Page 9 of Teddy Bear

I fixed myself on one point in the wall and patiently waited for the pain to pass.

The injection took an unbearably long time. For almost an eternity, the horrible needle was buried in my skin and released a stinging, angry medicine around, so long that I thought I was going to cross my every possible limit, when I suddenly felt that horrible but also liberating moment when the nurse carefully pulled the needle out of my body.

She stuck a cotton swab to the spot, which bled briefly and in spots afterwards, but I didn't pay any more attention to it. The sting still hurt, but now I proudly held my dad's hand as he and my mother said goodbye to the doctors and led me to our fancy car.

Dad drove us to a children's toy store, the largest and most luxurious in town, and let me choose for myself, but the choice was already quite obvious. In the very corner of the colorful, fragrant store, so as not to obscure the other toys, on the highest wooden shelf, stood a huge, furry teddy bear, with almost alive, brown marble eyes, a firm brown muzzle, and a beautiful, plush, with a red bow around his neck.

-Teddy!

I cried out in delight as my father unquestioningly paid the cashier, as agreed, buying me a reward for my incredible bravery and endurance.

Teddy's paws were so soft and the fur so comfortable that I fell asleep in the car on the way home, carefree and safely tucked into my new, most beautiful and biggest teddy bear in the world.

I quickly forgot about the pain, and I was just endlessly and unreservedly happy, the way only children can be.

It was the first time that dad applied this parenting method to me. A method that later probably shaped our entire relationship.

My father was quite a shrewd and intelligent man, and since he realized then that I was willing to endure and grit my teeth only if I got my reward, he decided that it might be a good way to build my character and sense of discipline and worth - he always tested and calmed me in this way.

With every problem and my childish resistance, this became our default way of functioning. A system of endurance and reward. My brain got programmed very quickly.

Very quickly I learned the rules, which were more than simple.

It was necessary to endure, long enough, strong enough, to remain perfectly calm and obedient, and at the end of the dark and painful path, the promised reward and my father's warm love and pride awaited me.

So, very quickly, I learned that if I wanted love and rewards, I had to earn it.

Although I was a relatively healthy child until the age of four, after that, something snapped, weakened me, and made me susceptible to inflammation.

After this transient infection, a severe throat infection followed, then sinusitis, then mononucleosis. It turned out that I was actually a very sickly child who managed to pick up every possible virus that came my way.

Considering my constant illness, there was, of course, so much that had to be earned and endured.

Injections became something completely normal, pain that I now endured without a single word, just like unpalatable medicines, compresses, and visits to doctors.

Every time I showed strength and courage (which was very often), my dad rewarded me by bringing me a stuffed toy. My little room eventually became full of my stuffed friends who were a reminder of what a good and brave little girl I am.

And then everything changed.

My father's perfect system had one crack, a huge hole in fact, that was equal parts deadly and dangerous.

My father foresaw that little detail - the fact that there wasn't always a reward for your pain.

Sometimes pain was just pain, suffering just suffering, inflicted senselessly, aimlessly, without any reason or greater point to justify it and make it worth enduring.

That feeling of powerlessness and inner emptiness was completely new, completely strange, confusing, and unbearable for a ten-year-old girl who still lived in a world where her father was a hero and his word was absolute law.

At that time, I still couldn't understand how it was possible that for all my hard work and suffering, the rewards were more and more absent - and the situations that should have been endured, the times when I should have kept silent, remained calm, remained good, remained obedient, became almost constant.

When I turned twelve, my parents' quarrels and the situation at home became unbearable.

My father became seriously ill. Probably from some sort of bipolar disorder, and his illness, for which he refused to seek help, dragged the whole family down.

Mother became preoccupied with him and did not find much time for me.

But that wasn’t a big deal, because even if she wanted to find the time and tried to do so, I'm quite sure it would be worthless; she couldn't explain to me why the perfect system that dad and I had suddenly collapsed, and why I didn't deserve his attention and rewards anymore.

She couldn't explain to me why dad doesn't notice me, why he comes home angry, in a hurry, often drunk, why he falls into bed and doesn't get out of it for days, still dressed in his expensive suits and with the strong smell of whiskey wafting from his darkened room.