Fragment/s – [X]

One or two years ago I wrote some “fragments” as I called them. I wrote them either in professional school, in the bus on the way home or at home.

Some of them might be lost (in a bunch of garbage and old school material), but I found some again. One of them is the following. So I will first write it in german, as it was written on the paper and then the translation in english. The other fragments have numbers, but I didn’t found a number on it, so I just named it “X”. 🙂 I don’t know whether the order is important anyways.

And well, I guess my self-therapy began actually way earlier, or should I say, self-help? My old poems are all a little dark or strange, because it mostly came out of my feelings and situation.

But it needed a long time to realize and actually use it as a tool to heal and process my problems and past. Now is the time.

And here comes “Fragment X”


Ein Fragment meiner selbst, Bruchteil des Ganzen. Verloren in einem Käfig, umringt von allen Möglichkeiten. Der Käfig besitzt ein Schloss – wie jedes andere. Doch dieses ist, nicht wie gewohnt, aufgeschlossen. Klingt eigentlich nicht schlecht, aber weshalb ist das wichtig? Nun es ist so, es war nicht immer offen, was ebenfalls entscheidend ist.

Ein Junge wachte in dem Käfig auf. Versteht mich nicht falsch, es war ein großer Käfig, für einen kleinen Jungen. Außerdem war er schön gestaltet mit bunten Farben und Spielsachen. Der Junge sah den Käfig nicht als Bedrohung an und er wurde auch nicht unmenschlich behandelt.

Irgendwann wurde er jedoch auch größer und der Käfig wurde kleiner für ihn. Er ging also zur Tür und erkannte, dass sie ein Hindernis für ihn darstellte. Zuversichtlich ging er zur Tür und wollte sie öffnen, ohne Erfolg.

Etwas später – ein paar Tage vielleicht – versucht er es nochmal, doch die Tür blieb zu. Einige Zeit später wurde ihm die Tür geöffnet und ihm wurde gesagt, er könnte nun tun was er möchte. Er ging wie ihm befohlen nach draußen, um letztendlich festzustellen, dass ihm nichts davon was er sah bekannt vor kam. Natürlich war das normal, denn so ist es immer, wenn man irgendwo anderes hin geht, wo man zuvor noch nicht war. Zugegeben, er war schon einmal dort, jedoch zu einer Zeit, an die er sich nur noch wage erinnert. Und selbst wenn, hätte er nun doch kaum etwas davon.

Es war erstaunlich. Leider konnte er nun nichts mehr damit anfangen, der er kannte ja nichts davon, zumindest nichts aus nächster Nähe, nur durch die Gitterstäbe scheinendes Licht, Stimmen und Töne hatte er vernommen. Ein paar Bilder, auch mal aneinandergereiht.

Wenn du wissen willst wer ich bin, solltest du dich in Acht nehmen. Du solltest nicht erwarten, das zu finden, was du vermutlich in mir siehst. Ich habe viele Gesichter und Seiten. Seiten wie Saiten, spielbar und austauschbar, zumindest meistens. Gesichter wie Masken, stapelbar und verhüllend, wie eine Decke oder ein Tuch, unter dem man alles ander versteckt oder ein Teppich und dem man alles unangenehme kehren kann. Unter die Decke: als Versteck; das Tuch: als Verdeck; den Teppich: für Dreck. Jeder kann die Decke sehen, jeder fühlt das Tuch und läuft über den Teppich. Doch keiner oder sagen wir eigentlich niemand, weiß was darunter liegt. Willst du es wissen? Sei gewarnt!

Mein Leben, ein Leben, dein Leben?

“Das ist das Ende. Doch für mich ist es der Anfang des Lebens”, wie Dietrich Bonhoeffer kurz vor seinem Tod sagte. Er klingt verrückt, doch gibt es Hoffnung, auf eine besondere Weise. Er wurde zum Tode verurteil, musst du wissen, weil er für die Freiheit und den Glauben and Frieden und Gott kämpfte. Aber wiese schreibe ich das – mal abgesehen davon, dass du das womöglich schon kennst? Nun ich lasse es erst mal offen, wenn du es dir nicht sowieso schon zusammengereimt hast.


