Red Night
Member
A few days ago I came to the decision to let my memories come to me and to stop trying so much, and almost instantly that night, I can't even remember what triggered it, this happened:
I was holding a little boy in my arms, my brother, and we had just arrived in a concentration camp. As we were standing on the platform a man (SS) took him out of my arms and my brother and I started to scream each other's names and I was panicking. He could have only been around five years old. I was was probably around twenty. As I was screaming for him a girl, who must have been on transport with us, put her arm around my middle and pulled me away as I was being hysterical, and at that moment I vomited right on the spot and gave in, hoping we would see each other again.
I don't really remember discovering he had been killed, but I found out soon and, in a way, lot my sanity.
Before we had been sent to this camp (I don't know which one) I know I lived with my parents and, of course, my little brother. At first I felt we were German, but I think we may have been French, but my boyfriend was a German solider, so I really don't know.
The only person I really cared for was my little brother, who was much more of a son to me. Our home hadn't been a happy one; it wasn't dreadful or anything, it just wasn't happy. My parents fought a lot and really weren't the nicest people. I love my little brother with all my heart and I was much more of a mother to him than his actual one. I planed with my boyfriend to take him and have the three of us move away when the war ended.
I don't know what happened, but something obviously did. We weren't Jewish but someone must have done something to anger the Germans because we were soon sent East.
I don't know what happened to my parents, but my little brother was killed. I wasn't the nicest person wherever I was. I envied the guards and would often rat out my fellow prisoners firstly because I really did believe we should follow the rules that had been set out for us, secondly because I felt it would put me in the good graces of the Kapo and guards (it didn't) and thirdly because I think a sick part of me enjoyed seeing those poor people getting punished for their misdeeds. I wasn't a horrible person, but the only innocence I knew had been taken from me and I didn't care about anything anymore. I felt I had no reason for living and I was a bit crazy because of all this, honestly. I was too eventually killed.
I believe the only friend I had at the camp was the girl who pulled me away at the platform, when I threw up. Even though I'm sure a part of her must have really been disgusted with me for how I acted, I think she understood me at the same time and never fully left my side because of this.
The camp doesn't really upset me, what gets me the most is my little brother.
I'm happy with myself for finally not idealizing my life before the war, thinking I had some great, wonderful life. I'm also glad I have been, over the past six or so months, come to terms with my odd feelings of almost pride towards the Third Reich. It was hard, I never wanted to think I could have been on 'that' side even partly, but I accept it now.
Also, when this started all 'coming to me' I felt almost as if I could finally put 'over and done' with on that chapter of my lives. Which makes me think this could be the real deal.
I was holding a little boy in my arms, my brother, and we had just arrived in a concentration camp. As we were standing on the platform a man (SS) took him out of my arms and my brother and I started to scream each other's names and I was panicking. He could have only been around five years old. I was was probably around twenty. As I was screaming for him a girl, who must have been on transport with us, put her arm around my middle and pulled me away as I was being hysterical, and at that moment I vomited right on the spot and gave in, hoping we would see each other again.
I don't really remember discovering he had been killed, but I found out soon and, in a way, lot my sanity.
Before we had been sent to this camp (I don't know which one) I know I lived with my parents and, of course, my little brother. At first I felt we were German, but I think we may have been French, but my boyfriend was a German solider, so I really don't know.
The only person I really cared for was my little brother, who was much more of a son to me. Our home hadn't been a happy one; it wasn't dreadful or anything, it just wasn't happy. My parents fought a lot and really weren't the nicest people. I love my little brother with all my heart and I was much more of a mother to him than his actual one. I planed with my boyfriend to take him and have the three of us move away when the war ended.
I don't know what happened, but something obviously did. We weren't Jewish but someone must have done something to anger the Germans because we were soon sent East.
I don't know what happened to my parents, but my little brother was killed. I wasn't the nicest person wherever I was. I envied the guards and would often rat out my fellow prisoners firstly because I really did believe we should follow the rules that had been set out for us, secondly because I felt it would put me in the good graces of the Kapo and guards (it didn't) and thirdly because I think a sick part of me enjoyed seeing those poor people getting punished for their misdeeds. I wasn't a horrible person, but the only innocence I knew had been taken from me and I didn't care about anything anymore. I felt I had no reason for living and I was a bit crazy because of all this, honestly. I was too eventually killed.
I believe the only friend I had at the camp was the girl who pulled me away at the platform, when I threw up. Even though I'm sure a part of her must have really been disgusted with me for how I acted, I think she understood me at the same time and never fully left my side because of this.
The camp doesn't really upset me, what gets me the most is my little brother.
I'm happy with myself for finally not idealizing my life before the war, thinking I had some great, wonderful life. I'm also glad I have been, over the past six or so months, come to terms with my odd feelings of almost pride towards the Third Reich. It was hard, I never wanted to think I could have been on 'that' side even partly, but I accept it now.
Also, when this started all 'coming to me' I felt almost as if I could finally put 'over and done' with on that chapter of my lives. Which makes me think this could be the real deal.