He won’t have any of that “Knutscherei”—necking—going on. I can’t stand that word.
Talking about it was bad enough—why does he have to make me feel bad too!
I’ll have a word with him today. Margot gave me some good advice. Here’s more or less what I’d like to say:
I think you expect an explanation from me, Father, so I’ll give you one.
You’re disappointed in me, you expected more restraint from me,
you no doubt want me to act the way a fourteen-year-old is supposed to. But that’s where you’re wrong!
Since we’ve been here, from July 1942 until a few weeks ago, I haven’t had an easy time.
If only you knew how much I used to cry at night, how unhappy and despondent I was,
how lonely I felt, you’d understand my wanting to go upstairs!
I’ve now reached the point where I don’t need the support of Mother or anyone else.
It didn’t happen overnight. I’ve struggled long and hard and shed many tears to become as independent as I am now.
You can laugh and refuse to believe me, but I don’t care. I know I’m an independent person,
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