Note: This piece talks about suicide and thoughts of suicide. Please use your discretion.
I was a lonesome girl from the beginning. Due to my ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) traits, other people didn’t really exist in my world, and to be honest, I didn’t mind being alone.
But everything changed the day I stood up for a classmate who was being bullied. I never imagined that a simple, immature act of justice would drag me straight into hell.
The bullies escalated. They re-targeted me as their new main toy. They weaponized my own name, calling me the “Shihori Virus.” They would touch my desk, run away freaking out, and laugh. They ripped up my drawings, defaced them with cruel, filthy words, and stuffed them into my desk. It was nonsensical, but it was relentless—a slow, draining cruelty that shaved away my dignity and pride over two agonizing years.
Deep down, I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I knew I wasn’t “dirty.” But the accumulated pain and self-doubt eventually overwhelmed me. I couldn’t see a bright future anymore. I couldn’t imagine ever being safe or surrounded by real friends. A never-ending darkness completely covered my life.
To make matters harder, my mom was a typical “Asian Tiger Mom.” While she was incredibly supportive in many areas of my education, emotional support wasn’t something she could offer me at the time. I was never allowed to skip school unless I was physically sick. Every single day, I had to walk right back into the lion’s den. I felt entirely unprotected, misunderstood, and alone.
My only true friend—the only soul I could trust emotionally—was Ludwig van Beethoven.
Every day, I would come home crying, rush to my piano, and pound out the furious third movement of his Moonlight Sonata. I felt a deep, cosmic connection to him; I was certain he felt the exact same rage and sadness toward the unfairness of life. Playing his pieces for hours was my therapy. It was the only way I could share my hurt with someone who truly understood. His music always caught me at the edge of the dark cliff. Music was my only safe place.
Still, the darkness whispered. I used to contemplate suicide. I even wrote a suicide note, listing the names of my bullies and everything they had done to me. I imagined what would happen after I was gone. What if they find this note? My heart soared with a dark sense of revenge. But then reality hit me: it might impact them for a short time, but it wouldn’t last forever. What happens after that?
Nothing.
I would just disappear, and the world would keep spinning without me.
At that moment, disappearing felt like what I wanted, but I realized it wasn’t the ideal consequence. There was no guarantee of a better afterlife, so I decided to make a desperate gamble on this one. I had no friends, but I had music.
I flipped the script.
I thought, “What if I become a successful singer-songwriter? What if one day, they have to see my face and hear my voice on TV?”
That felt like the ultimate revenge. They never wanted me to be happy—so the best way to fight back was to become undeniably, wildly happy. I chose to stop living for them. I stopped reacting. I poured every ounce of my broken spirit into my goals and dreams.
A few decades have passed since that dark night.
Today, I am a professional singer-songwriter. I have written over 150 songs for major J-pop acts, anime shows, and video games, performing internationally to deliver a singular message: “LOVE WHO YOU ARE.”
From my years in Tokyo to my current life in Los Angeles, this childhood trauma has shaped my entire artistic purpose. I am trying to be that safe place for someone else—the same way Beethoven was for me.
I thought I had completely healed, having proudly turned my trauma into what I call my “SCAR of HONOR.” But turning this raw story into my new single, “When I Decided Not To Die,” brought all the ghosts back. While filming the music video, we hired child actors to recreate those moments. Watching them replay my actual childhood was so overwhelming that I could barely contain my emotions on set.
These scars never truly go away. But today, I wear them proudly. I am willing to live with them out in the open, transforming my past pain into a lighthouse for anyone still trapped in the dark.
SHIHORI is an international J-pop singer/songwriter based in LA who composes and performs solo work, as well as music for film, TV, anime, and games. You can learn more about her at https://www.shihoriartist.com/ or follow her on Instagram.
Whatever you are facing, there is always hope. And we will hold on to hope until you’re able to grasp it yourself. If you’re thinking about suicide, we encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool to locate professional help and to read more stories like this one here. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor.