Mine is a story about a single year of life. This is a first hand account and not simply based on true events. In the following years after I was forced to idly watch the murder of my baby sister, I experienced imprisonment, paranoia, depression, drugs, sex, and finally escape. For decades, I was unable to talk about it; unable to wrap my fractured mind wholly around it.
But now, I have decided to share.
My 10 year old sister. Killed. Her murder forever twisting my dreams into nightmares littered with figures of serial killers, home invaders, ethereal phantasms and apparitions all trespassing my home and slaying her as I am weighed down and helpless to act.
In these dreams not far separated from my immediate reality, the adults ran and left my sister and I to fend for ourselves. She was crippled, unable to walk, doomed to succumb on her own. There was no one to save her but me. In every dream each feeling of safety or respite when the apparitions would recede, they would just as quickly return and instill a crushing weight of torment. I had always known in these visions that I was the sole protector of my sister, and everyone around me. For much of my life these recurring images haunted my sleep.
It was not until more than 20 years had gone by that I was finally able to forgive myself for not saving her life. I always blamed myself for doing nothing and I know now that it was not my fault.
Countless others have their own stories and many have tormented themselves in a similar manner for possibly just as long. I share this story to make sure you know, it was not your fault.
Say it with me: It is not my fault.
My nightmare is no more.
I am awake. The morning dew is a reminder that it is over. Forever.