I wrote already about my mother here. I think that most of the people on planet Earth have problems with their parents, with their mates and with their children. This is normal, because we all were born from mother. But this mother was not always a loving person. I mean it was always a loving person since we were all born innocent and pure – we were made evil by people around us.

So… my mother didn’t show me lots of love when I was a child and also afterwards. But that doesn’t mean that she didn’t love me. Or that I didn’t love her. This was just pattern of behavior – we learned to behave in a certain way – to hide our feelings and to run away from what is really bothering us. When I remember my mother in my youth… it is totally the same like she is now. I never remember her being at peace.

She was always running around… in the morning to her job, after her job, she was caring and cooking for   me and my sister and cleaning the flat. She was always moving. Always! Moving, complaining about life and how her husband is not present (he was doing Military Academy far aways from us, most of my childhood he was absent).

After she was done with her work, she went almost every day to the movies with her girlfriends. This was her “safe asylum”. We had all this romantic movies in sixties and she saw all of them. And we have this american music, which was on programs about dances. They went dancing when my father was at home. I don’t remember my mother and father ever being at home in the evening, when I was a child. They were at parties all the time. Or people came at our house, where they were talking, drinking and singing late in the evening.

We also had “performances” for our kids and their mothers in our flat. We sang popular songs which were then modern – like Adriano Celentano’s Azzuro and so on.  We ate fruit salad and at the end of the party was when my mother took the accordion in her hands and was playing. She was a natural talent for singing and playing instruments.

She had lots of others talents. She cooked really well. She was good in foreign languages. And she was the most beautiful woman in town, secretly adored by lots of men.

But she had this nervousness in herself and this frustrations which she gave forth on me. And she always wanted to be first.

So in my youth there was all the time this nervousness and  fear that she will come me and criticized me although I was, mostly the best in school and really not a problematic child. I was always at home in my books and in the meantime I took care on my sister, who was playing outside with boys. My mother came home and criticized me, because I didn’t clean the flat and because I put my toys where she didn’t allow.

She always criticized me, she always found something to complain and nag about. From the early age on I had a feeling that something is wrong with me, that I am not good and not worthy. She was never satisfied with me, but I couldn’t possible guess that this was because of her and not me.

I started to write my diary when I was ten, but from 12 years on I wrote every day a sentence or something. Some months ago I was going through my diaries which were full of complaining about my mother – how I hate her, how I can’t stand her shouting and being so loud in a flat. She was always loud and nervous.

And...we survived!