Spartan, that’s how dad calls something that is difficult. Sitting in the cold is Spartan, eating dirty food with mould is Spartan and so is sleeping on the floor. I don’t think Dad is a Spartan or ever met one. Dad likes to talk about what he calls enduring hardship. It’s a difficult word. To endure hardship is part of being spartan, he says. You have to be tough or you won’t make it. Dad doesn’t look tough to me. He doesn’t want me to say what I feel. Feelings are not important to him.
“Facts, bring me facts if then I will listen to you.”
For dad, only facts count. I am not allowed to feel anything. What I feel or think isn’t important, doesn’t count. What he says to me he never says to my mother. He doesn’t dare talk to her like that. When she’s at home, he hides behind the newspaper, on the toilet or in the little room when she’s not needing it for work. Sometimes I hear another man talk to him. That man is not uncle G. dad says it’s a professor who teaches him to understand maths. I think it’s not going very well or Dad doesn’t understand what the professor tells him. I don’t understand much about maths either. Maybe we are both stupid and that’s a fact?
Dad never says I am stupid. He says I can go to university easily. When the headmaster said I’m too stupid to go to visit housekeeping school, Daddy was furious. I told him what the headmaster said because I don’t know what housekeeping school is. Dad went to school to have a talk with the man. That school no longer exists and he said I’m too good for that. I don’t think daddy only talked because he was very angry. The headmaster didn’t say anything to me about it, but I’m not in his class anyway but I was a bit afraid of what he can do to me. The headmaster is a mean person. He hits the children too and doesn’t like me. I don’t think he likes my dad. Not yet. Daddy never goes to school except when he’s angry and at Christmas.
So eating mouldy food is spartan? I never read it in a book or heard it in history classes. I think Dad made it up. He won’t let me ask about it and never showed me a book that shows what a Spartan is. How he lives and why it’s important to be one. Sailors must have eaten mouldy food. That used to be a long time ago when they went sailing to get herbs, coffee and tea. Far away, once they artived they must have had good food, not pudding with green and red bits in it like my mother makes on Sundays. They had special biscuit and water, alcohol and I think rats too. I don’t know if there were any cats on board. Cats that catch mice and rats and don’t eat cat food.
Dad spoke about sliding cheese and sliding cake. He says he only got a small piece of it on his slice of bread. He first ate the dry bread and the last piece of bread was with cheese or breakfastcake. He showed me how to do it. First I had to look at the part of bread with cheese on it next shove the cheese a bit further and eat the dry bread till I came to the last part of bread. My mother said nothing about it. She doesn’t care if I eat bread with something on it. I can have what I like. Cheese, meat or chocolate sprinkles. If I don’t eat bread, it’s okay too. She only gets furious if I don’t eat the cooked dinner.
I think being beaten me is spartan too. My mother likes to hit but never with her bare hand. She always uses a whip, a mat beater or the dog chain. Maybe it is spartan that I no longer cry or beg her to stop? I just close my eyes and let her. I watch from a distance. She’ll get tired. Dad hits me too but with his leather slippers but only when my mother says: don’t you see what that child is doing? If she says that he jumps on his feet and slaps me. Sometimes he puts me over his knee and counts how many times he slaps me. That must be something spartan too counting how many lashes are given I mean.
I asked grandma about the sliding cheese and sliding breakfastcake. Grandma is frugal because she was in the Japanese camp. She softens old bread over a pan of hot water. She looked at me in surprise and said: your father lies, we never did anything like that. Grandma believes me. She doesn’t say I am a liar. I didn’t tell dad I asked his mom of it’s true what he told me. I don’t like spartan or what my father calls spartan. I can’t stand the cold, I don’t want to eat mould and I don’t care if I never grow up being tall, a strong Spartan. Why do I have to be a Spartan? I am not and will never be.
