Who Am I ? E-Book

Paula Levendig

• Herausgeber: Clube de Autores
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Deutsch

Seitenzahl: 291

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

1. Who Am I? An autobiographical journey through childhood, trauma, and the search for true identity.

Das E-Book Who Am I ? wird angeboten von Clube de Autores und wurde mit folgenden Begriffen kategorisiert:
adoption,ddr-zeiten,diktatur,macht,verlust

Leseprobe

Who am I?  

vonPaula  

Levendig  

Paula, born on May 2, 1965 in East Berlin, experienced a  

childhood marked by the contradictions and challenges of the  

GDR. As an adopted child, I grew up in a family steeped in  

mystery and tension. A decisive revelation at a young age led  

him/her to deal intensively with the questions of identity,  

belonging and self-discovery.  

These formative experiences form the basis for his/her  

literary work, which delves deep into the abysses of the  

human soul and illuminates the complexity of family and  

social structures. With the trilogy "Who am I?" I created a  

haunting portrait of a life that oscillates between past and  

present, loss and hope.  

In addition to my work as a writer, Paula is committed to the  

exchange of social and personal topics and wants to  

contribute with her books to the fact that readers feel  

understood in the search for their own identity.  

I now live in Mallorca and dedicate myself to writing and  

talking about the universal questions of life.  

FOREWORDThe story, which is based on true events,  

introduces the narrator, a child born in East Berlin in the 60s.  

The city is divided, the Berlin Wall separates East and West.  

Life in East Berlin is characterized by gray prefabricated  

buildings, propaganda and the omnipresent control of the  

socialist state. Her earliest childhood and the challenges she  

grew up with as an adopted child. It becomes clear that her  

search for her true identity is a central theme in her life. The  

story gives an insight into life in the GDR, from the perspective  

of a child who has to deal with state control and the social  

norms of society. In the GDR, there is a climate of surveillance  

and fear. The Stasi controls the public and private lives of the  

citizens. Anyone could be an informer, which leads to a deep  

mistrust. Socialist ideology dominates daily life, from school to  

the workplace. In doing so, the emotional  

- 1 -  

side of her journey – the certainty of her origins and the  

question of who she really is. The author takes the reader on  

a journey of self-discovery and personal growth, which is  

deeply rooted in the experiences of the GDR times.  

It was a small family: my mother, my father and my big  

brother Manni, who was six years older. We lived in the GDR,  

in East Berlin, in the district of Pankow, in a modest 2-room  

apartment. From the outside, we were a happy family. But to  

complete the picture of a completely happy family, something  

else is missing – "ME"  

I was born on May 2, 1965, it was a Sunday, a spring day,  

and the Ahr showed 12.10 Ahr. My name, as soon as I was  

called, was Sabine. The day in my memory is firmly anchored  

as the day of my birth is firmly anchored. But for me it was the  

beginning of an existence that was shrouded in shadows from  

the beginning. The city awoke in the soft light of dawn, the  

scent of damp concrete and freshly opened blossoms was in  

the air, cars rolled over the cobblestones, and the cries of the  

ravens lasted.  

In the prefabricated buildings again. It was the day I saw the  

light of day - but it was also the day when I was born  

insignificantly in a world of mysteries.  

- 2 -  

My mother was a teacher, my father a policeman – at first  

glance a perfect family, like in a picture book, exactly as the  

system of the GDR imagined it. A model family that radiated  

the image of happiness and harmony to the outside world.  

But that was only the outward appearance.  

My memory of a happy childhood is only a fleeting moment,  

an illusion that did not last long. The few happy moments were  

intense, they filled my little heart with warmth and joy. I  

enjoyed these rare moments to the fullest. I was a small,  

bright, cheerful girl who explored the world with wide eyes and  

believed for a short time that happiness was at home in our  

small apartment.  

