He Looked Into My Eyes

He looked into my eyes. His eyes and their presence scared me the most. I feel he judged me, in a certain way, and I didn't like it. I feel judged. I love to have a proper conversation without any judgement.

I always have to meet him in his perfection. His perfection was proper. I couldn't meet his standards. I never did, I never will, and I never want to. At that moment, it was different.

I am the only one who can meet up with my presence and nobody else's.

My hand meets the door handle. I opened the door of my bedroom. It is a little bit cold and I closed the window. It was the beginning of November; a cold breeze from outside into my bedroom is something I don't like. Closing the window is the best option I had that Saturday morning. Or actually, it was late morning, around eleven o'clock. I just woke up an hour before the practice hour.

When I opened my violin case, I saw a spider walking on the ceiling. I didn't pay any attention to it, but it annoyed me a bit, as I'm scared of spiders. I just had to overcome that fear myself.

I tighten my violin bow a little more, as I always have to before you start playing the violin. I attach the shoulder rest under my violin. I put my violin under my chin, and I tune my violin to the right pitch. If I know it's the right A, then I do the rest of the strings to the sound of the A. That's the way strings and winds always tune their instrument.

When I play the first notes on the violin, I immediately hear whether I have the right day. Sometimes you don't have your day and then you have to study differently, wait a while and do nothing else, or just calm down.

When I am relaxed, I will try to play the violin again. I love to play the violin so much; it is my biggest passion. I will feel all my emotions, the emotions of the composer through his or her music.

The moment I closed the door to not be disturbed while practising the violin, I heard Him walking upstairs. I knew what He is going to do within seconds from that moment. My heart beats faster than normal. Every time it happens. I don't like this feeling. I don't want to feel this feeling anymore. I am done with this feeling. I try anyways. I have to feel it, to heal. I still feel this feeling when I talk about it. It hurts. It hurts millions of times more every time I speak about it.

The music goes through my veins and blood. I continue playing the violin. Despite I know what is going to happen when He walks upstairs, I start playing. This helps me cope with what is going on. I have been through many things in my life already. Still, coping with these kinds of situations, is what I am used to, so this I can handle too.

It all happened more than thirty years ago. When I was a child and a teenager. And still, it hurts thinking about it. Now I am in de midst of my thirties. Half of my lifetime. And what did I do about it? Not that much, I guess.

When I was in therapy years ago, my therapist felt something was not ok with me. He asked me if I had been through things in my youth. My therapist was really good to notice this. In the first place, I was surprised by this question, but I trusted my therapist fully. So, I decided that this was the right moment to pull the trigger in my system to shake things up and work on this.

The sooner I got through this, the better this is for the rest of my life. I know working on my past will benefit my future. The better this is for what I want to achieve in my life. I want to keep dreaming and fulfilling them, but I know when things are stuck in my system, I won't be able to live my dream.

I still stood there in my room. I made a mistake when playing the violin. Suddenly, I heard footsteps from the attic. Was it a ghost? The footsteps were loud. I froze. I knew this moment was coming, and yet, it was a surprise too. I always hope one day these kinds of moments will be over and never hear those footsteps from the attic.

No, it was not a ghost. It was a man I knew my whole life since I was even born. Someone that should be there for me. Someone that should protect me. He didn't.

The footsteps became louder, faster and I couldn't move. Then, the door slammed open. He said: "That is the wrong note. Play it again ten more times." His voice was fierce, strong and deep. At the same time, I couldn't say anything to protect myself. I was flabbergasted by his presence. So sudden.

I almost freaked out within my system, but I couldn't let it happen. I was that frozen. I started to practise the violin again when He was gone. I cried. He was so harsh on me. I felt I was not perfect enough for Him, for the world. I felt that nothing works well for Him what I do, that I am not worth existing.

From that moment on, I felt terrible that day. I already felt sad that day and therefore I started playing the violin, which helps me cope with the situations at school, and everywhere else. So, this was terrible above everything else that day.

I stand there, in front of my music desk, staring at my music. Nothing seems right that day. I didn't understand the students at school, I didn't understand Him, but also I didn't understand my feelings. They went from one side to the other side. I felt split.

After an hour I started practising again when He didn't do the laundry in the attic. As He usually does. I had tears on my cheeks. I wiped them off and went on with what I was doing. In the first place, I thought He was gone, but then He was in another room doing something for his voluntary work.

Staring outside taught me it was raining and everything has a purpose, I thought. Also the way He treated me like this. Something that brings to life. He had to control me like this, I thought. Is it? Then I realized that I don't need to be controlled like this. I have my own life, and my opinions and I may express them as well. Even others don't agree with me.

Why is He controlling me like that? Why does He want to say what I have to say? Why does He want me to do things the way He wants me to do them? What on Earth am I? A robot or something?

So, I went to do other things instead of practising the violin. Something He doesn't hear me doing anything; playing a CD of my favourite violinist at all times.

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About the writer

Agnes Laurens is a writer. She writes for the local newspaper. Agnes lives in The Netherlands, with her three daughters. You can find her on Vocal, Medium, Elephant Journal, HubPages, and Music List. Aside from playing the violin, writing has been one of her passions since childhood. She is on Twitter and Instagram. You can subscribe to my mailing list, and you can subscribe to my Thoughts. Check out her books. She has an online web store, and she has a merchandise store. Please follow this link if you want to be informed about my online store and my merch, please follow this link.