ÒBreaking OutÓ
My Personal Biography with illustrations
Written by:
Jeanette Pizarro
(Lankrer-Unterkreuter)
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Most of all, this book is dedicated to my husband
Pedro, who as a journalist, encouraged me to write about my life experiences.
I will always be grateful for his understanding and patience he has shown me
by listening patiently to all the episodes of my past because for every
situation, I had a story to tell. |
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All free men, wherever they may live,
are citizens of Berlin.
And therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words "Ich bin ein Berliner."
Following the Second World War, the major
western powers (U.S., Britain and France) and the Soviets agreed to divide the
country, including the capital city of Berlin, into democratic and
communist-controlled sectors. Both East and West Berlin ended up within the
Soviet-controlled territory of East Germany and the capital became the
epicenter of increasing tensions between the West and Soviet Russia. I was born and raised in the American
sector of Berlin which had its advantages as a child being an orphan why? You
will find out soon, continue reading.
Life in 1946 was still chaotic when my father,
Karl-Heinz Lankrer arrived in Berlin from Australia with
my mother Patricia, who was a real Irish Women (You will find soon find out why),
at that time, she was pregnant with my brother Michael. From what I understood
and was told to me by my fatherÕs two aunts, (Charlotte and Hedwig), he was a
prisoner in Australia where he met my mother. She was married before she met my
father and left two grown sons behind. I only remember the name of one; it was
Wayne, because my mother loved the John Wayne movies so I was told.
Right from the start, my mother Patricia
was not accepted by my fatherÕs family. It was a family of Aristocrats, Priests
and that sort who resided in Rhineland a more western part of Germany with beautiful
land and castles however, I am grateful that I never grew up with them. I met
some of the up-nose family members just a couple of times and was not impressed
even as a child and it was depressing to me but more about that later. I am
drawing blanks concerning some of the early years. My grand aunts from my
fatherÕs side had some documents which they kept hidden why, I never understood
and I did not have access to them. They only allowed me to read some of the
letters my father wrote from Australia where he went to eventually and dropped
my mother to the wolfs in Germany, (in a country still not known to her, not
speaking the language, and pregnant with me). The letters only talked about him
and all the money he will be making and how he will come back to Berlin and
pick up his whole family to take care of us, it never happened.
To keep my biography a little bit in
order, two years later in 1948 after my brother Michael was born Peter arrived
year after and from there, three years later I was born. What happened in the
years between the birth of my brothers and my arrival, I do not know. The only
thing I do understand according to my grand aunts is that my father had a real
hard time getting work and trouble taking care of his family. Looking at what
transpired a lot later in my life, I can see why it was hard for him and what I
believe caused that situation. From what I understood, my father was the black
cheep of the family one of the reasons was that he loved the liquor to much and
was a rebel which I can understand in a way when I look at the makeup of the
family. As you noticed, I do not call them my family because I never had
anything to do with them and do not regret that they were not a part of my life
at all.
Now, let me tell you about the beginning
of my existence which was adventures right from the start, so I was told. My
father was already six months in Australia when I was born. Not only was he
absent, but to add insult to injury my mother seemed to have forgotten to pick
me up from the Hospital. After my birth, I had to stay there for a while longer
because of malnutrition. The doctors did not have much hope for me. She never
visited me nor did she pick me up when I was better, my grand aunts had to
remind her that there was another child of hers somewhere in a hospital and
eventually she did pick me up. If you hope and think it will get better donÕt,
just read on.
With her three children and no support
from my father or my fatherÕs family, not even the grand aunts, my mother was
living in a one bedroom apartment in Schoeneberg no
work, no food just liquor which was cheep in the American bars in Berlin. With no
one interested in helping my mother or just checking up on her, no one knew
that she was drinking instead of feeding her children. But eventually it came
out due to her behavior and her being arrested for public exposure, I never
found out the details, but that incident in the police records still followed
me throughout my growing up, like it was my police record and not hers, you will
find out why later on in another chapter of this book.
It seemed to me that the neighbors were
really not interested of what went on in my motherÕs apartment because we must
have screamed so much because of hunger that any body should have noticed that.
Why they did not, I still do not understand or maybe I have forgotten, because
of what I have heard about my early years I did not want to remember? When she was drunk, she went out to the
American bars to party, there, they spoke english and
the atmosphere bared some familiarity to her. In the meantime, my brothers and
I were left at home alone with nobody watching, my brothers were tight to the legs
of the chairs on the floor so they could not move around in the apartment, and
I was left in the crib with none of my diapers changed or having been fed. She
stayed out all night and when she came home, she fed us sugar water to keep us
quite so that we had something in our stomach, and she could go to sleep and be
rested for the next night out. The only reason I know about this is because of
the investigations undertaken by the childrenÕs welfare department, which is
like the HRS here in the USA who found us in these conditions and never did let
me forget that as long as I was under their guardianship.
At one point or another, the neighbors must
have been bothered by my crying or screaming all night because one of them
called the authorities to finally have them take us away from her. I was sent to a hospital to die once
again because of malnutrition and with the understanding by the
doctors, that I only would survive not more than 3 weeks the most because my
body was just bones and skin. I was told that I was only three months old at
that time. In the meantime, my brothers were examined and released to my grand
aunts who believed that boys had more value or are more important then girls,
so I was again left in a hospital until one of the neighbors, Clara Unterkreuter you will hear a lot more about her later, took
me in as a foster child and so my journey through the child welfare system and
the institutions began.
As she told me, she had to fight for my
release from the hospital because there was no hope for my survival. She won
the fight, and I was released into her custody. I guess,
the doctors figured that they did not have anything to loose and HRS was
relieved of their responsibilities until they found out through the hospital
that after about two months I was recovering and would survive. That is when
they figured out that the immediate danger was gone and being responsibility
for me is not that risky any more thatÕs when they took me away from the
neighbor and sent me back to an orphanage. The only thing childcare services ever did was checking on
the foster parents or who ever took care of you at the time, that they gave you
enough to eat if they did that, everything else did not really matter unless
you ended up dead; the childcare system was useless.
I cannot continue my biography without
telling you about the circumstances at that time of the way foster care and
orphanages were regulated, if they were regulated. The way the children were
treated by the state and the other institutions of the Òmerciful orders of
religionÓ, better called by us later ÒThe child welfare hellholesÓ. To make it easier
to understand, the rules and laws under which we children and juveniles of the
post-war West-Germany were raised, have been established in 1878 and have not
been revised until the late 1970Õ but only reviesed with still not enough protection for children. The
ÒChildren Protection ActÓ was not signed until 1992, which to me is
unbelievable when finally some, but only some of the child protection laws were established. All throughout the postwar years, and
continuing during the 1950Õs , 60Õs and 70Õs many of
us children and juveniles were held in church and government run institutions.
There existed more than 3000 of such prison-like institutions all over Germany.
While Germany began to prosper after the war, we as orphans became a reminder
of what had happened in the past and no one really wanted to be reminded of the
tragedies which occurred during that war.