As the city slowly came to life, the journey began for me,  

marked by joys and pains, secrets and discoveries, our  

family's smile was often a mask behind which deep secrets  

and unspoken fears were hidden. The ideal world that was  

presented to the outside world began to show cracks early in  

my childhood. This truth hit me like a hammer blow when I  

was just old enough to understand, but too young to defend  

myself against it.  

I lived the first few years believing that I had a completely  

normal childhood. But what I thought was normal soon turned  

out to be an illusion. Until I was 4 years old, I lived in the belief  

that my parents were the people who would love and protect  

me. But on  

- 3 -  

an evening that I would remember forever, this illusion  

broke like glass.  

It was a family celebration, a moment of coming together,  

when everything I knew was called into question. With the  

naïve guilt of a child, I was unprepared for the truth that was  

revealed in the midst of chaos. That night, I lost not only the  

idea of the safety of my home, but also the belief in who I was.  

How many children in the GDR, like me, lived up in a world in  

which secrets remained deeply hidden, and the truth often  

existed only in whispering shadows. In the years that followed,  

my search for my identity and belonging began.My family's life  

seemed like a mask behind which the true face was hidden.  

On this fateful evening; than the words of my father in  

my heart:  

"You are not my children!"  

You are children from the home  

Who am I?  

THE GIFT OF LIFEA CHILD – THE GREATEST GIFT THAT  

LIFE CAN GIVE US. But what does it really mean to be a  

mother or father? What does it mean to live a new life in this  

world?  

- 4 -  

bring? In a world often defined by selfishness and  

superficiality, the decision to have a child sometimes seems  

like just another item on a list of expectations. Yes, but  

shouldn't it be more? A child should be special. It is not simply  

an extension of ourselves or a fulfillment of societal  

expectations. A child is a unique being who nourishes us with  

unconditional love and  

Infinite trust. It gives us the chance to see the world again  

through the eyes of a child - full of wonder, curiosity and joy.  

Why do people choose to have children? Is it the desire for a  

family, someone else who carries on our legacy? Or is it  

sometimes just the pressure that society exerts on us, the  

desire to be normal, to have a family because it is part of it?  

But what happens when the decision is not made out of love,  

but out of a sense of obligation? It breaks my heart, because  

I see how carelessly some people treat the lives of their  

children. How often are children brought into the world  

without anyone really thinking about what that means. A child  

is not a possession that can be given away or rejected at will,  

just because it does not fit into the life plan. A child is not a  

piece of garbage that you simply push away when it becomes  

uncomfortable.  

Have these people ever thought about what it means for the  

child to be unwanted? To feel that it is not loved, that it is not  

wanted? Children are not able to defend themselves, to  

protect themselves. You are completely dependent on the  

love and care of those who have brought you into this world.  

They have no voice,  

- 5 -  

To say that they are hurt, that they feel lost.  

Children don't ask if they want to be born. They come in this  

world full of hope, full of trust in the people who gave them  

life. They will love and protect you. But what if this trust is  

broken? When the gift of life that you give us is not  

recognized as such?  

I have often thought about what it really means to be a  

mother. It's not just a role you play. It is a responsibility that  

must be taken from the bottom of your heart. It is the task to  

give everything to a little person – love, security, security, it is  

the obligation to stand up for this life, to promote it, to protect  

it, no matter how difficult it may sometimes be.  

A child is the most precious gift that life can give us. It is a  

chance to experience love in its purest form. Children are not  

mistakes, not burdens. They are the light in our darkness, the  

hope we so often forget. And yet, how often are they treated  

like a burden, like a problem to be solved?  

We as humans should be aware that we cannot produce  

better beings in this world than children. Children are our  

future, they are what remains, because we are no longer here.  

Giving them the best should not be a question, but our  

deepest concern.  

Maybe we should all think more before we decide to put a  

child in this world. It's  

- 6 -  

not just a decision for us, it is a decision for the whole life that  

depends on it. We must be clear about what it means to  

abandon a child. Because the world needs more people who  

really care about their children, who give them not only life,  

but also the love they deserve.  

