My story in 4000 characters - challenge accepted.

My story begins in May 2022. I'm sitting in the office at the computer, I'm thinking that it's my birthday in September and that I'm always in a bad mood then. I notice how my heart starts to race, my hands are shaking and panic rises in me, deep, infinitely deep panic rises in me. What is breaking in me? Is it THAT? I need help!

Today, half a year later, I can write about my ADOPTION - progress.

My story begins, like every story at the beginning, on September 22, 1977 in Wernigerode. Three weeks too early, on a Thursday at 10 p.m. My mother was 19 and already had a daughter, Gabi, 2 ½. Three weeks earlier, my father said goodbye in the seventh month of pregnancy. After a short time in the incubator and in the hospital, I went home. Then a few days later the first shock, pneumonia, children's hospital alone in the hospital for over a month. No time for love, for closeness, for everything a newborn needs. I was busy surviving. Then I was back home, but not for long. In November it was time to go to the weekly crèche. Weekly crèche in the GDR means for the child: stay in a foreign environment from Monday morning to Friday afternoon, including overnight stays. Why? In the GDR you had the right to work and the damn duty. And my mother as a single parent had no other option for me. Not good for me, this shaped me for the rest of my life, as I would only find out much later. The drama takes its course. My mother let it slide, said the GDR state is giving in... far from it.

When I was one year old on September 13th, 1978, I didn't go home, on the contrary. I was admitted to the children's and babies' home. My sister, she was almost four, was placed in a regular children's home. We would not see each other again until 38 years later.

One station further and 2 1/4 years later I was adopted. Against my mother's will, however, in loving, kind, understanding hands.

I grew up in a loving home. Here and there I had questions, half to my parents, half to myself; Why aren't there any baby photos of me, why did my mother have an operation, why does mom react so strangely when I ask which breast I drank from? Time advanced. A turning point - in two respects, the GDR passed and my innocence.

In school we talked about adoption, about biological parents and about social parents. My teacher asked me if her explanations on the subject were correct in front of all the people, "That's true, Tobias, isn't it?" I was taken aback. I reflexively answered "yes". My teacher immediately realized her mistake. On the other hand, the topic seemed to bother no one else, but me.

I came home and asked. The total shock, at the kitchen table in tears, my mother reported: "Yes! You're adopted!” I blacked out and I just wanted to be alone, I cried, couldn't really cry because anger mixed with the shock. Suddenly everything made sad sense.

Because my mom was crying, I didn't want to dig any further into this wound. I pondered for a while and came to the conclusion that my birth mother gave me away so that I would have a better life. This was the least painful story for me and I embraced it for many years. A lot has happened in the meantime.

My father, of whom I was afraid as a child without any reason, passed away on November 7, 2022 - rest in peace, dear Adolf!

I had access to my adoption files, there was talk of neglect and hunger. But as I know today only half the truth, the work on my biography is just beginning.