i was really young.
we were standing on the street.
and i looked up to him and kept wondering.
„why is this man so sad?“
so i asked him a personal question.
i remember this so well cause it was the first time someone would ever tell me:
„i want to die“
and i was not even 6.
so it hit me hard.
he was depressed.
he was tired of himself.
he was running away from his own past.
i remember tragedy and a bad relationship to his father and mother.
he had already cancer.
he was my favorite person.
he was funny and sarcastic.
his imagination was big.
he was a good story teller.
sometimes he would pick me up from kindergarten with his old benz and i would say
„no thanks i want to walk“
i remember how shocked he was and then decided to tell my mother.
but „Christina get in the car“
„No thanks I wanna walk.“
i was not used to be picked up from kindergarten.
i was used to decide for myself.
i was a disappointed kid.
i hated this drama i was involved.
i had time for myself and i enjoyed to walk alone.
i didn´t like kindergarten that much.
kids would not laugh about my jokes.
at least i found a way to use my emotions so i started drawing this faces.
but back to him:
there was no chance for him to heal.
it was to late.
his cancer was bigger than his hope.
and i knew it.
he knew it.
he would not talk about it.
no one would.
you could see pain in their faces.
doctors would send him home to his family.
(greece is not germany)
my mother cried a lot.
i remember when we got that phone call in the middle of the night.
i was scared and i could not understand the meaning of death.
„where is this man really going?“
today as i grown woman i know that he knew – his time was running and he knew it for a long time.
he was running away from himself and from his own dark past and thoughts.
not willing to forgive.
not willing to request.
not willing to learn.
not willing to ask for help.
it was his destiny.
he was his own victim.
he lived a painful life.
but he was a lovely man.
and he was a funny guy.
he loved as so much.
but he was scared, hurt and tired of life.
there was no will.
so he left when i was young.
he died when i was young.
i experienced a bigger depression years later and back than i was talking to myself almost the same as he did.
it took me years to heal and to find a way back to my own past – brave enough to face this story and go back to every single person – that would not see that i was a child, brave enough to listen to myself, find a way back into every dark situation of violence and ignorance – and able to forgive – face to face – and heal step by step.
my healing process is not ending.
but that is okay.
i was willing to understand my story.
trauma is ugly and feels bad.
i remember every thought that was running through my head back then.
i felt ashamed for a long time.
for my story, for myself, for humanity.
i decided to heal.
mostly because of him.
i won my own metamorphosis.
i had to use my pain creatively and there was no chance for me to run away.
my depression was my grace.
i transformed this feelings, experiences and thoughts into strength.
i found a way back to my own truth.
everything else was interpretation.
he was one of my first and biggest hurtful lessons.
but he teached me two important things:
hope and will.