Talk with my fear








The emotions during our dream are sometimes more intense than those we feel in the reality – this fatal conception which plays with us ruthlessly. They are for real because we can’t suppress them as we do it when believe we are awake. It wasn’t necessary to study Freud’s theories, nor someone to lie to me that all parents loved their children to understand that what I met those night was my subconsciousness. And so many times before it. In the same dream I have had since I don’t see you. Almost six years went by, dear father.

Finally I figured out that her rejection hasn’t hurt me as deeply as the fact you have abandoned me. I felt so unprotected throughout my life and absolutely lonely in the world which she has pressed on me. There nobody needs of me, I am an obstacle and a drag, and my existence is meaningless. There wasn’t another world for me. But you should have prevented me from her, from my own mother-psychopath, you should have stopped her, you should have saved me and took in a better world, instead of escaping in the alcohol. 

Dear father, I have been feeling you don’t love me since my childhood. I have never called you ‘Daddy’. It’s different in my dreams, you are daddy there. I continuously dream how she kicks me out of your house, I’m unwelcomed over and over again, but I embrace you and tell you she makes a mistake and you can change the situation.

Those night I was obsessed by the profound fear which often keeps me from doing all the things I want. This fear breaks my mind down into chaotic particles which don’t help me even to remember who I am and what I daydream about. I tried to fall asleep, actually I tried to put to sleep this fear. And suddenly it explained to me, ‘I’m a highly concentrated, compressed pain living inside you and seeking its place, but you chase it on and on. It’s a good decision because I can burst your heart if I stay in a long time’.

Then I fell asleep. You were living in another house, I was there as well. She told me there wasn’t a place for me again, although I knew there were a few bedrooms. I left, as always. I left with a sharp pain and without resistance. But it was at night and I didn’t want to go alone. So that I asked to be seen off. You went with me and came at home. It was possible to stay, you didn’t live there anymore. I was so sad, hugged you and whispered, ‘Daddy’. I fell asleep again, in the dream itself, and was waken up by knocking on the door – my four cousins. I opened it and saw light in the grandmother’s room. I did’n remember she was late for 20 years, and attempted to see her, but woke up. I was crying indeed. 

Since then me and my fear have been getting to know, dear father. The pain is liquid, it fills what it gets in, takes its shape, and turns into it in the end. You have heard about the floods which sweep away everything in their ways. They are just water, a bit more water – from that one we drink, wash ourselves and irrigate the plants. The cup brims over and causes discomfort, the rivers overflow their banks and kill, the pain becomes too great and too destructive. If a part of it isn’t used, it turns into a hurricane.

Today I break my fear through pouring out of it. I do with my pain all the things that could be done with water – I drink it, I have a shower, I don’t pay attention to it, I tell stories about it or water the cactus of my husband who you don’t know. And I’m thinking my fear becomes smaller. My eyes begin to see another world, the world as it is – it contains everything and its colors are combined in billions pictures. I believe I can choose a more colorful and smiled picture.

But me and you will never meet in this world not because you are dead or I’m dead, even though I played endless times Russian roulette with my pain and I still do it. Both of us are alive, each in their own way. We will never meet because she has inspired you to think you don’t want me. In case you stop believing her, out of your intoxication, she pours you the wine of the oblivion. 

Some day, maybe… One day all the pain will come out of me, replaced by power. I would use that power to forgive that you are not the parent you should have been. But I wouldn’t use it to accept the idea that the conflicts are more important than the intimacy and the communication. Dear father, goodbye. And hello because you don’t know me, and I’m already a different person.


Text: @Vess Lang
Photo: @Miro Christoph

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