123 Days of Silence – The Cracking of the Wall I Built Around Myself
When I solder glass in the workshop and it receives too much heat, or if there is a tiny, invisible tension inside, the touch of the hot iron makes the glass crack mercilessly with a single sharp snap. In those moments, the work is over, and I can start again. I lived in this rock-hard internal tension for decades, until I finally reached a point where, under the pressure, nothing worked anymore. In therapy at Szigetvár, I faced the cruelest reality: I had reached the bottom of my self-built prison. For decades, brick by brick, I had erected this wall around myself. With the suit-and-tie executive mask and the drinking, I tried to hide exactly one thing from the world: my terrified, deeply insecure, and self-doubting true self.
The therapy demanded ruthless self-examination. I read books, watched movies, and analyzed them to find parallels with my own life. Yet, I did not surrender my thickest internal walls easily. When I saw the admitting chief physician, something immediately moved within me, and it soon turned out she would be my helper in therapy. I was perfectly aware that my attraction to her was a form of cross-addiction, but this deep bond was exactly what I needed for my walls to crack. I simply could no longer lie, make excuses, or cover up my past with her. For the first time in my life, I started talking honestly about myself. Honesty was the key; it finally made me open. For one hundred and twenty-three days I just listened, withdrawing into my own little world with my internal tension, hiding everything, until I was finally able to first write down, and then put into words, my deepest shame—the pain I had been drinking to numb from the very beginning. The fact that I was so terrified and felt so inadequate that alcohol was indispensable for me to experience intimacy, physicality, and sexual relations. To endure the helplessness and uncontrollability of my body, I needed alcohol: so I could feel I was in control, and that it obeyed me. When the tension of these secrets finally snapped, the true confrontation with myself could begin.
Today, when a piece of glass cracks from the heat of the iron in the workshop, I look at it differently. I no longer experience having to start over as a failure, but as a pure opportunity. I examine the process: maybe I made a mistake, maybe I overheated the glass—today I am capable of recognizing this, admitting it, and trying to do it more patiently, differently. It is also possible that an external, invisible tension caused the break—and I can simply accept that. This is exactly what I try to do with my own life after that old, thick wall cracked in Szigetvár. Today, I try to be myself and accept myself exactly as I am—along with my human fallibilities.
Instead of the old, suffocating silence, today I have learned to speak. I am capable of recognizing and admitting my weaknesses and faults, because I realized: this very acceptance is what enables me to approach things differently and truly change them. This is how I try to relate to life today, trying to accept it as it is. I no longer need to wear masks, and I no longer need to reach for a glass to try to connect or communicate honestly with others. Over time, the cracks grew wider, until finally my walls crumbled, and I was able to begin rebuilding my true self.
2656 days – one day at a time.
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