Almost all of us came from poor families
or did not have any family (parents) at all, which was even worse and gave more
excuses and grounds for abusive treatment since there was no one there to give
any kind of protection. All of us
only wanted and needed kind words, just a hint of a little love and most of all
ÒUnderstandingÓ. We were the ÒBaby
BoomersÓ of Germany just not with the same benefits and opportunities as our
American counterparts.
Well, let me continue and to keep things
simple, I will call the neighbor just Clara, whom I never could call mother or
mom and who got more involved in my life as my foster mother. She was married
to a high school professor at that time and his name, I believe was Heinz, I am
not sure because regrettably, he was only a small part of my life. So, Clara
and Heinz fought for me with the HRS and prevailed they picked me up from the
orphanage and I finally became their foster child at the tender age of 6
months. To give you an idea about
the living environment in those times, no one really owned houses the majority
rented and Berlin had a lot of very old buildings from the turn of the century which
had super large rooms with ceilings and windows so high, you felt like you
lived in a smaller version of a castle. The apartments were meant for higher
class folks and their servants. They were dark, large and the shadows could
frighten any child at night or before it became dark it was depressing. I guess, that is why I ended up living in the subtropics like
Miami, Florida. Well, to continue, there are really no events that I can
remember as of this writing until I was 3 years old, because a lot of the
buried memories are returning to me and I see images, I cannot put a place or
event to it yet. I only remember very
vague the day my foster father Heinz died, and do not know what made Clara tell
me this over and over again unless, she wanted me to feel guilty for her loss.
But how can you make some one feel guilty on something like that who is at such
a tender age never the less, here is the story which influenced me quite a bid throughout
my life: According to Clara, Heinz
and herself were trying to cross the street, with me being in the middle, to
pick up a bed for me since I had grown to big for the crib. It seemed that my
foster father had spoiled me more than Clara cared for and that would explain
later her behavior towards me.
Well, we were about to cross the street in front of our apartment
building when Heinz, holding my hand, which she later emphasized constantly,
collapsed to the ground with a hart attack. As she told me later over and over
again, when the ambulance came and carried Heinz away, she ran after it trying
to catch up, with the un-believe that he was gone forever. I believe, I
remember some of it and it had influenced me psychological quite a lot because
it became a part of the reasons for my panic attacks in adulthood.
Well, that day and a few after that, I was
looking and searching for Heinz behind the chair in which he was always sitting
and calling out for him ÒDaddy, daddy where are youÓ, so I was told by Clara
because he spent a lot of time in that chair with me.
From that day on, after my foster fatherÕs
death, she moved all her attention to me. I became her emotional punching bag and
constant companion. It was convenient for her because I could not go any where
and had no choice other then listening to the horror stories she soon began telling
me. On top of all that, we spent at least 3 times a week at the cemetery where
I played for hours at a time between the graves and the huge headstone figures
which portrait angels, whole family statues and the sort, being half the time
scared out of my wits of them, especially when dusk set in. I can remember
spending so many hours there, that I knew the names on a lot of headstones and
saw a lot of funerals happen. What I hated the most was, the bells when a
funeral was about to begin, that sound still resides in my mind and until
today, I do not want to listen to these kind of bells. The most depressing was the winter
time, when we went there a lot more often, 3 times a week and every Saturday
and Sunday after church. Clara
spent a lot of time there fixing up the graves of her husband and mother and I
forgot who elseÕs, it seems to me now that she was living there. Talking about
living in a depressive environment as a child however, the cemetery visits as a
playground where just part of it.
Every day at night before it became dark,
she sat me down at her feet and I had to listen to her horror stories of the
happenings and her experiences in WW II in a very descriptive vivid manner and
never turning on the light. In my mind I saw pictures of bombs, craters, fires
dead people, and hands caught under the bombs every day. There was not one day
when she did not speak about it or described it.
Until recently I still had nightmares
running every night from bombs or from fire rain, these daily stories went on
until she passed. I forgot to
mention the only highlight at that time in my life was the neighborÕs daughter
Heidi. She was three years older than I but loved to show me her friendship by
pushing me to the floor all the time, just for the heck of it. It was a
blessing for me and we became very close, I was allowed to spent
quite some time with her because her aunt lived in our building and she stayed
with her a lot.
You have to remember the environment we
lived in, in those post war years. The ruins of Berlin were still very much
there and rebuilding took a long time, I did love to play in those ruins it was
a giant playground (picture below).
Berlin was almost destroyed and a lot of
people tried to rebuild their lives without all the men whoÕs
lives have been lost in the War. Clara was a TrŸmmerfrau
(Brick-Women) she was one of
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ItÕs not me but it shows playground
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hundreds of
women at work, picking up bricks, knocking the mortar off, and stacking them up to be recycled into new
buildings. Money was still very tight and the
food supply was still short.
TrŸmmerfrau (Brick-Women |
American Solders distributed care packages
with food to help out the orphans and foster children. It was a happy occasion
when I was able to eat some fruit or peanut butter once a month which was
delivered by the nice American solder but we were still left without a lot of
necessities then.
They also threw some real great Christmas
parties for orphans with presents, lots of food at candle light. I do remember
those times quit with warmth in my heart and believe that this is the reason
while I am still fond of the Christmas season. It seemed that ClaraÕs heart had
a real soft spot around that time too because at that time she had fun
decorating the Christmas tree with me and giving me presents at Christmas Eve.
We were mostly alone and I was able to enjoy some peace and quite time with
less punishment however, we still visited the dreaded cemetery but the winter
with the snow and cold prevented her from staying there for to long which made
the Christmas time for me the best of the year all around. I still donÕt
understand what made Clara switching moods from moment to another it is really
hard to understand what has happened to her, what made her treat and tourture an innocent child like that.
In the meantime, I reached the preschool
age and finally was able to meet other children. I did not make friends but it
was a temporally relieve from the darkness of my environment at home. I
believe, that there was mercy in play that I have just a vague memory of the
beadings, which were quite frequently. Again, the neighbor must have heard the
crying and screams because sometimes one or two rang the doorbell to inquire
why I was making so much noise and crying, but Clara got rid of them fast, by
making either stomach or a tooth ache the reasons for my behavior and that I
was just over reacting. It still amazes me how sheÕs got away with that
considering that this was a constant occurrence. Here in the United States, Child
Services would have remove d me immediately, but in Berlin Germany, at that
time, no
one really cared. As I grew older, especially the school years were
unbelievably hard and painful. Clara was a very strict catholic and went to
church with me every Sunday and Friday. I began to realize that she was
drinking and smoking a lot despite her religious believes. It seemed though that when she was
drinking her mood was better and I actually had a nice time once in a while.
She taught me how to ballroom dance and we were partying every special
occasion, it was rare however because not every day was a holiday. She also
taught me how to cook and save money, how to store food what kind, etc. because
she believed that the time of starvation could come again. I still have the habit
of storing food, friends and my husband laugh and call me a hamster; by the way
Clara bought me one when I was little and his name was poop, poop but in
German. You know what, there are things I am really great full for like what
she has taught me, I have no worries running out of food or supplies during
hurricane season. I hope that I made you smile a little before I go on to the
darker side of this biography again. Believe me, I like to laugh, smile and I even
have sense of humor despite the physical and emotional abuse I received
throughout my childhood. Even though the physical abuse was quite severe at
times, the emotional abuse left deeper scars and instilled a lot of fears into
me which stayed with me and affected me throughout my whole life.