THIS IS ME IN 1966  

THE WENDEPANKT  

- 7 -  

We were with my grandparents, who had five children  

together: three girls and two boys. In the meantime, my  

grandparents had seven grandchildren - a large, lively family.  

They loved it when everyone, both the adult children and the  

grandchildren, was together. It was always a happy  

Confusion. Until the day when everything changed.  

It was a merry evening, and the house was filled with  

laughter and voices.  

This was my grandparents' house, an old farm on the  

outskirts of East Berlin, in the tranquil village of Gussow.  

Goats, pigs, cows, ducks, rabbits and chickens. Gussow was  

a dreamy little village that seemed to be from another time.  

Here the world seemed to stand still, as if removed from the  

hustle and bustle and strict rules of the big city. The village  

had its own charm, shaped by nature and the simple life of its  

inhabitants. There was a small convenience store that offered  

everything you needed, and a baker whose smell of fresh  

bread wafted through the streets. On the edge of the village  

flowed 'The Lady', a calm river that formed a small beach  

where the villagers met in the summer. The "Tränke" was the  

name given to the landing stage for the ships that slowly  

glided over the Dahme. Not far away was an LPG  

(Agricultural Production Cooperative) dedicated to pig  

breeding and cow farming, where my grandfather worked as  

an accountant. In the middle of this idyll stood a hotel with a  

small restaurant,  

- 8 -  

which is a place of encounters and encounters for the  

villagers and visitors.  

Cosiness offered. There, my grandmother took care of the  

good cuisine and the well-being of everyone. She was an  

exceptional cook, whose dishes put a smile on the faces of the  

guests and made them forget everyday life for a moment. Here  

in the village, time seemed to pass more slowly. Each day  

followed a familiar rhythm, far removed from the strict norms  

and control that otherwise characterized life in the GDR.  

Specific. For me, Gussow was a place of refuge, a safe haven  

where I could forget all the burden and pain of my childhood  

for a short time. But in this seemingly perfect village,  

everything was about to change. Gussow became the scene  

of the turning point of my life, which turned everything that had  

been believed until then upside down. Because behind the  

idyllic façade of Gussow, the secrets began to unfold that were  

to shape my life forever.  

It was a merry evening, and the house was filled with  

laughter and voices.  

It was a big family celebration, a happy evening. The year is  

1969. The relatives had come from near and far to get  

together, to celebrate, to laugh, and the house was filled with  

laughter and voices.My aunts, uncles, grandma, grandpa and  

all the cousins were there.  

The familiar faces, the laughter and the smell of freshly  

cooked food made me feel like everything was fine. Until  

that moment, I was a happy child who grew up in the  

security of the family.  

- 9 -  

But on this evening something was different. In the hustle and  

bustle, my mother was looking for my father, and when she  

found him outside a window, he watched a woman  

undressing in her apartment, he stared at her, although  

behind him the whole hustle and bustle of the celebration  

took place. His look was strange, almost obsessive, and he  

did not notice my mother. She suddenly stood frozen. My  

father was drunk, as so often, and had lost control of himself.  

A loud argument ensued, and the laughter and conversations  

in the house ceased. My mother seemed desperate and  

anxious, as did the other guests. Everyone knew about the  

danger posed by my father, and no one dared to say anything  

or intervene. The air was heavy with tension, and a feeling of  

anxiety spread. Everyone knew my father's whims and knew  

that he was not afraid to use violence. The pistol in his hand  

was a symbol of the breaking family, the threat that settled  

like a dark shadow over the set. No one dared to say  

anything or stop him, for fear that he might actually use the  

pistol.  

The danger was heavy in the air, like an invisible hand that  

held everyone tight.  

My father, who usually wore his Aniform with pride, now  

held a gun in his hand and screamed.  