Out of bed at 6 am and cleaning my room. Why do I have to push the bed in the middle of the room and lift all small furniture on it every day so it’s easier for her vacuuming? Just like me, the vacuum cleaners in our house never has a day off. It’s 6 o’clock and I’m already super tired. I didn’t sleep much and don’t think it will get any better. My mother kept screaming and I tried not to hear her. It’s hard. The walls are not keeping her voice out. I can hear children playing outside, my mother’s car if she arrives in the street, the neighbour playing drums and Bart making music. He lives next to our neighbours. If I can hear all these sounds people can hear her too. Breakfast with my parents at seven, breakfast in silence a choking silence. I’m never allowed to speak so that isn’t new but usually my parents do. I should say my mother is. She’s the one who talks, talks, talks, repeats herself and repeats herself and repeats herself and tells you to repeat what she said which I can’t. So I keep my mouth shut which makes her furious. If I try to repeat what she said I can’t remember the exactly right words. The thing is she always says the same so after the first words I shut down. I close my ears and try not to hear her. I eat my bread and focus on my plate, on eating. I don’t want to hear her voice. She rattles on and on and on it’s always the same. How great she is, how ungrateful others are, blah blah blah.
Why don’t I have a normal mother? A mum like Ellen, Louis or Françoise has? A mother with a normal voice who lets you play with other children instead of punishing you for everything she can think of? I watch dad slicing cheese for his bread. If he doesn’t answer she will attack him. He never needs to repeat what she says. I wonder how auntie is doing. She no longer visits us. Will she go to grandmother if it’s Christmas? I don’t want to hear her voice but it fills the kitchen. If I close my eyes I hear that voice everywhere around me.
Why did dad marry her? Did she ever say a sweet thing or was it her dad’s money? Grandpa is dead. There won’t be money for him. He’s no family but the man my grandparents never wanted for their daughter. Dad doesn’t look very happy. Perhaps he will sing if he cleans the bathroom and kitchen? Her hand smacks me in the face. My head slams against the wall. “Are you sleeping again? Stand up, you lazy kid. No one is as lazy as you. Why don’t you comb your hair!” All I can do is stare at her. I have nothing to say. Whatever I would say isn’t good enough to make her forget her anger, make her like me. I try not to touch my face or head while I look her straight into the eyes. She looks at me, observes me, waits till I say something. She turns around abruptly and slams the door behind her. “Get up you’ll be fine,” dad says. He didn’t help me. He gave up risking his neck for me. “Let’s clean up the place before your mother is back.” He starts cleaning up the breakfast table and I go back upstairs. The rooms, stairs and hallways, toilet and living room are my task. No polishing shoes today. I don’t know who will vacuum since she isn’t there. If she comes back at the end of the day she’ll be mad because the house is a mess. That’s how she calls it a mess.
I don’t feel like cleaning. Everything is clean. I pile up the small furniture on the beds in each room. I clean doors and doorknobs and wipe the dust not a single person can see. In each room, I wait till the time is over. The time it takes to clean a room to her standards. I don’t hear her, I don’t hear her car. It’s silent till dad comes upstairs and starts singing while he cleans the bathroom. I clean the toilet. Tile after tile. Another door on which I’m not going to spend 33 times scrubbing on.
How many times did I step outside to knock the dust out of the duster?
The living room is the only place where furniture can remain at its place on Saturdays. It’s clean like always. The Christmas tree is still outside. Will she be back to decorate it? I sit on the floor and wait. My head hurts. I touch the spot. Blood. She’ll be mad if there’s blood on the furniture or carpet but I have to lay down. Dad comes downstairs and I hear him enter the kitchen. Later I’ll tell him I finished my tasks. I like to listen to the sound of the clock. Dad sings again.
Dad told me to help him to set up the tree in the living and he put the lights on. The smell of the tree fills the air. Shocked I was as I looked at the floor. A trace of needles everywhere from the living through the hallway and kitchen. “We’ll vacuum it before your mother is back, after that we get the boxes with decoration,” dad said. It felt as if he had everything under control and no longer cared about what she would say or do. “No hiking today?” “No, it’s vacation. Dad… I don’t want to go hiking ever again.” “I know.”