I never understood the reasons for all her
abuse and anger towards me even though I behaved like any other normal child,
at times I was quite, I could create beautiful art with my hands and enjoyed
that tremendously. At other times, I could be very active and was always
curious about anything and everything. I loved to learn and discover, but it
did not matter what I did, everything was wrong in her eyes.
The physical abuse at the time before I
began my school years was very painful, for example, as children we do not
always like to eat what is being served by our parents and sometimes they try
to coheres us into eating what they want anyway however, if trying to convince
you at the end does not work, you would believe that the parent gives up or
letÕs you sit at the table until you eat anyway, or let it go all together and
that would be the normal behavior of a parent but not so Clara. My least liked
food was hot dogs believe it or not, but we call them wiener in Germany. Even
though I hated them, we had them at least once a week. They were inexpensive and
easy to cook however, I could not swallow them and if I did, I threw them up
right away. For some reason, my stomach did not agree with them but that did
not stop Clare to shove them down my throat she must have cooked a large pot
full or mixed them what ever I threw up, because they did not seem to end. It
did not matter how often she tried to have me eat them, I did throw them up
again and again and there was nothing I could do about. When she ran out of them,
her next step was to beat my butt until it was black, blue and swollen, and if
that did not help, she threw me into the large oversized antique bed room with
those dark looming high walls and locked me up. Well, I did like the last part,
locking me in the bedroom, because I was by myself and able to look out the
window or had some fun checking out the boxes lying around in that huge room.
Not that there was much to see because it was a ÒHinterhofÓ (Backyard) but not the nice once you
see here in Florida, they were in between old buildings from the 1800Õs , no
plants or even a tree, just other windows of apartments, occupied with people
who did not know each other, or did not want to know each other. The occupants
of these living facilities only met when they were washing they laundry or
beating their rugs to a pulp, we did not know anything about electric vacuum
cleaners. Ohh yep, I remember there were some other
foods I could not eat and made my stomach throw it back out again, it was pea soup und potato soup with
wieners in it, we did have the same ritual which took place about two or three
times a week. I have no idea why my stomach caused so many problems and
continued to be problematic throughout the later years in life.
When it was not about food, she found
other reasons to beat me one of them was discipline, and she believed I needed
that a lot pretty much on a daily basis and was enough cause
for the wooden hanger or the cane to come out from the closet or anything else made
out of wood in form of a stick, whatever she could find. The beatings were
severe, I could not sit nor stand, or do anything else for that matter and my
behind was raw as it could be after she was done with me. There were times when
I tried to run away from her around our living room table, believe it or not it
was round, but no matter what I did she caught me and her temper including the
beading grew worse. I had so many scars on my behind that at times I did not
even feel her beating me any more which was a blessing however, the mental and
psychological scars never went away. She knew, just to use wooden objects, because they did not
leave very visible scars to the eye. Discipline was her major excuse to bead me
when ever she felt like I did something she didnÕt like but I really never knew
what it was until it was too late. Even though the neighbors did report the
screaming to the ÒChild WelfareÓ but no one checked up on her nor did they seem
to care since it said in my files that she was a good catholic, church going
women and that was good enough for them, so why bother.
The worst part was when it happened on the
streets. It did not matter where we were, if Clara thought discipline was
needed, the beating took place right there in the street in view of all the
people walking by, pulling down my panties and hitting me with her hands (I
still canÕt understand how she could use them afterwards) until I could hardly
walk. Just turning my head back and looking at something of interest to me
while I was walking with her holding her hand was reason enough to discipline
me openly in the street. The other thing she liked to do was to discipline me
when she was ready to go out at night which was quite often. While hiding
behind the couch in the dark she loved to kneel behind there, waiting for me to
get out of bed and look out the window at the stars which I so loved to do but
that was all, I really did not do anything else, I did not understand her
reasons for playing that game. As soon as she saw me standing by the window,
she stormed in and beat my butt to a pulp again. If you thought that would stop
me from going to the window again when I thought she was gone, it did not.
There was some kind of feeling of peace just gazing at the stars, I surely did
not think that there was anything wrong with doing that but Clara had a
different idea about that and wanted to teach me a lesson by repeating this
game over and over again. I fell for it all the time but what she did not
realize however was that the more she beat my behind for that, the less likely
I would stay in bed because I could not lay on my behind nor on my site any way
because of the pain.
Later on as an adult I realized that she
avoided of being discovered by the neighbors of abusing a child physically which
was placed into her care , by not using any other visible part of my body, not
the system cared anyway, because they would have liked us ÒChildren of the
Postwar GermanyÓ to disappear. However, the emotional scars resulting from
these treatments stayed with me forever. It took me a long time to convince my
self that she tried the best she could just did not know better. I had to think
that way to be able to forgive her and go on with my life but that did not
happen until I was 40 years old.
The
Next Chapter In My Life
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To continue with my early school years,
I can remember the first day of school. It was a tradition to have a huge
decorated tube filled with candies in your arm and then had your picture
taken to remind you of that. Just take a look at the picture to your left
wasnÕt that cute? And sweet, believe you me. It was one of the nicer moments in my
life and I enjoyed it very much. It was my luck that Clara had a big ego and
cared very much about what other people thought about her, so she kept up the
nice, caring women who took in an unfortunate child, showing off what she
would do or has done for me. But ,while beginning a
new chapter in my childhood, it changed the way Clara was looking at me and
that added different types of abuse to the already existing ones. You
know, I understand that reading about those things being or having been done
to children hurts and can make your stomach crawl. I know, it does it to me
but I have to give you a picture about the things happened to me so that you
understand the beautiful gifts I have been given by God to use these
experiences and gifts for His glory and to help His children and souls who
are still suffering in this world. |
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My
Friend Heidi, remember the one I told you about before? She became a big part
of my life. Because of the proximity, we were able to see each other a lot what
a highlight that was. I did not
realize until quite a bit later, that she also was abused emotionally and
sexually by her father. We dreamed up a lot of stories together and escaped into
a fantasy world where only she and I existed. We never shared our experiences
at all, but somehow knew that we have had similar burdens in one form or
another by being together and dreaming up these stories, we escaped from
whatever we experienced just for a little while but boy did that soothe our
souls. I thank God for bringing her into my life and that we stayed friends for
a long time. When the weather
allowed it, we went all together to East Berlin quite frequently for the
weekends since HeidiÕs aunt and uncle owned a small piece of property there
with a cute little house and a nice yard in front and back. The borders of east
and west were still open and you could cross easily what a lot of people did
because school supplies, toys and other goodies were a lot less expensive
thanks to the exchange rate at that time. Well, Heidi and I were in paradise and believe me the stories
we made up became more real in that different environment, not to forget the
coffee and cake we were allowed to have on Sunday afternoons. The adults were
occupied with them self s and we just enjoyed what kids normally do, playing
with the water, playing hide and seek, dressing up in adult shoes and just
being plain mischievous.