I was already in bed, together with my brother Manni.I was  

only 4 years old and my brother 10 years old. We lay under  

the warm blanket and tried to sleep, while the chaos in the  

house became louder. Then the  

- 10 -  

the door, and my father stood in the doorway with the gun  

drawn. The pistol was still in his hand and pointed at us. His  

eyes were full of anger and something I couldn't understand.  

My heart was racing, and I felt the coldness of fear in my  

stomach.  

"You are not my children!" You are children from the home!"  

he shouted. The words hit me like a blow, but I was too small  

to understand their meaning. "Home" - the sound of the word  

strange and scary and it scared me. I only knew that  

something was wrong, that my little world was changing at  

that moment, without me knowing how or why.  

I turned to my mother, who was standing in the doorway,  

crying. Her gaze was full of pain and helplessness. At that  

moment, I was just a child longing for comfort and security,  

but the familiar world was no longer the same. My father, the  

man who was supposed to protect me, was now like a  

stranger.  

The guests were dumb with fear. No one dared to intervene  

or extinguish the fire. The danger was too high, and the fear  

of the consequences held everyone back. Yet, in the midst  

of the chaos and the  

There was a moment of clarity and courage. An uncle took a  

step forward. His voice was firm, despite the fear he hid in his  

eyes. He approached my father slowly, the pistol still in his  

hand. With quiet, but determined  

- 11 -  

movements, he grabbed the pistol and pulled it out of his  

hand. It was a risky move, but he did it to protect us all.  

My father staggered back a step, surprised and  

confused.  

For a brief moment, the anger in his eyes seemed to subside  

as the pistol was released. The silence that followed was  

oppressive, but it was the first step towards calming the  

troubled house. The night ended in a mess of screams and  

tears.  

When I closed my eyes, I hoped it was all just a bad dream.  

But when the morning came, I knew that something  

fundamental had changed. The guilt of my childhood was  

lost forever, and the fear of what the future might bring  

weighed heavily on me.  

HIDDEN TRUTHSThe incident that changed my young life  

forever. There could have been a complaint. But in the GDR it  

was different. Such things were not made public. A complaint  

would have meant that my brother could come to the home  

without you, that my father would lose his job – and also my  

mother. So everything remained unsaid, disappeared into the  

silence of the system that knew how to protect such secrets.  

MY GRANDPA'S BURDEN  

- 12 -  

When I was 5 years old, another blow hit us. That was  

February 12, 1970, a cold, snowy winter's day, when the cold  

passed through the cracks of the old farmhouse windows. On  

this day it was my grandma's birthday, and as every year, the  

whole family gathered in Gussow to celebrate this special day.  