The day didn’t end too bad. The bakery delivered boxes with bread, cookies, cakes, a Christmas loaf and chocolates. My mother came home with bags with stuff she bought and decorated the tree. It took her hours because it has to be perfect. She made a mess again and vacuumed the living three more times. She didn’t say sorry or look at me. I stood there and watched her. Unsure if I was allowed to leave or had to wait for a new order. She let me put some ‘angel’s hair’ on the ranks. It looks nice but it hurts if you touch it. The tree looks beautiful all silver with white of the ‘hair’ and the yellow big candle lights. My mother knows how she has to decorate a tree, furniture a house and how to spend too much money.
Saturday December 18, 2021
I visited Sunday school and my parents went to church. If I don’t comb my hair straight you can’t see the blood on my head. It’s cold so I wear a hat outside. The teacher didn’t notice it.
Sunday December 19, 2021
No school, no housekeeper just me and my mother cleaning. To my mother, it’s an ordinary Monday. She works 24/7 and if she doesn’t work we clean. In the morning we start cleaning till she has to go. She leaves if someone calls her or if she visits people at their homes. She visits in the afternoon. A few evenings a week people visit us. Dad says he has things to do. He left.
I don’t like staying home during vacations. Vacations at home are good for more cleaning, scolding, whipping and pain. That’s all it’s good for.
In the evening I’m allowed to sit in the living and watch the tree. The living is for weekends only. I spend the most time in my room or the kitchen if I’m not at school and have to clean the house.
Monday December 20, 2021
The living is in the Christmas mood my mother isn’t. Her mood goes up and down. I’ll never know what she will say or do next. I don’t trust her and am glad I don’t need to share a bed with her like dad. If she kills him who takes care of me?
Tuesday December 21, 2021
On television is more Christmas spirit than at home. I’m afraid of my mother. She acts weird. Dad says nothing and stays in the little room upstairs. She keeps walking up and down while saying the same words over and over again. Can’t she just sit down for a moment and act like a normal person? I try to watch telly but it’s hard with her around. She can snap any minute. We didn’t have tea yet. I leave and hide on the toilet and try to think about what to do. I can put the kettle on and make us some tea. I go ask dad if he likes some tea. Back downstairs I fill the kettle with water and put it on the cooker and wait. I wait at the kitchen table and try not to touch more things than necessary. My mother always knows if something is touched, moved. It’s good enough for the next scene. Why is she walking up and down? Is she crazy? I fill the teapot and a dad’s mug. I’ll give him first before I ask her. Back in the hallway I no longer hear her voice behind the door in the living. Should I enter or drink my tea first? I knock on the door and carefully open it. She stands in front of the tree. “Mother do you want some tea?” She turns around stares at me as if I’m a stranger. “Yes,” she says and follows me to the kitchen. “Take some cookies.” We sit at the table and she pushes the wooden cookie box over the tablecloth towards me. The madness disappeared.
Wednesday December 22, 2021
Today felt like a better day. I read the book school gave me again and my mother was in a chocolate mood. She ate a lot of chocolate and butter cookies. Not if it’s coffee time or tea time but just so. I don’t like the butter cookies and chocolate she buys. It’s made by the baker. Grandmother’s chocolate is better. She buys small bars of chocolate with hazelnut or Koetjes bars (the wrap is blue-white with a cow on it). Always five wrapped together. I don’t think she eats them. It’s for the visitors, sometimes she gives me one. It’s the only sweet my grandmother has in the cupboard. My mother’s cupboards are filled and one huge drawer of the antique cabinet is for cookies, cakes, chocolate, pastries only. Perhaps her mother never gave her candy?
Thursday December 23, 2021
At 5:30 I’m out of bed. The laundry will be collected and the clean laundry taken back. We have enough sheets for at least twelve beds. My mother started the day in a good mood but halfway through the day, it changed after grandmother called. Tomorrow we will visit grandmother and the next day granny. Each year with Christmas it’s the same routine. Granny cooks too but we never had Christmas dinner with her.
