Many people have been asking me how I found the courage to share my story. I am not courageous in any way. I had to heal a little before I could talk about this event. Trauma is very personal. I did not even know that I was traumatized. I just could NOT talk about the war.
Writing everthing down helps me a lot. As a child I had no one to talk to about my experiences in Srebrenica. I was 7 years old when we arrived in Vienna in August 1995. In september I started grade school. My parents, my brother and I had to get used to living together again.
My father was mostly a stranger to us. We knew him only from photographs. My mother, like me, was severely traumatized. In Austria we had to live like nothing ever happend. We were still afraid. Afraid that the Austrian government would send us back to Srebrenica.
My mother was especially afraid of the Austrian police force. There were many gruesome stories during the war about policemen in other parts of Bosnia, who arrested people for no reason and tortured them or sent them to concentration camps.
Some Austrians citizens would aks us when we would return home,the war was over.They could not comprehend that there was nothing to return to. No home, no future,no nothing.The following years my parents struggled a lot to meet ends meet. As refugees you were not allowed to work.
My mother would go and clean houses to get a little money to buy food. My father was lucky and got a job at as a warehouse worker with the help of the catholic church. We still lived in poverty but we could buy food. That was enough for us.
After we arrived to Austria,we had some health issues. My brother and I had tapeworms.I had a severe bronchitis aswell.We sometimes had to eat rotten food during the war. We had no other option back then.The water was dirty and living circumstances were not very hygienic.
I remember that at some point my fingernails would fall of. You could literally peal them of. I was not ill in anyway. Everytime the new nails started to grow they would peal of from the nail beds. After we left the war zone we got to eat some normal food and normal sized meals.
Our health improved.But mentally we were still the same.I can't remember that I ever talked with anyone about the war as a child. No one asked & I didn't know how to share. My childhood was uneventful.I was a poster child.I had the best grades.But my personality was not the best.
I had difficulties to form bonds with other people. I had "friends" but I was not close to anyone. Not even to my family. I would push everyone away. In school if teachers found out I was from Srebrenica they would want me to share my story. I never could. I would choke up.
The moment my walls really broke down was when I visited Srebenica for the first time. I finished school and was about to start university. That summer my parents decided that it was time I went there and revisit everything.
At the beginning I was really excited.I still remember how Srebrenica looked like during the war. The city was full of people.There was no corner you could turn without bumping into someone.
I kind of knew that the city won't be the same anymore. But I didn't expect to be hit by reality that hard. We only stayed overnight because of me. The moment we arrived in Potocari I felt the familiar choking but I ignored it. My excitement was that big. Finally HOME.
The city was almost empty. We spent the day visiting our village and looking for anything that was left there. The village was burned to the ground. Like we never existed there. Nothing was left. Nature was already swallowing the whole village up.
As the day went on the choking feeling got worse. We were to sleep at the house of one of my cousin and his family. After years of living as refugees in their own country they had no other choice but to return to Bljeceva, our village.
On the grounds of our beautiful village they have discovered three mass graves. That year when we visited they just opened a new mass grave behind my cousins house. I couldn't sleep the whole night. The next day I was not myself. I went into the woods with my brother to explore.
We wandered around a little but my mind was foggy. I went back to the house and my parents decided that we should stay another night. That's when something broke inside of me. I started screaming and crying. Begging my parents to leave. They were shockend I could see that.
I couldn't see straight. I wanted out. To run away. I begged them crying. My father asked me what was wrong. I only said" I can't watch this any longer! It hurts! Please, let us leave. "They packed up and we left. I asked them to stop at the Potocari cemetery.
I was crying hysterically as I went to my grandfathers grave. I said a prayer and asked for forgiveness that I couldn't visit sooner. As we left I cied the whole way back to Tuzla, were we were staying.
No one talked. I took a shower later on and went to bed. The next day I felt empty. I felt nothing. As time passed on I started to talk to my mother about the things I could remember. She was shockend that I still remembered so much. I started to talk to friends aswell.
I had to get my emotions in check for a few years. I couldn't show a sad expression while telling my stories. People would look at me strangely because I would narrate emotionless. Or worse smile. Something was still wrong.
I was holding my sadness back. I was still broken. Then when my nephew was born I suddenly felt reborn. I cried at his first birthday. I was so overwhelmed with joy. I started to share my story with everyone around me. And I cried. I allowed myself to feel sad and to feel hurt.
I have no reason anymore to hold back. So I'm letting everthing out. I hope I can heal someday. Healing takes time.. sometimes it takes over 25 years. #Srebrenica #refugeetrauma
