Sir Nicholas Winton is a humanitarian who organized a rescue operation that saved the lives of 669 Jewish Czechoslovakia children from Nazi death camps, and brought them to the safety of Great Britain between the years 1938-1939.
After the war, his efforts remained unknown. But in 1988, Winton’s wife Grete found the scrapbook from 1939 with the complete list of children’s names and photos. Sir Nicholas Winton is sitting in an audience of Jewish Czechoslovakian people who he saved 50 years before.
This post gained more than 100,000 notes in over a day. One of the most powerful things I ever posted.
You’re removed from my life, but not from my mind.
I thought you were gone for good, I’ve done so well to pretend you’ve never existed.
It’s been so long, but the wounds still feel so fresh. The aches still tremble me.
I thought I was finally distancing myself from the memories, and then I dream of you, and I am so crippled. I don’t want to get out of bed. How am I still affected this way? Why is this happening?
Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. I feel alone. I can’t talk to anyone, because no one would understand. I suffer alone; And you’re the last person who would talk to me.
The mornings I wake up, fresh from the dreams the night before, when I am still hazy, I think of talking to you, for closure, for comfort, for ANYTHING.
I know that would never happen though. If you wanted to talk, you knew where to find me. So I never bother.
I’m left venting on tumblr, because I know, here, no one would really understand, or assume. No one would ask questions, not because they care, but because they want something to talk about.
I had to turn somewhere, because I feel like I’m being crushed from the inside. Keeping something like this to yourself is so damaging. I have no choice. I can’t help but cringe when I hear you name, and I hope no one notices.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this post, because I STILL don’t feel comfortable really talking about it, even here. I worry about prying eyes, even though most people I know don’t even know I have a tumblr. I’m just paranoid.
I don’t know what I’m even afraid of. I’m not doing anything wrong.
I haven’t done anything wrong.
I’ve tried to push you away.
Physically, it worked.
Emotionally, I have been unsuccessful. You haunt me, and you’re not even dead.
You still have a hold on me, and I shake, and I fight, and I wonder how, but it’s there. You creep into my mind, and I have to hide.
Maybe I’m afraid, because I know no one would understand. No one would “get” it. I mean, why would they? I don’t even understand.
I don’t want this. I can’t control this.
Believe me, if I could, I would have even forgotten the memories. Even they hurt.
You can’t control how you feel though, I guess.
You’re killing me.
Maybe I will just keep poisoning myself with you until I am emotionally dead.