At midnight we visited the church. It was crowded and I couldn’t sit anywhere. I don’t like to be in a cold church in the middle of the night and listen to a story I already know. A story about the hope for peace, love and light. Peace, love and light? Try to live with my mother for a week or better month and all the hope and dreams you had are gone. If you are lucky you get out sane. Jesus is lucky his mother isn’t like mine or perhaps he’s not. With a mother like mine you wish you were dead. If no one believes you, everyone is blind for what she does there’s no reason to stay alive. What is a lifelong scolding and beating worth? Even in church, I hear her voice. That voice is always in my head. It’s hard not to change into that man Norman Bates. He knows how it is if you can’t escape out of your mother’s claws. Jesus didn’t rescue either did god. It is as it is. If there’s a plan for everything it means God doesn’t care and he won’t come to your rescue. He wants you to suffer. I don’t believe that old man preaching. He says what they all say but never talks about real life, real suffer and pain.
Happy to be home back in bed even my bed is cold.
Friday December 24, 2021
Not much sleep. Out of bed at 6 am. Merry Christmas… I’ve watched a film on television. Grandmother doesn’t have a tree. Auntie and my new uncle came for having Christmas dinner with us. Soup, goose, dessert and coffee with apple pie. I like grandmother’s dining table and chairs. The legs are claws of an animal. We didn’t sleepover. My mother was angry and granny was too. Dad drove us back home. Tomorrow I will see granny. A long drive in the car again. The light of the star of Bethlehem in front of our window was on. Welcome home.
Saturday December 25, 2022
It was good to see granny is still alive. My uncle was home and another uncle came with his wife and children. I don’t really know them just my uncle. I like him most of all uncles I have. We ate nothing special but it doesn’t matter. I can’t eat much anyway. Again soup, rice and beans and meat and chocolate custard. We had coffee and cake and I helped granny do the dishes. I like her gas heater and watched it burn. No one talks to me. Uncle didn’t stay long. My other uncle can be a bully and hates my mother and the adults talk to or fight with each other. It doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas or not. There’s no love, no hope, no light wherever we go.
Sunday December 26, 2021
Days pass by. The tree is the only light in the darkness even if it loses its needles. My mother waters it daily. I think it’s too warm inside and it starves. What is cut dies. It will be hard to get it out of here. Mother gave me chocolate wreaths at tea time. She sang. I hope she isn’t up to something bad again. Dad visited uncle G. He never takes me over there. I’m not sure if my mother was there. I think she likes him somehow. She doesn’t like people and never forbids me to take his candies.
I had to come along with her as she visited the people. I felt bored and it’s cold in the car if she doesn’t drive. The car makes me sick and it takes long before she comes back if she visits someone. Why do I have to sit and wait in the car? Why?
Wednesday December 29, 2021
Tomorrow we visit grandmother again. She’ll bake oliebollen and apple beignets. I like the apple beignets most of all.
I didn’t need to clean that much and was allowed to go outside. It’s not so cold. No snow. It doesn’t feel like Winter. I didn’t know what to do or where to go to. I watched some children play and met Ellen. We searched for coins on the paths behind the row of houses where she lives and followed the path to where I live. Some mothers were outside frying oliebollen just like last year. It makes it smell nice outside.
Thursday December 30, 2021
Laundry day. The last day of the year. No illusions it will get any better. My mother won’t change into a beautiful fairy if the clock strikes twelve. She will be ugly on the inside forever sneaky, mean, violent. At 10 o’clock she received a phone call. She sounded agitated finished her coffee with cake and went to her room. She had to do her hair and makeup first which takes hours. She called for me and my task was to check her hair. She doesn’t need me she has 4 mirrors plus doesn’t believe what I say anyway. It took and took and those people called again which made her angry with me. Finally, she left. I felt relieved, cleaned up everything and took another cup of tea. I put the dishwasher on. It’s not difficult and I know we won’t leave if she finds tasks to be done. Dad left. I hope he is back home before her. I’m not sure what to do. I checked every room if it’s clean. My mother hates dust and dirt and every single item needs to be right at its spot. Should I vacuum the stairs an extra time? I walked the steps she can see it on the carpet. I vacuum underneath the tree and sit on the floor with a dustcloth in my hand. It’s better not to touch anything. She doesn’t only see footsteps but fingerprints everywhere too. I hug the dogs but can’t feed them. If they come with us in the car they feel sick too. If they eat they vomit and make my mother furious too.
