Je te connais comme si je t’avais faite. I know you as if I had made you.

These exact full of arrogance and heavy words delivered from my dad’s pride and  self centeredness, through his mouth to my ears, the effect they had on me, had to be a reaction that communicated quietly to my whole being, the words “what on earth are you saying? You know me? You made me?”  As I repeated these words in my head a full blown rage screamed inwardly ” you will never hear me , anderstand me, and know who I really am”.  A little girl with the courage of lion, standing taller than her dad with this precious silence disguised by what I had mastered to hide a violent reaction, I screamed inside of me. A scream that echoed loud and clear enough for me to remember today that when I was inwardly questioning my father’s egoistic’s certainty of being one of his puppets, I realized that what I knew of myself, he could not mold, destroy, get to know and ever get close too. This was a fact simply because that little boy inside what looked a tall and handsome Doctor was too afraid of such gentle gesture to occure he was afraid of the slightest touch of intimacy and sweetness a child offers a parent to get in return crumbs of love.  What he think he made of me is not the who that I ever was and the who that I am today, what he made was a scary, icy cold, iron metal wall between himself and I and that scary and cold wall is all he could ever see and that is why he could not have known me. This wall robbed him of a possible intimacy that a little girl can warm up to with her father through a trust that his paved by love and maturity.  As he deprived himself of what he did not give me he tried to make a taller wall so that I could not jump over on the other side and find out the truth. The truth is that there is no such thing as a father being a scary and critical adult calling himself an authority figure, instead there is a petrified little boy who has no idea of he is and has no idea on how to parent a child he conceived. The truth my father was afraid I discovered was that there is such thing as a father tenderly holding her little girl in his arm supporting her and walking her safely through all the growing up pain she has to face in order to mature into her queen. This truth is call intimacy. Intimacy as I see it, is a certain maturity that enters through humbleness, which allows a sacred knowledge to lovingly comfort then correct with the absence of shame and guilt that hides and exposes what one may call a weakness. Intimacy transforms a weakness which is the temptation to idealise any type of external pleasure that may turn into an addiction that is called a defect of caractere which is punished and felt bad for when intimacy is hiding away from my awareness. Intimacy see through flaws and are not seen as bad but mistakes to learn from and not to resist of  nor to be afraid of.  This intimacy my dad robed himself of and attempted to robb me of, I was able to meet with and when it held it s hand out for me to reach it seemed first like a lonely and forced silence upon me. That silence  became a friend I could stare in the eyes for hours while you thought of me as punished while I was locked into the bedroom that was then a prison cell so no one but you could influence me of what you were determined to deprive me of freedom. The silence brought me closer to the noises outside my bedroom and the sun I adored for its warmth that brought me comfort and a smile was forcing itself thought the gaps of the white blinds that were pulled all the way down so no one from outside could see that I was alone and locked into my room. When the sun and noises faded away I understood that pleasures come and go by feeling cold again and hearing the voice in my head reminding me that the only reason I wanted you to come back home was just so that I would die starving and alone. The laughters and screaming voices of the children running chasing each other, playing in the school playground on the right side of my bedroom window. Like a laser beam the sun light I would hold in my hand and feel the heat. Every cracks on the wall  every lines on the floor, marks on the ceiling, tiniest sounds that one would easily be distracted off by the busy activities that goes on daily became my friend. I learned to stare with a certain stillness that would quiet the mental busyness in my head. This childhood which deprived me of what other children learn to find pleasure and comfort in gave me so much more. It gave me the access of this universal  instrument that one would use a life time to find. The access to this universal instrument that plays a tune that communicate beyond however  through senses, through an emotion fully embraced, through a feeling entirely felt, through words expressed without the slightest reservation that bring one to the highest mountain looking down petrified of the vast emptiness there is between the top to the bottom, and instead of running away and resisting that fear it makes of it a ally. The tune that is communicated revealed me secrets that made me still patient and gentle and never loose sight of the real me invisible while I was waking through the worst nightmares of my mind. It also helped me to communicate

So the little girl with a high pitch voice had to change it to a lower pitch one to the point that my brother and I was no longer distinctable my brother possibly thought his voice was like a little girl when one tell him we had the exact same voice. I knew I had to copy and adopt  my brother’s voice

The little girl who was openly bright,  ever so sensitive that every felt would translate into an emotion that brought you to the pain you carried. This little girl adventurous and free to be playful and funny. These great qualities I brought with me when I came into your life,   you didn’t like in me because they reminded you of who you once pushed away within yourself. They had to also be pushed aside and replaced by an image of you you fell in love with. That image you embodied gave you power a power you used to control others’s around you. A power you devoured like a child devoures the sweetness of gums and cakes. You enjoyed the pleasures that came with the power you brilliantly discovered at the tender age of ten while you could not stand the pain of a broken heart. You gave in so easily to the part in you that you never really liked and you had to brutally manipulate to transforme yourself and some years later me into someone you barely tolerated to be around. You bullied your way to shape an authority making me believe that you were the exemple I had to become once I turn into an adult. I have definitly disappointed you here. You made of me someone who would push her real self out of way to serve you and your selfish needs and gave your ego the determination to have everyone around you had to change and you could remain the same egoistic disturbed bully that you transformed into when your dad left you in charge of the broken home he made.