One
of those weekends was Sunday, August the 13th of 1961, the day that
East Berlin began putting up the famous wall and stopped everybody from leaving
to West Berlin. That night, we
arrived on the S-Bahn (like the subway, just not
underground) at Bahnhof Friedrich Strasse,
the famous train station where you crossed from east to west and where you encountered
the ÒVopoÕsÓ the East German Volks
Polizei,
not very friendly believe me.
The
other line between East and West Berlin was the ÒCheck point CharlieÓ thatÕs were
you crossed from the American Sector to East Berlin. I included some pictures for you, so that you have an idea
how it looked like.
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I
was 10 years old at the time and not knowing what to think. I was scared when I
suddenly saw the ÒVoposÓ were coming through the
train, demanding to open our bags, emptying the content out on the floor for
them to sift through. They did not even stop at my doll which I had to undress
since it was a baby size doll and looked real to them. I still try to
understand what the purpose of that was, holding a machine gun towards a child
and demanding to open up the toy. All
I remember is, that I was so scared that I began to cry hard and fumbling with
my doll, so they ripped it out of my hands which made matters worse. But the most important thing was that
Clara gave me her last name on her registration papers which was Unterkreuter. Later on, when I was 21 years of age, I found
out that I had relatives in East Berlin, and Uncle, Aunt and two Cousins and I
carried their last name.
In
Germany, specifically in Berlin, you have to register with the Police every
time you change your residency. The ÒVoposÓ had their
list of registration and if your name just did bear a resemblance of one of
their list, you were out of luck and they kept you in East Berlin for years to
come. All of us were scared and with good reason, they kept HeidieÕs
uncle, who was already in his 70Õs in East Berlin and split up the family. That
night, a lot of families were broken up, a lot of
people were so hurt. Some of the family members never saw their relatives again
because it took many years for the East to allow just some of us at certain
times to go back and reunite with family members. The same was happen to us, HeidieÕs aunt never saw her husband again.
When
people tell me here in Miami, that I do not understand Communism, I have to
tell them, I saw it knew it and lived it. The times I was allowed to cross the
border, I had to be very careful what I was wearing or what I was carrying.
Forget Jeans, people in the East killed you for that, food was scares fruit non
existent and so was meet, including cold cuts, and if you brought something the
ÒVoposÓ at the border they did not like, there was a
good chance that you could disappear and never been heard from again. the ÒVoposÓ at the border they did not like, there was a good
chance that you could disappear and never been heard from again. I am just so happy, that the wall was
taken down and family could be reunited again.
Well,
let me continue my story even though I know, for some it will be hard to read
however, I am still here and trust me, everything passes. I remember more from
my school years because the abuse was daily physically and emotionally. But the
worst of all was the good uncle who supplied us with meat every week. He was a
butcher and working in a slaughter house where he could take home meat which
was close to the expiration date. I realized a lot later in life, his reasons
for bringing us meat every week, it was not because he liked Clara no, he liked
me. I do not know when it all began but it began somewhere when I was about 6
years old until I was about 10 or 11 years old. I forgot the days of the week,
but I remember when he showed up, Clara left me with him in the living room and
disappeared for quite a while in the kitchen to prepare the meat on
purpose? Well, the good old uncle
loved to French kiss me while he fondled me at the same time. I am realizing
now since I am able to talk about it that Clara made me pay for the meat with
my innocence over and over again. If I just would have had some one to protect
me, I would have made lot less wrong decisions and would have had a lot less
pain in my life. It is still very hard for me to talk about the weekly
molestations without getting sick to my stomach. For many years until late into
my adulthood, I did not remember any of this it was buried so deep, that I
still cannot remember his name. I
believe strongly that God has been protecting me all those years from
remembering a lot of happenings in my life until it was time to tell my story. I
wish, I could tell you about a protected, pleasant and happy childhood but I
canÕt.
Clara
sent me to a catholic private school St. Francis, she had to pay for my
attendance every month, believe me so did I. We only had nuns as teachers who
were so strict they were always ready with a wooden stick to punish you. Their
favorite place was your hands back and front and they hit you so hard and it
was very painful, your hands became strawberry red, they swelled, and it took
hours for you to be able to use them again. The schooldays were long sometimes
interesting, but most of the time quite painful. It seemed like that the nuns picked me out of the class the
most because it was common knowledge that I was a foster child and that
discriminating against me was an ok thing. Most of the children attending at St. Francis came from well
off families who donated funds, furniture and what not to look good when they
go to heaven. The children by them selves were not much kinder to me except for
a couple them, my classmates teased me a lot about my skinny legs and wearing
these hand made stockings. I have to admit, they were awful, Clara knitted them
her self every winter, and I dreaded part of the winter time for that
particular reason while the other part of the winter time was enjoyable. I
loved the snow and could play for hours at a time in it. I loved it, when we
went to the park with our old wooden sled to play. Clara could be nice once in
a while and making me forget the darker site of her. I loved to play in the snow so much, that
Clara allowed me some times to go outside and play by my self with the children
of the neighborhood. Sometimes, as children do, we forgot the time and played
longer then we were supposed to. Did it happen quite a bit? You bet it did, but
no matter how much I was punished for that, it was a common occurrence in the
winter time. Once I got to the front door, she really reminded of me being late
big time. It did not matter if it was five minutes or half an hour, boy was
Clara angry. Now imagining your self standing in a lot
of snow freezing cold and wet, having been playing in it for quite some
time. If you think she would let
me in to warm up, think again. Clara could get so mad, that she would let me
stand at the front door for hours at a time, and it did not matter that it got
dark in the meantime. No wonder, I had a lot of colds and problems with my
tonsils being infected however, she kept forgetting that.
There
was one person I did like at lot at School, it was the priest his name was ÒPfarrer SchuetteÓ who was keeping
an eye on our souls at school and in church. He was the only one who understood the way I felt, that we
were not wealthy and that there was something he could not put his finger on
when he saw me with Clara together but, I believe that he had his
suspicions about the abuse. Pfarrer Schuette always talked to me, when it came to my problems
with the class mates, he always gave me his ear. For
my communion, he gave me the bible and the candle which I cherished for years
to come. Today, he is still in my thoughts and I have not forgotten him. He was
the only catholic who was compassionate, caring and loving towards me without
any ulterior motives.
The
other highlight I had in school and the one I looked forward to every week were
the music classes. We had a chorus which transmitted every Sunday via the major
radio station in Berlin ÒThe RiasÓ the church service and I was proud to be a part in that chorus
even though, I could not read
notes but had a voice which carried and sounded really good. However, not being
able to read notes and not having really the mind for these things, it became
my downfall later and I was thrown out. Well mind you, the teacher and
conductor of our chorus was non other than the wife of the famous world
renowned Herbert von Karan, that gives you an idea how prestigious my school
and the chorus was (donÕt ask what connections Clara had to keep me there). I began learning the flute, still not
being able to read the notes, but it was very pleasurable to me and being able
to use my creativity helped me to forget for a while the abuse I had to endure.