My grandma once again conjured up a feast that was second  

to none. The smell of stewed meat and freshly baked bread  

filled the house. The women sat in the living room, engrossed  

in their handicrafts, and told each other the latest stories from  

the village. We children romped around the yard, in spite of  

the biting cold, and our screams and laughter echoed through  

the night. I still remember this day well, when we children  

came up with a little prank. While the adults were busy in the  

house, we played outside in the yard and had set our sights  

on the common grandpas. Laughing and giggling, we sneaked  

up to her. The goat didn't seem to understand our plan,  

surprisingly remained calm when we put on my grandpa's  

shorts. But that was not enough: We secretly took one of my  

grandmother's colorful headscarves and tied it around the  

goat's head. The sight was so funny that we could hardly stop  

laughing. The whole village would certainly have laughed at  

this moment: a goat in grandpa's short  

Trousers and grandma's headscarf. For us children it was a  

moment of pure peace and childlike burdenedness, a moment  

in which the adult world with all its worries and secrets could  

simply forget. As usual, the men sat at the heavy wooden  

table in the dining room and played skat. My grandpa, who  

loved this game, had the last word as always when it came to  

them. It was already late, and the mood was relaxed. The fire  

in the fireplace  

- 13 -  

crackled, and I had long since been put to bed, wrapped in the  

warmth of my blanket. Suddenly, in the midst of the cheerful  

confusion, my grandfather said: "I'm going to lie down for a  

moment. Wake me up in half an hour." We'll continue to play  

then." Nobody thought anything of it, because it was not  

unusual for him to take a short break after a long day and a  

few glasses of schnapps. But this half hour passed, and when  

the men tried to wake him, he did not move. The liveliness of  

the evening was suddenly transformed into a moment of  

terror. My grandma rushed over, her hands shaking as she  

tried to shake him awake. But he had already fallen asleep  

peacefully. The excitement in the house was great, the adults  

whispered while I lay in bed and didn't understand what was  

going on. No one told me that he had died. All I knew was that  

he was suddenly gone, and the lesson that left me hurt deep  

inside me. His loss affected me, even if I might not have been  

able to understand it at the time.  

On this cold winter's day, death had visited us. My beloved  

grandpa, the rock in the surf, had passed away, at the age of  

65. That night burned itself into my memory, because it  

masked not only the end of a life, but also the end of a time of  

being burdened. With his death, something fundamental  

changed in our family. The joyful celebrations became rarer,  

and the mood was henceforth more subdued. It was as if a  

dark shadow lay over us all, which was never to be  

completely dissolved again.  

It had been he who had explained the world to me in his  

own way. His story filled my days with imagination and joy,  

and he had taken extra pains to tell me  

- 14 -  

to help with my language. I had language problems, and took  

the time to teach myself the correct pronunciation. To him, I  

was especially a child who deserved something unique.  

Often, when I was with him, there was a small piece of  

chocolate waiting under the ashtray – "something special for  

a special child," he always said. His words and kindness  

made me feel that I had a place in the world. But now he was  

gone. Too early, and I was still too young to understand how  

much he meant to me. It was not possible for me to say  

goodbye to my grandfather.  

My Grandpa and I1966  

- 15 -  

My grandma and I in 1966  

THE SCHALANGThe missing was someone very special: my  

grandpa. I asked my grandmother impatiently: "It was in  

September 1971. The time had finally come: my first day of  

school was approaching, and I was six years old. The day of  

school enrollment, for which I had been waiting so longingly,  

had finally arrived. My grandma was already there, which  

made me very happy. My mother combed my hair, twisted it  

skillfully, tied a large bow into it, the curls fell over my  

shoulder. An aunt had sewn a trouser suit and a blouse for  

this special occasion, because I was supposed to look  

particularly pretty on this day. I was so excited that I could  

hardly stand still.  

When is grandpa coming?" She tried to keep a smile and  

explained to me that he had to work. But I couldn't  

understand it – why shouldn't he be there today, on my big  

day? Finally I ran out into the street, to the corner  

- 16 -  

and I stopped to look for him. I waited, but he didn't come.  

Grandma saw my disappointment and tried to comfort me.  

She took out a book and handed it to me with gentle words: "I  

should give it to you from your grandpa." "It was 'THE  

GOLDEN KEY'. She opened the book and began to read  

aloud. Because I couldn't read yet. In it, grandpa had left a  

dedication for me:  

MY SPECIAL CHILDUNFORTUNATELY,  

GRANDPA CAN'T BE WITH YOU ON  

YOUR SPECIAL DAY. BUT IN MY  

THOUGHTS I AM ALWAYS WITH YOU.  

YOU ARE SUCH A HEALTHY SMART  

CHILD AND HAVE ALWAYS ASKED ME  

MANY QUESTIONS. NOW THAT I CAN  

NO LONGER BE WITH YOU, YOUR  

TEACHERS WILL TEACH YOU MANY  

NEW THINGS. BE DILIGENT AND STUDY  

WELL SO THAT YOU CAN READ THIS  

BOOK SOON. IN LOVEYOUR GRANDPA  

- 17 -  

SEPTEMBER 1971  

These words calmed me down a little. For a moment, I felt as  

if my grandfather was with me after all, as if he was  

accompanying me on this new path of life. But the questions  

in my head didn't let me go – why was he really not there?  