She arrived late. Dad bought us something to eat. She didn’t say anything, didn’t complain about what the house looked like. Dad drove us to grandmother. I think grandmother was angry. She said she waited for us the whole day. “Shut up woman,” my mother answered angrily, “you know I have to work.”
If I would only think these words she would wash my mouth with soap and best me to death.
“You could have called.” Grandmother looks at dad but he doesn’t answer.
I went upstairs to the room in the attic. Three long stairs. For New Year’s Eve, we always dress up. Black suit for men and women and girls wear a long dress or skirt. I don’t know why because no one takes a picture and we don’t go outside to wish the neighbours a happy new year. It’s the first thing we do the next morning. So long dress it is just to drink hot chocolate, eat oliebollen and wait till it’s midnight. No one plays with me, talks to me or cares if I’m joining them in the front living room. They watch a show about the past year. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. I have no clue what is talked about on the telly. Grandmother put bowls with oliebollen and apple beignet on the dining table in the back living room. No one cares how many I’ll eat. They are there to be eaten and if the bowls are empty there are more, way more in grandpa’s office.
Champagne, happy New Year wishes, fake kisses. Firework outside and on television. I don’t like champagne or coffee. All I drink is tea and on rare occasions hot chocolate or hot milk if I am staying with grandmother.
In my bedroom, I watch the firework up in the sky through the small window. I can see the colours while I’m in bed. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal. My normal which isn’t something to be happy with. The Christmas spirit is already dead and buried. I don’t have anything else to achieve other than staying alive till I find a way to get out of here.
Saint Nicholas didn’t visit us but there was a bag full of presents. I had hot chocolate and as the front doorbell rang and dad opened the door pepernoten and candies were thrown inside. I think that was the best part of the day and night. I watched how Piet knocked at the door of someone living across the street. I don’t know who sent Piet but it was a nice gesture. I collected all the candies from the floor. My mother does not even say that it’s dirty. I have a piglet made of marzipan, a new book and boots. I don’t like the boots because they look cold and are not for children. I know my feet will hurt but I didn’t say anything except ‘Thank you Saint Nicholas’ which everyone does after opening a present.
Sunday December 5, 2021
Today was like usual. We start the day with a prayer. Next, the teacher tells a story from the bible. After that, the teacher asked how we celebrated yesterday. I just listened. I feel tired if I arrive at school. I can’t just hop out of bed, get dressed, grab a slice of bread and leave for school. I have to wake up at 5:30 am and work hard, be scolded at, beaten up and kicked for nearly three hours till school starts. So I sat at my desk and tried to look interested and not to show how I feel. I wish I was invisible.
Monday December 6, 2021
Ellen asked me if I can play with her tomorrow. I’m not sure if I can not even if I asked my mother first. She can say yes but at the moments I leave to change her mind or she says she never agreed. My mother always changes her mind and if she blames me. She says I lie but the one who does is she. I told Ellen I would like to but I have to ask my mother first and she isn’t always at home. I think it’s partly true and partly lied. She isn’t always home and if she can be in bed or at work or it’s too dangerous to ask her because everything I say or do triggers her to hit and punish me.
Tuesday December 7, 2021
She made a scene slammed the door and left. She said if she would have an accident with the car it’s my fault. I drive her crazy. I don’t know what to say. I think she is crazy. I don’t know when it started but she has always been like that. Crazy. Grandpa said the geese said he is crazy. My grandmother said her mother was in a madhouse. Perhaps she was crazy or no one liked to take care of her. My grandmother is angry with her mother, my mother with my grandmother and me. I just want her to be out of my life. My mother will never like me I only make her angry and unhappy.
