Das hab ich Mal vor Jahren geschrieben. Sorry, mein Englisch ist nicht so gut.
Die dunkelste Stunde
I can not control my thoughts anymore
Everything is broken, the future no longer exists
I stand rigidly in our dark house and go into the kitchen as if remotely controlled
I barely register as my right hand opens a drawer and grabs the big knife
And so I leave the house
The night is cold, the sky is full of stars and the cool air is good for me, my thoughts become clearer
And the decision is becoming more and more accurate in my mind
There she is, the big oak tree, under which I settle down. I sit there for a long time and the cold slowly stuns my body
I’m doing it now and a tear is running down my face
It does not hurt when I start cutting and I notice the warm blood running down my hands
There my brother stands in front of me, and snatches the knife from me
Why are you doing this to me I ask ?
Because you are my brother, he answers.
Today, 30 years later, I’m wearing the almost faded scars on my wrist. A stigma of the darkest hour of my life. And if I see somebody with similar scars, I know, a survivor like me.
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