The screaming and yelling of my parents followed me out into the cold Berlin air. I was hot with rage. They did not understand, did not want to understand.
They lived in fear so ingrained they did not even recognise it as fear, and my nerve to shine a light upon this was so distressing to them that rather than deal with that fear,
they would ostracise me, their own child.
I walked quickly because of my anger but also from necessity. It would not surprise me if they called the police, or even the Stasi on me. Nothing was beyond possibility now. Fuck them.
They were no longer my family, that was no longer my home. Tonight I would embrace my new family and home.
My anger was further fuelled as I went. Most people just stared at my appearance or crossed the road. Others shouted abuse at me.
"Hitler would know what to do with you," one man yelled from a shop. "The gas chambers missed you," another sneered. A bottle flew past my head and without thinking I threw a stone back.
Three men jumped me then. "Eat shit you goose stepping fuckers," I yelled between their kicks and punches.
Late into the night after limping for kilometres I knocked on the door of a place I knew. A tall girl with a mohawk and ripped t-shirt opens the door.
There are five others in the room behind her listening to a Sex Pistols cassette. She hands me a bottle of beer. I step into my new home.
I'm tired, aching, and still angry but I'm alive, and I swear as long as I am alive, I'll use all that anger to keep living how I want to. What a dangerous and revolutionary idea that is.