I stayed home. I don’t know when she’ll be back but if someone just scolded you, hit and accused you of things you never did or thought it’s no fun to play at a friend’s home. I’m not allowed to use the phone. I couldn’t tell Ellen I cant come over but I think she already knows.
Wednesday December 8, 2021
After school, I had gymnastics again. Nothing to write about. I’m going to read my book in my room. My mother is at work in the room next to mine. I hear the voices and people walk up and down the stairs.
Thursday December 9, 2021
Laundry day, clean bedsheets, polishing shoes, setting tables, cleaning up and school. My mother was home for lunch which is the only cooked meal. Today it’s leftover day. The only great meal of the week. I had the Endive stew with bacon. Baked with butter in a pan is the best.
Friday December 10, 2021
I told dad I don’t want to go hiking. I don’t like it. The bus drive makes me sick, my feet hurt. He said he would talk about it with my mother. The skirt is cold and too small and my coat isn’t warm. Why can boys wear warm trousers and girls have to catch a cold? I left after I did my tasks so my parents have a day without me. The only good thing was the pea soup with smoked sausage. Not much but better than the canned soup of Unox we eat on Saturdays.
Saturday December 11, 2021
Sunday school time. It’s better than the church. After the story, we sang songs. I’m making a cover for the candle.
Too much food, my belly hurts again. I don’ like those puddings my mother cooks. Those tiny coloured pieces make me gag. I can’t help it. Shouldn’t a dessert be a treat? Why am I forced to eat it?
Sunday December 12, 2021
School started with Christmas decorations. There’s a huge tree in the hallway and the auditorium. Each class has a tree too. Before the school closes they give the trees away to families who don’t have one. So fast Sint Nicholas is forgotten.
Monday December 13, 2021
We do not have a tree yet. There is a Christmas wreath on the front door and an Advent wreath on the table in the living room. I think it’s for the visitors. In the daytime, we don’t use the living. It’s cleaned or the door is closed. As I came home my mother was hanging the star of Bethlehem in front of the window. It’s made of paper and there’s a light in it. Most people who live here have a star.
Tuesday December 14, 2021
On Wednesdays, I have school till 12:15. My mother had a better mood for a change. It doesn’t mean her mood can’t change any minute. She tried to have a conversation with the housekeeper and kept reading from the bible short. I was grateful for that. She can’t read, talk or sing in a normal way. Her voice hurts my ears which makes it hard to focus. She said she would go buying a tree and allowed me to watch the telly. I hope she won’t be back too early and in a bad mood. I feel nervous if she’s home. I never know how she will act.
Wednesday December 15, 2021
The tree is huge and outside in the garden. It stays outside till Saturday. On Saturday she will take it inside and the decorating starts. I don’t look forward to helping her. Finger crossed nothing will go wrong. Of course, there will because Christmas trees lose their needles.
Gymnastic again.
Thursday December 16, 2021
Friday again. I’m tired of everything. I was sent to bed after the meal at 5:30 pm. It’s fine with me. My parents always fight.
My face hurts and I feel something is wrong. If I feel what I feel now I know it will be swollen soon. I’m in bed and that’s the only good thing. On the hiking trip, I still felt fine. It started at home after I had soup and bread, bread with honey. The smell of that dry honey already makes me vomit. At 7 pm it’s bedtime for me so I was happy. I can’t help scratching and feeling itchy and my mother hates me if I do. The sheets feel cold, my feet are very cold. Dad says I suffer from Winter’s toes and that’s why they look blue and hurt. I think my toes suffer from more. The shoes, hiking and hammertoes. My feet are not made for walking. The cold sheets feel good against my burning face though. I have a pot of cream left. I can’t use it. It smells terrible and only makes it worse. Since I no longer visit a doctor I think I better throw it away. If I find a way I will. I won’t ever use it again. All those doctors never helped or cured me they just did something. The same is something they do with others. People who are sick for different reasons. I wonder why anyone wants to be a doctor. I need to sleep now. My eyes hurt too and I can’t write if I don’t see what I’m doing. I can’t fall asleep before I hid this diary. I hear my mother scream downstairs. Are my parents fighting again? It makes me nervous if I hear her voice. It makes it harder to fight the pain. Tomorrow I’ll be the ugly monster again.