When
I grew older I understood more about her actions. Her biggest punishment in her
mind was, sending me to my birth father to Australia. I was so scared of that
because I did not know him and especially that country. She never let me forget
that I was her foster child and she could send me any where she wanted if I did
not comply to whatever she thought I needed to do, and the other constant
threat over my head was the ÒOrphenageÓ for hard to
handle children which were like prisons believe me, you did not want to end up
there, abuse, torture, mental and physical abuse was a daily method for raising
children. But come to think of it, the so called regular orphanage where not
really a walk in the park either later on, I found out the difference with did
not account for to much. Well, to continue, I did realize that I became quite
an active child and it became a little more difficult for her to handle me so
she figured therefore, more discipline was needed to keep me under control but,
the more she disciplined me, the more I became a tomboy and ended up constantly
in physical fist fights, it did not matter if it was a girl or a boy I fought
with and sometimes it was a whole group at school sometimes it was fun when my
group got the upper hand, I do have to admit that. But the reasons why I became
like a tomboy was, it really did not matter what I would do that day punishment
was just around the corner anyway. Looking back, I was a very curious child,
always trying to discover and learning, a character trade I still have, it fueled
ClaraÕs fire to teach me and make me study more than I need at times. Now to
make sure that I really took in that knowledge and had the discipline to learn,
she sat next to me every day while I was doing my home work after school for
hours at a time with a wooden ruler in her hands, ready to come down on mine
should I bent the letters a little bit while I was writing, was not in line,
and if I did not write straight, I had to do it over and over again until Clara
was satisfied, with every single letter.
The good thing coming out of that is, my hand writing is very straight
and detailed now. I was always scared of homework when I was on my way to the
house from school, knowing, what would lie ahead. When I look at all those
things happen to me in my childhood, I must say that I still benefit from some
of her discipline, I love to study and to expand my mind. Whenever I do not
know the answer to something, I search for it until I find it. I believe
strongly in education and most of what I have learned is self taught and I am
still learning, but it came with a price and I know for sure, I would never do
that to my own children nor to any other children. I believe strongly in
guidance and understanding, not in punishment you can get more out of the
children that way and get more of their corporation, it is a two way street,
that is just my personal opinion.
In
the summers, we traveled to Austria almost every year by train and bus and I
looked forward to that with great anticipation. There, Clara was less
controlling and gave me more space to play with other children on the farms or
just let me be by myself. I learned to work the farm, riding horses and
harvesting the hay. Believe it or not, I also learned how to milk a cow and a
goat, quite an adventure. She had a brother in law living in Kaernten, Troepolach (a county
and a city) nestled in a beautiful valley surrounded by forests, lakes, wild
rivers and mountains, I still remember the beautiful
sites and sometimes miss them.
|
I
could walk for hours in the forest, clime up the mountains or sitting on
super big rocks which were strewn all over the wild rivers. I remember such a
peace because it made up for the rest of year, were I was in physical and
emotional pain for most of the time. This was my time and I took advantage of
it as much as I could. I learned the different type of mushrooms and harvested
them in abundance, I picked wild strawberries and blue berries in abundance,
I listened to the sounds of the birds, and the different animals residing in
the forest watching them watching me deciding what to think about me or what
I was doing in their territory. |
|
The
way we are living our lives in the present time with all the technology
available, rushing and running all day long, it is hard even to describe the
tremendous peace I have felt back then. We do not notice the beauty of GodÕs
creations any more we do not stop to smell the air filled with the flavor of
the forest trees, or watch the water and water drops jumping over the huge
rocks strewn all over the wild river reflecting the sun. Watching the animals,
big or small and the harmony with which they go about their daily lives. When I
think back, I can see all that very vivid and wish, that I could be transported
to there right now. I was alone most of the time and very rarely did I play
with other children and then only when I was on the fields. The
forest, wild rivers and mountains where my domain, and I did not take any body there
with me. Clara was very occupied with her brother in law Uncle Jost. I believe now, that there was something going on between
them, but as long as I had the freedom for the duration, it did not matter to
me even though his feelings were running hot and cold towards me. When I was in
the house with them, I was depressed and could not wait to get out any chance I
had. The happenings in this house are somewhat blurry to me and I just remember
that I felt very uncomfortable staying there most of the time and some things,
like their love for beer and whine. They did party a lot which again, took
their attention away from me, it could not have been better. The food I remember,
I loved very much especially the home cured bacon and fresh made cheese. I ate
that all the time and even learned how to make the cheese from scratch using
the cream of the fresh milk from the cows which I just milked in the morning. I
have learned so much on these farms that without a doubt, should the need
arise, I could survive very well if no technology were available, sometimes, I
even wish we would not have so much, it would bring people and families closer
together to themselves and nature, but who asks me? Uncle Jost did take time with me
teaching me how to hunt, early in the mornings at dawn, laying in wait for the
pray which was almost all the time a reindeer. I did not like that at all and
pretended I would look out for one, but every time I saw one, I made a noise so
it could run away. Uncle Jost did not like that at
all and figured that he was wasting his time and did not take me hunting any
more, I did not mind. The fishing was enjoyable and I became better than he
did, but he did not like that either, so that became a rare occasion. I could
not stand it when we had the hunted pray for lunch or dinner I could not eat it
and ran away from the table all the time. There were pigeons, and other type of
birds ending up on our table and I just could not handle it. But for some
reason or another, Clara was in peace with my behavior and left me alone. It
must have been that she wanted to show her self on her best behavior with him,
and I loved it.
I
wish, I could dwell a while longer on the beauty of Austria and the peaceful
memories, but it is time to get back to reality if I like or not. Most of the
time, we stayed there for 8 weeks instead of the regular 6 weeks given to us by
the school and Clara made sure that I had the extra two week vacation. Since she
hammered the knowledge and studies into me anyway, she did not worry for me to
catch up with the school curriculum and if there would be a problem, the ruler
coming down on my hands would do the trick. The last time we traveled to Austria was in 1964 and I was
just 13 years old when another tough journey began for me. Clara came back from that trip totally
confused and no one knew really what went on. Her speech was slurred and nothing
she said did make any sense. All that happened very fast donÕt ask me how, but
it was fast and I did not understand anything. I had to go back to school and to my surprise Clara did not
come with me or took me personally which she always did. I liked that very much
because it gave me more freedom but how much more freedom I would get was not
something I could have imagined,
and what happened next came at me so fast, that believe it or not, I am still trying to put the events into
proper sequence even after so many years. Should I have any problems with that,
I do apologize in advance, just bare with me on this.
The
next thing I remember was that I found a small piece of paper on the floor one
day which looked like a prescription from a Doctor but not a local one, it was
from a doctor in Austria, and it was not a prescription, it was a diagnosis and
recommendation to continue more tests to make sure that his diagnoses was
right. I looked at it scared and surprised, not matter what happened and no
matter how Clara treated me, the diagnoses scared me and even at my age I knew
what it meant. The doctor in Austria determined that Clara had a brain tumor he
was just not sure of the location and how advanced it was, he recommended
extensive testing. Clara became worse very fast and I began taking over the
daily shores including taking care of her, she became bedridden so fast that I
had to take care of her full time. Clare had a sister which was not really on
good terms with her but came over to look what went on in our house however, that
was the extend of it maybe some advise to go to a family doctor with that piece
of paper. The only other help I
received at that time was ClaraÕs friend whom she has saved in WWII which I
called Aunt Kathy. Aunt Kathy was Jewish and owned a clothing manufacturing
company, she was forever great full that Clara saved her from the Nazis back
then and to show her gratitude, I received a sample of her creations on every
occasion and had to wear them, boy did I hated these clothes, but I loved Aunt
Kathy as long as she did not interfere with my education.
