In a sense, I always knew that I had previously been a soldier. I knew how to fight, and I had a strict honor code, stood at attention, and was one of those kids that naturally never wanted to step out of line. Even though I was a tender and timid child, I did always have a "killer streak," and would play out these elaborate murder fantasies in my head. However, along with this, I have always... ALWAYS had this dreadful fear of killing somebody. Like I would lose control, grab the nearest object, and kill the nearest person, even though I would never do that. I used to panic whenever I had a sharp object in my hand because, even as a kid, I felt like I might angrily turn around and stab the person closest to me, for no reason, like a spasm. Once when I was eleven, I tried to control the fear by sitting in the middle of the kitchen, holding the family's biggest knife, and telling my self "I will not kill anyone" over and over again. It's subsided now, but every so often, I get afraid of it again.

My family is of German descent, and I have always been interested in German culture. My dad had taken some German classes in college (though he barely remembered any of it) and tried to teach me how to count to ten in German. Not only did I already know it, but I corrected the Bavarian accent that his teacher had taught him with a natural Frisian accent! Also, when I was little, I always drew thunderbolts that were shaped exactly like SS thunderbolts. I knew they were a symbol of strength, and whenever I wrote my name, I would put thunderbolts next to it, because I felt like it was a good symbol for me. Also, when I was a small child, I was fascinated with the ferocity of wolves. They were my favorite animal (I was a wolf for Halloween 3 times in a row!).

Whenever I heard about "German soldiers," I was interested. Not for historical purposes, but to root for them, and most importantly, I wanted to know what they were thinking, even if they were just extras in a movie I was watching. I never made the connection between myself and World War II until 3rd grade, when I was in the library and happened to pull out a book of historical figures. I turned to a page with a picture of Adolf Hitler, and when I looked at his face, I said aloud to my dad and friend, "I know this man."
"Of course, he was the leader of Germany in World War II." My dad said, "He was responsible for the deaths of millions of people." I was enthralled by his portrait and sat staring at it for a good twenty minutes. I wanted to know more about him, but I also knew that I instantly hated him and everything he represented, even though I didn't know what Nazis were. Ever since that day, I took every opportunity I had to denounce Hitler. Once, when a teacher made a passing remark about him, I raised my hand, stood up in front of the whole class (something I never ever did because I was shy) and said "He is an embarrassment to the German people and the whole of Europe should have dealt with him sooner! He should have never been allowed to lead people in anything!" There was an awkward silence immediately after and I scurried back to my seat. Ever since seeing Hitler's portrait, I knew that I used to be a soldier for him.

As history classes rolled through, I saw more and more Nazi footage. I knew that I was one of them from the first time I saw video of a troupe of Hitler Youth boys carrying flags and wearing the brownshirt uniform. I knew that this was weird, so I kept it to myself for years, researching in secret. Every time I researched WWII Germany, I felt like I was being reminded, instead of learning, like I did with studying other cultures. Reading The Book Thief in sixth grade was overwhelmingly nostalgic. By then I knew, and my memories came flooding back. I even remember snippets of German sounds in the memories, which I have only been able to translate later as I try to teach myself the language (with great ease). One prominent word that I remember is the word "flasche," which literally means "bottle," but is also 30's German slang for "weakling." For the longest time, if I made a mistake, to admonish myself, I would mumble "flasche!" just assuming it was a fake German word. Turns out it was real!

As I grow closer to the age that I believe I was when I enlisted and fought in the Eastern Front (winter 42, spring/summer 43), my "memories" flood my mind more and more frequently. Certain sounds, like sirens in house music (an example would be "Russia Privjet" by Basshunter) trigger panic attacks in me, even if I don't consciously notice the sound. Hearing Nazi doctrines send shivers down my spine, and sometimes I feel like I fall back into that body. As a joke, I was impersonating a Nazi soldier in front of a friend and suddenly I pointed my hand straight at her face as if I were holding a gun and called her a pig and tried to force her to follow me to "the shooting place" and... let's say I got really into character.

I don't feel completely out of control of these experiences, even though they have a tendency to wash over me completely. I try to use this other side of my personality to my advantage. It comes in really good handy during athletic competitions and formal situations! Also, having these horrifying memories, real or not, help me work towards an anti-war cause and keep my (current) morals on track. I believe everyone should learn from their mistakes.