The house of my fears

Moltkestrasse 81, 41 Duisburg-Duissern. Here is the house of my fears. Although I lived the first eight years of my life in this house, I have almost no memories beyond this address that remains etched in my memory, as if written in stone. The name of a neighbor. They tell me she was married with a son. I don't remember. I don't really remember the neighbor either, all I have left is her name (or rather her last name). I'm also told that we visited her once after we moved out, but I don't remember anything.
I remember more than 20 years ago. I was still living in Germany, and I went by train from the north, where I lived, to the south of Germany, to visit a friend, to go to an activist meeting, I don't remember. The train passed over a bridge near the house shortly before arriving at the main station in Duisburg. It was the first time I thought about this house, and I had the idea to get off the train, and go see this house. I was scared to death. A fear I had never felt before. A strong palpitation, and an almost unbearable fear. I didn't get off the train. But since then, the fear remains when I think of this house.
I have no idea about the house, or our apartment. Second flour, they tell me. Now I have pictures of me (when I got the pictures, I was also very afraid to look at them. Not anymore. Now I can look at these photos without fear, even though I have no memory of any of these), photos of me in this house. I can look at them, but I don't remember anything. Nothing of the house, nothing of these first eight years of my life. There are some pictures of my first day at school - in my memory there is only a gap. I don't remember this day, not this school - emptiness.
I am left mostly with the fear of this house. The house of my fears. The house of the first eight years of my life. Four years ago, when I first started looking at my past, my childhood, and confronting this trauma, this black hole of my past, I was obsessed with the question "What happened to me? What happened in my childhood? What happened in this house?" Not anymore. I don't have this obsession anymore. However, I feel the need to confront this fear, this house of my fears. Perhaps I need it to close this chapter of my life, to free myself from this fear, to make peace with my past. Or maybe I need it to open Pandora's box again and get even more shit out of the box. I don't know. But if I do nothing, it stays here, the house of my fears, and the fear stays in my mind.