Where was he? Why had he gone?  

My school days, like many other children in the GDR,  

began with school enrollment as a young pioneer. I got  

the blue scarf, later as a Thälmann pioneer also the red  

one, and was proud to wear it. However, school events  

and excursions were strictly  

shaped the political guidelines of the GDR. At the many  

pioneer events, we had to stand disciplined, salute the flag  

and sing songs that praised peace and the achievements of  

socialism. It often felt as if we were little soldiers in training,  

always anxious to live up to socialist ideals.  

- 18 -  

In the afternoons, however, we were involved in projects such  

as the "Timor Help", where we helped the elderly, for example  

with shopping or household chores. I particularly liked that,  

because it gave me the feeling that  

School enrollment in 1971  

to do something good, far away from the rigid political guidelines.  

Overall, I was rather good at school, although I could have  

done better. But my father's pressure not to fail weighed  

heavily on me. I was not able to recite poems or lectures in  

front of an audience or even in front of the class. "Even  

though I could do it and I was well prepared." Every time I  

was asked to speak in front of others, I panicked, as if my air  

was being choked. My neck was like  

laced up, my legs trembled uncontrollably. This fear was so  

overwhelming that it paralyzed me. That was also a  

- 19 -  

Reason why I often didn't get good grades, even if I had a  

good command of the material. My favourite subject was  

sports – I was able to really express myself there. I was also  

good at politics, which I had to be in order not to get into  

trouble. History and astronomy, biology fascinated me, and in  

these subjects I was able to score points with my imagination  

and curiosity. Nevertheless, I often digressed in the evening, I  

dreamed of my own ideal world, which I imagined in my mind  

colorful and adventurous. I spent many hours making up  

stories, simply because I often found the lecture boring.  

I was also forced to be a member of the FDJ (Free German  

Youth). If you refused to join, you were not part of the  

community, and the consequences could be serious. That's  

why I complied, it was also expected of me, although I  

couldn't always identify with the system.  

For me, school was a real test of strength. I hardly had any  

friends. Many of my classmates didn't want to have anything  

to do with me because I was the "cop's daughter" – the  

daughter of a policeman. There was a deep mistrust of me, as  

they feared that I might betray them. Some of my classmates  

had access to things from the West: Wrangler jeans,  

chocolate, records, and Western television. They talked about  

the latest trends and movies, but I wasn't allowed and couldn't  

have a say. My father would never have allowed it.  

Nevertheless, I wanted to belong. I brought extra sandwiches  

to school and shared them in the hope of making friends  

- 20 -  

to win. But these gestures were often only exploited, and I  

allowed it to happen – in the hope of finally gaining  

recognition.  

It was only later that I found a real friend in Susanne who  

had to repeat a school year. She was the only one who  

accepted me as I was, and with me I shared many secrets  

and moments that helped me to overcome the difficult time.  

isolation.  

THE MOMENT OF THE REBELLIONThe school party was  

attended by all the teachers, it was 1979, I was 14 years old,  

Susanne and I had been with her boyfriend before, where we  

had relaxed. He offered us schnapps, and although it was  

only a glass, I soon felt its effect. It was bitterly cold outside,  

and when we made our way to the party, it felt like I had a  

board in front of my head. I was drunk. Despite Susanne's  

warning, I put on my roller skates and said, "Now I'm going to  

go and tell them what I think."  

When I arrived at the school, I called for my teacher and the  

headmistress. All the students watched eagerly to see what  

would happen. Everything whispered. I found the teachers  

and began to tell them my opinion to their faces – how they  

could dare to constantly tell us lies, how they could represent  

such ideals as members of the SED party. The words and  

thoughts bubbled out of me. Without thinking about the  

consequences of the words I uttered. The students were  

- 21 -  

and watched as I had the courage to express my opinion  

freely without even giving a thought to the consequences.  