A fragment of myself, a fraction of the whole. Lost in a cage, surrounded by all possibilities. The cage has a lock – like any other. But this one is open, not as usual. Doesn’t sound bad, but why is that important? Well, it was not always open, which is also crucial.

A boy woke up in the cage. Don’t get me wrong, it was a big cage for a little boy. He was also beautifully designed with bright colors and toys. The boy did not see the cage as a threat, nor was he treated inhumanely.

At some point, however, he got bigger and the cage got smaller for him. So he went to the door and realized that it was an obstacle for him. He walked confidently to the door and tried to open it, to no avail.

A little later – maybe a few days – he tries again, but the door remains closed. Some time later the door was opened and he was told that he could now do what he wanted. He went outside as ordered to finally find that none of what he saw seemed familiar to him. Of course that was normal, because that’s how it is when you go somewhere else, where you haven’t been to before. Admittedly, he was there before, but at a time he can only vaguely remember. And even if he did, he would hardly have any of it.

It was amazing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything with it now, he didn’t know anything about it, at least nothing up close, he had only seen light, heard voices and sounds through the bars. A few pictures, also lined up.

If you want to know who I am, be careful. You shouldn’t expect to find what you probably see in me. I have many faces and sides. Pages like strings, playable and interchangeable, at least mostly. Faces like masks, stackable and enveloping, like a blanket or a cloth, under which you can hide everything else, or a carpet and where you can sweep everything unpleasant. Under the covers: as a hiding place; the cloth: as a hood; the carpet: for dirt. Everyone can see the blanket, everyone feels the cloth and runs over the carpet. But not a sigle one, or let’s say no one, knows what lies below. Do you want to know it? Be warned!

My life, one life, your life?

“That is the end. But for me it is the beginning of life,” as Dietrich Bonhoeffer said shortly before his death. It sounds crazy, but there is hope in a special way. He was sentenced to death, you know, because he fought for freedom and belief in peace and God. But why do I write this – apart from the fact that you may already know it? Well, I’ll leave it open until you’ve figured it out anyway.

Man this music was good. And also pretty heavy, what I wrote back then. I mean I “just” wrote it, but it described my situation pretty well, even better than I could have said it myself. Wait a minute…

Yeah, my mind is really some kind of chaos, not a wonder after all these psychological damages and wrong concepts I learned during my life.

Now what I write / think / say and what I feel and am, are more align and get to work together again more and more. But for most of my life, I tried to hide what I wrote and didn’t even regocnize what I wrote, when I found it later. You could have told me it was yours and not mine and I would have believed you. My personality was so twisted and all over the place – well it still is in a way – that not even I knew who I actually was before all this mess. Luckily this changed now after all these years. There is still a long way to fully recover and get healthy and strong again, but at least I more and more know now, for what I actually fight. And that I have so many gifts and also how beautiful all the people are. What others do, how they think and all.

Jesus went through the depths of hell during the time when he was dead. And I think, that in a way, my life was a hell, I can finally start to escape now. Either way, I am not as cool, kind and powerful as Jesus, but I am working on myself, to feel good about being good again. Because when I write something nice to someone, I still feel strange sometimes and think: “Am I really this nice?”, “Maybe they think I am just acting nice because I want something”, “Is this really who I am, or do I pretend to be nice?”.

But my heart says: “It is alright. You are good the way you are. Don’t let those thoughts confuse you. They just don’t want to loose you.”

What a mess my mind was / is.

I am thankful that I finally can bring some light into it again and sort out the broken parts. Let’s hope this is still possible, I sure believe it is, it always is, if you want to. But not completely alone, at least someone who listens sometimes or supports you. Otherwise you don’t know whether you do better or worse, at least that was my experience. But conventional therapy wasn’t working for me (going to a foreign person and talk with them for some time and in general things with people I don’t know or fully trust).

But nonetheless, one is for sure, I can write all day. 😀