Aunt
Kathy was not very domestic and therefore not much help to me in that
department, and since she was so busy with her business, she really did not
have much time, but at least it was some emotional support to me because she
was the only one who was interested or cared about what I felt. The only thing
I did not need at that time was her consistent correction of my language with
was not bad, but it seemed she hated my Berliner dialect and interrupted almost
every sentence of mine, which did not leave much space to be able to finish a
whole sentence. I have to mention these things about Aunt Kathy because that
explains one of the reasons for some of my decisions later on, I am just
preparing you. Well, I do not want
to forget one of the regular guest at our house, which
was the good old uncle he just did not want to give up and continued to bring
us meat. I believe strongly, he wanted to continue to do with me what he was
used too but ClaraÕs illness prevented him from doing so besides, I had more
freedom now, I made the decisions in our house and there was no place any more
for his abuse however, the meat was appreciated. It did not take long that I
also began to have the financial control and was forced to be in charge of
paying the bills, do the shopping, cooking etc. It did not take to long for me
to feel the effects of that stressful situation. I became physically weak and
suffered a lot from infected tonsils and fever. School was awful. The teachers
really had no idea what went on in our house and the responsibilities I had to
care for a dying foster mother, I do believe, that they did not want to know,
could have had something to do with maybe showing compassion are even taking
some responsibility to help me out. Instead the teachers put me down
constantly, it did not matter that I tried to attend school on a regular basis
even with the fever, the discrimination was unbearable at times it showed
through they punishment and my grades began to fall. One of the male teachers
was a real bastard, he constantly embarrassed me in front my class by making
fun of the way I was dressed and my name by singing a famous drinking song
which was written around my name ÒJeanetteÓ means in German ÒJohannaÓ . I was always stubborn and stayed in school and I was
determined to graduate come rain or shine. In the meantime, I do not clearly remember, but there was
one doctor who showed up once in a while at our house and he voiced his
diagnosis standing in front of ClaraÕs bed and in front of me stating ÒIt looks
like you almost drank your self to deathÓ
meaning, well Clara you did that to your self. Even I understood his disrespect and never let him into our
house again. Some of the events are blurry to me but I do remember that aunt
Kathy brought a friend to our house who was a doctor and transferred Clara to a
hospital from where she would never return. At that time Aunt Kathy packed a few of my things and made me
stay at her house. I do have to say, she really meant well but at my age, it
was so hard to be with her, she was almost more controlling than Clara besides
not being able to finish a whole sentence without her interruptions. The only
time I had peace and enjoyed my stay with her was when I visited the
manufacturing plant and interacted with the girls who knew me since I was little
and taught me how to sew at a very early age, I even designed dresses which
they later manufactured. I am not
saying that all my memories are hurtful or painful even though unfortunately
most of them are, but there are times I do remember fondly because I still
turned out to become an optimist despite the circumstance and that is what this
book really is all about.
In
the meantime, Clara deteriorated by the week and was almost incoherent. When I visited her, she sometimes
remembered me and was concerned about my well being, but most of the time her
sentences did not make sense and she was heavily sedated. I was suffering to see her like that
but felt guilty at the same time about my new acquired freedom I thought I had,
but that was an illusion. I was under age and kept forgetting that, that I was
not in control and that always some one else made decisions about me if I liked
it or not if, who ever made the decisions cared about me or not, I even forgot
who was in charge at a specific time which is good in a way, less resentments
to carry. After about two months
in aunt KathyÕs house, I ran away (which by the way became quite a pattern) to our old building in the middle of the
night, where we have lived originally and where my friend HeidiÕs aunt still
resided. She did let me stay there for a while but not without a price I found
out later. Clara had some beautiful original Rosenthal dishes from East
Germany, beautiful gold jewelry and Persian Fur Coats which were left in our
apartment and I did have the keys.
My hand made dolls with my own jewelry was also left in the apartment
tucked in the old big wood cabinets from the 1800Õs. Little did I know, HeidiÕs
aunt had been in contact with ClaraÕs sister who was snooping around to find
out where all our goodies were hiding to be able to enrich her self, never
caring about Clara nor about me, she could not wait for me to be put into an
orphanage. Unfortunately, I was
na•ve and told HeidiÕs aunt that I had the key, I was just 13 1/5 years old and
had no idea about the greed and conniving behavior of human beings, especially
not relatives remember, the abuse I had encountered appeared normal to me and
it was punishment for some things I have done or supposedly done, and a totally
different story. So, I gave them
the keys, but I do not remember why, but I believe they gave me a plausible
reason but to make a long story short, they took everything from the apartment,
everything of value and left me with absolutely nothing. My dolls, my personal
jewelry, ClaraÕs furs the dishes all that was gone when I went back in to the
apartment looking for my toys, nothing was left maybe a few of the real big
furniture which were not that easy to carry, unbelievable.
When
I think about that now while I am writing, it becomes more clear to me what
really happened in those times and the audacity of the grown ups to robe a
child who did not have any relatives left, no money or any other support and
whoÕs care taker was dying in the hospital. I never really thought about the severity of that situation
because all my life I have tried to just move on but no matter what, I never in
my life would I have hurt some one or a child just to enrich my self. I believe
strongly in my subconscious, those happenings were burned into my memory and I
made sure by my way of living in the past and now in the present, that all I
want to do is to help people so they would not have to endure the cruelness
of others who have no conscious or
morals. I still get angry very easy when I see injustice being done to humans
or animals who cannot defend them self.
