression that would last years. Finally, the men came, “volunteers” are what they called themselves. But really they only wanted to act out disgusting fantasies with children. In a society where these things are frowned upon, it was almost greeted with a gleeful abound at the home.
I was 9, I looked into the man’s face as he closed in on me. I could smell the garlic oozing from his pores. I could see the places where teeth should be…I could feel his hands touching me, in places that no one touched. After I closed my eyes, I assume I blacked out. Maybe I blocked that memory, but I know, from that day, and the constant bleeding I suffered for days after. Was the day I became a “woman”. Not in the way that most girls enter womanhood. But one that would soon be a normal thing to me. Many men had been in and out “volunteering” their time, and each time, a piece of me left with them. Finally leaving just a black hole inside me, one that for years to come, is still there, empty.
When I was 12 a really nice American family came to our home, and apparently wanted me to come live with them. This marks one of the happiest moments in my life, I got cleaned up, knew I would never have to deal with the old men who came around and did things to me that only married couples were supposed to do. Giving to me a sex education that was more than fucked up. So they moved me to Montgomery Alabama, and there I would live, like a dream. With the most amazing parents anyone could ever imagine. Although not one day went by that I didn’t wonder where Emiko was, I only went on, with the belief she was alive. And still is. Anything less would be more than devastating.
The day Mr. Rhodes, the principal of my school called me in for a little meeting, well that should have been the day I died. And maybe I did, just a little inside. The meeting would be brief and would have two police officers in attendance as they told the 15 year old girl her parents were killed. Her mind only thinking about how she lost two sets of parents and a sister, All I really remember from the meeting was waking up in the nurses office, apparently I blacked out. The police officers offered me a place to stay, I wanted only to stay in my parents’ house, but sadly I was not able to, it was the scene of a very grisly crime.