But the consequences were not absent. I was expelled from  

school. That was the only reaction of the teachers. The worst,  

however, awaited me at home, where I met my parents, still  

dazed from alcohol. The anger was great: "How could you!  

How did we dicherzogen? You should be a convinced  

communist!" my father scolded. The accusations bounced off  

me. I went to bed, but my mother announced that we still had  

to talk things out.  

The next morning I stood in front of the entire school at the  

flag roll call. I had to apologize publicly and was reprimanded  

in front of all the teachers and students. An official reprimand  

was issued against me, and my mother received a  

disciplinary case in her file, but inside I felt something else: I  

had finally made a breakthrough with my classmates. For the  

first time, I no longer felt isolated. I didn't care what the adults  

thought. For me, that was the first step towards freedom.  

THANKS: THE ENCOUNTER WITH SASANNE AND MY  

FATHERThere is a particularly painful memory that I shared  

with my friend Susanne. At that time we were 14 and 15  

years old. We often spent the afternoons alternately at her  

or at my place to do homework together. On one of these  

days, my  

- 22 -  

Father at home – as so often drunk – while my mother was at  

the cure. Susanne and I laughed and fooled around until my  

father intervened in the game with a plastic spider.  

What began as a harmless prank took a frightening turn. He  

frightened Susanne with this, but his behavior became  

abusive: He grabbed her breast, kissed her and grabbed her  

between the legs. We both froze, unable to comprehend what  

was happening. The cheerful mood was immediately gone,  

and Susanne abruptly left the apartment.I accompanied her  

out, and we swam for a while.Finally, Susanne broke the  

silence: "Your father touched me. Did you see that?" "Yes," I  

answered, still shocked. "I would never have thought that he  

would go so far."  

I told her that he had already touched me." But don't tell  

anyone," I begged her. How could my father do such a thing,  

especially in front of my eyes and on my best friend? He had  

no shame at all. Susanne even talked about reporting my  

father.  

Inside, I was torn: On the one hand, I hoped that he would  

leave me alone if he now had Susanne in his sights. On the  

other hand, I was afraid that no one would believe Susanne if  

she actually confided in someone. I knew how my family  

would handle such accusations, everything would be  

dismissed as a lie and swept under the carpet. What if there  

were consequences? Would my family break up? To the  

great horror, Susanne nevertheless told her parents. But it  

was not reported to the police because they considered it  

implausible  

- 23 -  

dismissed. She was forced to remain silent. Nobody asked  

me about this incident at the time. Only my father said: I  

should keep quiet.  

From then on, I could no longer invite Susanne to my home. I  

was too afraid that my father would attack her again.  

Nevertheless, our friendship became more intimate as a  

result. We went on a school trip together, and during this trip,  

some girls in my class talked to me about what my father had  

done to Susanne and me. They threatened to report it to me.  

But I couldn't and wasn't allowed to agree, so I denied  

everything. But they didn't believe me and put me under  

pressure. To get out of this situation, I had to come up with a  

believable story. Fortunately, they took it from me.  

At that moment, I was torn inside and felt terrible. On the one  

hand, I wanted the truth to finally come to light and my father  

to leave me alone. On the other hand, I knew that if  

everything came out, it would have catastrophic  

consequences for me. I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone  

about it. I didn't know what would happen, but the fear of  

consequences and the threats that were made to me weighed  

heavily on me. I couldn't imagine what was behind these  

threats and what it would mean for me and my family.  

THE SHADOW OF DOUBTThe was the beginning of a long  

search for answers, for truth and for my own identity. On this  

day  

- 24 -  

I began to realize that not everything was as it seemed. The  

adult world was full of secrets, and I was only beginning to  

understand them.  

But the older I got, the more an agonizing question  

forced itself into my head: Who am I?  

Why did I always feel so strange, as if I didn't really belong?