But
let me continue to tell you what happened next even though it is another blurry
memory but some of it is still with me. HeidiÕs aunt, I still have to call her
that, because I cannot think of her name no matter what I try, must have called
the ChildrenÕs Wellfare since there was nothing else
to profit from any more and so, I was placed in an orphanage a catholic one,
which was right around the corner of my High School which was also catholic and
connected to my school both belonged together how convenient, I could not
escape the cruelty, the psychological and mental abuse of the nuns in the
orphanage during nights and weekends and I could not escape the discrimination
and cruelty and psychological abuse of the teachers at that school during the
day. It was a no win situation it effect me for the rest of my life and also my
future decisions of handling lifeÕs situation. I felt worthless, because that was the way I was treated,
orphans were garbage, if you did not have a mother or a father to protect you
or to check up on you at times, you became the target for the nunÕs
frustrations and the guardians who worked there. They let you know emotionally
or physically if they had a bad day or something unpleasant happened in their
lives in other words, we became a human punching bag. There was one of the nuns, I remember her name specifically,
she was one of the leaders there in what respect, I do not remember but she was
something else and her name was ÒSister AgnitaÓ, the
only name I ever remembered from that orphanage. I felt like everything
trembled when she approached the living room or kitchen, we all were scared of
her and knew that she will be picking one of us to really let out her
frustrations, we never knew who would be the one and we all would wait quietly
to see who she would choose. It was like ÒRussian RouletteÓ you never knew what
she would do to you or who she would choose one thing
we knew though, it was quite regular and hurtful. Most of the time when she
wanted to punish you physically for whatever she thought you did, she would use
a wooden stick, I believe now sincerely that this was a fashion in my times and
in my country. Did I make you
smile by writing that? Good because now, I can smile more often about the
happenings, because they passed long time ago. When Sister Agnita
was in the mood for emotional punishment, you were confined to your room, no
food, nothing to read and no connection to any body, all planned activities
where cancelled no matter how important some of them might have been. In the meantime, I was still visiting
Clara and only allowed to see her every two weeks. The weeks in between, I was
allowed by the orphanage to visit ClaraÕs sister, do not ask me how that came
about, I believe she asked the orphanage for permission. Let me tell you, the
reasons why ClaraÕs sister stayed close to me was very simple, she wanted the
rest of ClaraÕs belongings and asked me if she could have them once Clara was
dead. Why she asked my permission,
is totally unclear to me there must have been a reason but for me at that time,
visiting with her was an escape from the orphanage even if it was only two days
in a month.
ClaraÕs
condition was so bad that she was always incoherent when I visited her and the
hospital just put her bed in a storage room totally by her self. That memory still hurts,
and I cannot understand the reason for that treatment of a dying person, it is
beyond me. By writing all this, I must say that I am not proud of my heritage
at this moment this was so cold and with no compassion. Some people would say
that there is an equal balance, what goes around comes around, I am one of them
but what about forgiveness for a dying person? I still have the image of her in
lying in that storage room and the hospital could not have know what she has
done to me, so why such a cruel treatment? It is amazing by facing our past what we can find out about
our present fears and hang ups, why we have them, it is revealing and
liberating no psychiatrist could have given me that experience I am having now
by writing my biography. Talking
about biography, let me continue with it so that eventually, I will be able to
tell you all about the good things life has to offer.
By
my last visit to the hospital, nothing had changed with ClaraÕs condition and
the doctors only gave her a few days. They told me bluntly not to come back and
to forget about her, which was kind of hard to do but came with some
relieve. Initially when I looked
at Clara she seemed to be incoherent like usual but when I got close that
changed and in a split second Clara looked up at me with big, clear eyes
totally awake and began to speak. I was so shocked, that I lost my speech and
just stood at her bed site staring at her for a while listening what she was telling
me, what an experience. It was so important to her to tell me to take care of
my self and always eat enough so that I would never be hungry again so that I
could grow up strong. It was also
important to her to tell me that I should wear warm cloths in the winter time
to avoid the infection of my tonsils since this was a weakness of my body. It
was her last time to speak to me or any body for that matter, she never
regained consciousness again. I had no idea that the doctors were planning to
operate on her the next day and I just went back to the orphanage planning on
visiting her in two weeks despite doctorÕs orders not to come back again. Come
to think of it now, it did not make much sense, putting Clara on the operating
table and telling me not to visit her again, but who am I to understand their
reasoning. It was the middle of
the week on a Wednesday, December 2 of 1964, I will never forget that day, it
was the day I would and could visit Clara again and I got ready that morning
for a long bus ride to the hospital when I was told to wait until Sister Agnita would come and speak to me. I sat for hours in the
living room waiting for her and finally in the late afternoon she showed up. I
could not understand any of this because the time that I could visit Clara that
day had passed and it was now too late to go. When she approached me, her
demeanor did not look good to me it was scary to say the least, and it turned
out my feeling was right. The
first thing she shouted at me was a question asking me why I did not visit
Clara every week and what I was doing the Wednesdays in between those
visit. Totally scared of her, I
tried to explain the visits to ClaraÕs sister and that Sister Agnita should have known that I had permission to do so, I
was stuttering all the way and then asked her why I could not see Clara today?
She looked at me with cold eyes, no compassion what so ever, and in a loud
voice she said: ÒThere is no need to see her any more, she is dead now!Ó I do not know about you, but when I have
a traumatic experience or I am shocked beyond believe, my mind just freezes up
and it happened to me right there and then. After that and I remember very
clearly, I went to the chapel which was located in another building next to the
orphanage. The nuns took us there on Sundays for service or special catholic
celebrations, and that was the extend of it. It was
small with beautiful large stained glass windows, I do not remember the
specific designs just that they were so peaceful to look at. I sat down in the
front row of the Chapel and began to talk to God in my own way without reading
any verses or preset prayers, just Him and I communicating, it was mainly me
communicating but I believe now that God was listening. I have to stop for a
moment to let my tears do what they need to do and to work out this memory, I
am just realizing how much I was affected by Sister Agnitas
behavior and her deliverance of the news of ClaraÕs death. Whatever happened
with me and Clara and whatever she had done to me or allowed to be done to me,
she was still the person I knew best, who raised me, who fed me and clothed me,
who saved me from certain death and gave me a feeling of security no matter how
fragile it was, there was a bond if I liked it or not.
Talking
to God quietly and by myself without having to have a service or a lot of
people around me, became a pattern which has been with me throughout my whole
life and is still to this day. There is such a peace doing that in the midst of
major challenges or traumatic experiences, but you have to believe and know,
that God is listening. I know for sure that my frequent and quiet
communications with God have sustained me throughout my life and still do
otherwise I could not write this biography because I would not be living to
write this, I did attempt to commit sure side a couple of times. Believe me,
there are too many things I have to remember and rather leave them alone not
touching them because these memories are hurting me again and I have had enough
pain already. But one thing I
know, with GodÕs help I will get through this and there is already a
deliverance at times which I would otherwise miss; this is very important for
the healing process to be able let go of these hurts and pains forever.
Sometimes
I think, how could have all those things happened to me, am I making up these
events? The reasons for these
questions are simple, there is more, I am not done yet, my biography is not
finished yet and I have to continue. When you have finished this book, and I
sincerely hope you do, you will see lifeÕs challenges in a different way, with
the knowledge and hope that there is a God who will sustain you though
everything no matter what, just communicate with Him at all times. I do not
care what you believe in or who you believe in, it does not cost you anything
to give it a try. However, that is up to you, just let me continue to tell you
my story, and a story it is.
After
that dayÕs event, I walked around numb, I did not eat or talk and all I wanted
to do was to participate in a school play, which of course was totally
forbidden by Sister Agnita. Her reason for not
allowing me to do anything was that I did not cry day and night over the
passing of Clara, I just could not and dealt with it my way. It was two days
later when I found out through some one I do not remember from whom, that Clara
was supposed to be cremated against her will. I knew what her last wishes were since
she always talked about that, that as a catholic it was forbidden to be
cremated. I panicked and ran to the first priest I could find, friends of Clara
and her sister trying to prevent that, you can imagine, no adult would listen
to me of course, especially not to a foster child what was I thinking, there
was nothing I could have done. No one wanted to tell me when the funeral
service would be held until I found out from my brother Michael no less. The
reason you never heard me talking about my brother Michael or Peter for that
matter was, that we did normally not communicate because Clara and my grand
aunts had an agreement with each other to keep us a part, and it was
successful. I never knew the reason nor did I find out. But Michael somehow
located me and told me the time and place of the funeral service with the
promise to take me there. I was a little excited to be with my brother, finally
some one from my own family a support even if it was a small one. The day came,
my brother picked me up and we drove to the service not knowing what lie ahead.