Saturday November 27, 2021
I don’t look too good. I think I look how I feel. Dad said I better stay home. No Sunday school for me. My mother left after I served her breakfast in her room. No matter how sick I am I have to work. I try not to scratch, not to cry for pain, not to rub. If I blink my eyes, try to drink, eat or speak the pain is worse. I wish I was never born. I hate my life, my hate my body. It always hurts.
Sunday November 28, 2021
My mother sent me to school. She doesn’t care about how I feel. She said I skip school too much. The only times I don’t go to school is if she did beat me up. If she beat me up and what she did cannot be hidden by my clothes. It was hard to concentrate at school. That stupid girl Petra is a bully. She always takes me. The teacher says that name of her means rock. Rock? A rock you can build on. I think he means she throws rocks at other people. I think it means a traitor, a mean person. That is what Peter in the bible was to. A traitor, a liar, a person who would throw rocks at Jesus and say: I don’t know you.
Monday November 29, 2021
Only a few more nights and the Saint will visit us at school. Some children are afraid of him. I’m not. I think he is kind because he gives presents and never is angry. My mother is a more scary person. I will not tell that to those children. They won’t believe me anyway. Those children who do never visited me again. They don’t play with me at school.
Tuesday November 30, 2021
The pain is still there. I can feel my skin but the pain in my body too. It’s hard to explain what I feel. I think what makes me sick is inside of me. I wish I could pee it out. I don’t want to be in pain forever. I don’t want to live in this body forever. It doesn’t feel as if it is mine. I climbed on the stool in the bathroom so I could look into the mirror. What I saw in the mirror that can’t be me! I don’t recognize that face. It can’t be me. I blinked, closed my eyes for longer but as I opened my eyes that strange face still looked at me. I felt shocked and fell off the stool. I placed it back next to the sink. Back in my room, I sat on my bed. What had happened to my face, what happened to me? Who’s that stranger looking at me in the mirror? I’ll never watch in the mirror again. From now on I keep my eyes closed.
Wednesday December 1, 2021
All I know is I must have fallen asleep. My diary is crinkled, some pages torn but nothing is missing. It’s not like last time. That time she threw away my diary and I started again. This time with two different ones. One she will search for and read, the other I write and hide better, somewhere else or carry with me if possible. I don’t know what happened. Did I do this? It’s hard to believe. I took the pages and puzzled them together. All pages are there. At least I believe they are. I take the risk and will take my diary with me to school. I know it’s not safe. I know that girl Petra will try to take it away from me if I let her. I will fight back if needed. No one helps me anyway. The teacher never does. They don’t care who’s bullied or discriminated against. Just when I’m in the class with the teacher I feel safe. Not because the teacher sees everything or helps kids like me but because all children like him. They fight for his attention. I think the girls are in love with him. He’s the only not old teacher and his hair is long plus he plays musical instruments. All sorts of. I don’t think the principal likes him. The principal is a mean old man. The kind of man you only read about in books. He looks like one of those men of the Inquisition the teacher told us about during history class. Just his belly is way more swollen. His pair of trousers is underneath that terrible belly. I don’t like it if the man comes close and that belly touches me. I don’t want that man to touch me at all. He hits me if he’s in a bad mood. I think teachers are allowed to but I’m not sure. The teacher, that old teacher Mrs Mulder always hit us with a pointer stick. It’s a flexible one so that hurts and it won’t break easily. My parents hit me too. My mother uses whatever she can find. In most cases, it’s the whip, the mat beater made of pulp cane, or the dogs’ leashes which are chains or leather. It all hurts but if she tells me to get the leash I take the heavy chain. The heavy chain has a large heavy carabiner. If she hits me with it the carabiner will hit her back. She never hits me with her bare hands either does my father. He uses his leather slippers. Those slippers Saint Nicholas gives him. If the Saint doesn’t my mother does then it will be my dad’s birthday present. My parents don’t care if they hit me. They don’t care if I have bruises all over and have to stay home. My mother uses the iron stool to hit me on the head, she uses her high heels and throws whatever is within her reach to my head. The pot with peanut butter empties the pan with soup over my head. She scolds, yells at me, ties me up in bed and locks me into the room without something to eat or drink. She hopes I will die since I’m always sick and the source of all misery in her life. Everything is my fault. Me being born ruined her life. While she tells me this all, I hear my bones crack and my ears make a strange sound I wonder how come it makes her mad if the principal hits me. The anger that old man has inside, his hate against me and his violence… It’s bad but not as bad as what she does to me. Because of her I hardly dare to sleep. She will kill me.
