"I had no strong feelings towards my brother and we lived parallel lives. He often played in the garden while I stayed in my room and we hardly ever played together.
When we did, it was not mutual play – I never felt any sense of wanting to share my toys or experiences with him. Looking back, those feelings seem somewhat alien to
me now. I understand the idea of mutuality, of having shared experiences. Though I sometimes still find it difficult to open up and give of myself the feelings necessary to
do so are definitely inside me. Perhaps they always were, but it took time for me to find and understand them.
I became an increasingly quiet child and spent most of my time in my room, sitting on my own in a particular spot on the floor, absorbed in the silence. Sometimes
I’d press my fingers into my ears to get closer to the silence, which was never static in my mind, but a silky, trickling motion around my head like condensation.
When I closed my eyes I pictured it as soft and silvery. I didn’t have to think about it; it would just happen. If there was a sudden noise, such as a knock on the
door, it was painful to me, like a shattering of that experience." - šis viss man arī ir ļoti pazīstams.