When we arrived, I saw ClaraÕs relatives with ClaraÕs jewelry and mine, wearing
her Persian fur coats, what a site. Now I knew the reason they hid the time and
place of the service from me, so that I would not see what ClaraÕs relative had
stolen from her and me. I did not know much about inheritance or wills, I was
too young but one thing I knew was that everything was supposed to be given to
me it was her wish, because Clara always talked about that to me.
However
all the things the jewelry and fur coats did not mean much to me my dolls yes,
I did miss them and was a little upset about them being lost to me, but all in
all, too many events and hurts happened for me to give too much importance to
those material things. Instead, I felt a big relief and sadness at the same
time about ClaraÕs death for which I felt guilty for many years after.
Following these events, the treatment of the nuns got a lot worse because now,
there was no one of ClaraÕs family interested in me any more, they got what
they wanted and just told the Child Welfare to leave me where I was, there was
no use for me any where and no one would have any time to look after me. So, I
became more quite and withdrawn at the orphanage and began planning my escape
while I became quite a clown at school, making constant jokes and getting into
trouble trying to get attention why, I do not remember maybe it was just
something I needed to do to deal with the abusive treatment in the
orphanages. Not that I did bad
things really, nothing worth mentioning, just some practical jokes and the
like. When it came out, I was severely punished by the nuns. Looked up in those
big bedrooms which were shared by about 6 or more
girls with no supper, not light or anything, the usual. Any function in school
where I was supposed to participate in, I was forbidden to attend, no laughing
for me, because when I did, I was told that I would not grieve for Clara and
that I am supposed to grieve, I was told that I had no feelings because I also
did not cry like I was supposed to, I could not cry, I was numb from all the
abuse, I have learned not to cry for many years because it did not change
anything for me anyway. When I went to school, the teachers, specifically one,
made fun of me all the time and treated me like garbage which motivated the
other children to do the same to me so, why cry? Finally, the following year at
Christmas time I escaped with one little paper bag, it contained some
toiletries which I cherished very much because I did like the smell of them, these
were some Christmas presents, but do not ask me who gave them to me, I just
cannot remember that but they where very important to me, so important to me
that this was the only thing I took. I planned my escape very carefully to do it when it was the day
of my kitchen duties and I had to bring the garbage out into the backyard
through a hallway which led to the outside of the building. This day came fast
and I ran as fast as I could, leaving the garbage somewhere strewn all over the
hallway, but I was out. I do not remember with clarity where I went to and how
I was able to get there, I have to come back to that later but I do not think
that it has so much of importance considering the events which came after.
After
my escape from the catholic orphanage, I felt like that new opportunities
opened up for me and with that not thinking ahead, that there will be more new
challenges how could I, I was just a teenager who did not know what to do and
what would be the right thing to do. I thought that being relieved of the
abuse, having finally freedom and being able to make my own decisions for my
self, of course that was an illusion. As I somewhat remember, I went to my old
childhood friend auntÕs house hoping to find here there, but I didnÕt. Her
aunt, I forgot her name, brought me to HeidiÕs parents where she stayed and
they took me in for a few days. HeidiÕs parents really did not care about her
and what she was doing so we made the best of it for these few days, caught up
on past and present events. It was a nice time we spent in her room, while she
drank cognac like a fish however, I still enjoyed her company and had finally a
feeling of comfortability which unfortunately did not last long. Heidi told me that
she brought bottles of cognac from the restaurant her parents owned and hid it
in her bedroom. I remember her telling me, that she was drinking a quarter of a
bottle a night. At that time, I had no idea what an alcoholic was but
understand that she was drowning the neglect and sexual abuse from her father.
While
I was enjoying my escape, I kept forgetting that I was an orphan, a warden of
the state and just turned 14 but I felt like I was an adult by now, I was not a
child any more nor was I an adult and after about a week, HeidiÕs parents
called the childrenÕs welfare system and told them that they really did not
want me and had enough to handle with their own daughter, so here I went again
and the childrenÕs welfare system had trouble placing my in the appropriate
orphanage because of my age. One of my guardian, I do not even remember the
name nor if he/she was male or female, placed me into an orphanage for children
and I was the oldest one there which did not bother me except for the shores I
had to do. I was in charge of making sandwiches galore, which I hated and still
do until today, had kitchen duties every day, watched the children, put them to
bed, etc. The orphanages used us children to work in these places so they did
not have to hire and pay more personnel which they would have had to employ. We
were maids, kitchen help, baby sitters, cleaning ladies, laundry workers and
put into other occupations when ever the need arose. In a way, taking care of
the little once was not to a bad part of it, I did enjoy the children and it took
my mind off the fact that life had not been good to me and was inflicting a lot
of pain on me. I loved the children especially the little ones who really did
not know what had happened to them. They were so innocent and had a hard life
already and it showed in their faces. Some of them came into the orphanage with
a lot of abuse and acted that out with bad behavior however, I was able to work
with them because I understood, I felt their pain and could relate. I began to
realize that there was so much pain and hardship out there and that I was not
alone, I am still very angry about what has been done to children and what is
still happening now, unbelievable, donÕt the adults not know that they were
children them self at one time? Little did I know, that it was not over yet and that there
lay more ahead of me in school, orphanages, more foster care, more orphanages,
with more emotional, psychological and physical abuse to much that I really did
not want to remember however, by avoiding or burring the pain, it will not go
away nor will it end the nightmares of torment and fury from the child welfare
personnel.
There
are really no statistics nor is there hardly any documentation available to
describe the orphanÕs fate. It was buried by the system and destroyed by the
private catholic, protestant institutions because we did not matter, we were
garbage, not worth anything we were just tolerated used and abused. We had to
endure living like that until we were 21 years of age and at that time we were
finally legally adults and spit out by the system with no further help or
guidance or most of them with no education and without knowing how to live a
normal life, animals are treated better than that. A lot of the girls who were
in these orphanages with me at that time, I met again on the streets as
prostitutes, criminals and vagrants living on the street or in bordellos. Some
of them even became members of the famous ÒBader-Meinhof
GroupÓ a terrorist group in Germany who robed banks for the purpose of creating
a revolution and at one time, they were known world wide. One of them was even
a roommate of mine which I have found out later after I locked her out of my
room including her cloths and all her belongings because she kept me awake at
night with her friends and disturbed my sleep. That did not go over well with
the Guardian but, I did get my way at the end. If I would have known who she was associated with and that
she was one of the leaders, I probably would have thought twice about throwing
her out.
Back
to the orphanages and how they shaped my life in ways I would not wish any
oneÕs child to endure.
I
began writing this biography in March of 2008