Thursday December 2, 2021
Yesterday I went to the gym but I no longer want to do it. There are too many places I don’t want to be because I feel unsafe.
Piet was on the school’s roof during the break. The children of the Catholic school next to ours came to our part of the schoolyard too. They push us away and grab the candies away Piet throws at us. It’s hard to find something. I’m not like the other children. I won’t push or fight for candies. I pick it up if it falls in front of my feet or let it be. Some children have their pockets filled with pepernoten, all sorts of candies. They brag and don’t share with the others but the teacher does. One by one we have to step forward and he gives us a handful. Do you know what I hate? Because of my name, I’m always the last one. It’s the same with the Saint. No one is interested if you are the last one in a row. Adults are tired, children want to go home and play with their toys. The Saint and Piet are in a hurry because our school isn’t the only one they visit. For a moment I felt afraid the Saint would call me. I don’t like to sit on his lap and sing a song. I like his beard but I think beards are dirty. Food, cookie crumbs and spit are in it. How does he wash that beard? If you only comb your hair it gets dirty too. So no sitting on a lap for me. I’m happy about that since my bottom and back already hurt enough.
The school gave us a hot chocolate and after that, we were sent home. Usually, we have school in the afternoon but not if the Saint visits the school. I have a chocolate letter and a book so I’m good. On my way home I ate the candies. I’m not in a hurry. It’s only a five-minute walk and home with my mother is the last place where I want to be.
From the kitchen, I heard her singing. Singing while she vacuumed the living room. I wasn’t sure where to go to so I waited in the kitchen where the housekeeper cooked our meal. She didn’t greet me and as it was ready she told me to tell my mother. At least she sounded as if she was in a good mood. She talked a lot while we ate the terrible meal. My mother cooks way better even I can. Why doesn’t she cook instead of vacuuming all the carpets for hours? I didn’t say a word because talking is not allowed during the meals. Before and after the meal we prayed and I did as if I listened to my mother who read from the Bible. I have no idea what she talked about. If you ask me she and the housekeeper do not either. It’s just a habit. A habit no one cares about or has any benefits of. Good Christians don’t live in this house either good people. God knows and Saint and Piet too.
Friday December 3, 2021
Uncle Ger visited us. We just finished cleaning the house. I’m not sure if my mother likes him. His dad’s friend. A friend dad meets if he leaves to go somewhere. It’s in the city I think. The same city I went to the hospital and where I saw dad once. He was wearing a white coat but I can’t remember uncle Ger was there too. I like this uncle. He greets me and lifts me into the sky. He’s taller than my dad and treated me to some candies. My mother didn’t say anything about it but sent me to my room. I don’t care. I saw uncle and he was kind to me. I don’t need to hear what the grown ups talk about. It’s always boring.
Tonight I can set my shoe again and tomorrow we’ll celebrate the Saint’s birthday. I will read my book now.
WakeUpKitty 