In “The Cold Bottle,” a long-time friend shares his moving story: how an experience from childhood—the symbolic “cold bottle”—shaped his life and behavior, and what role the underlying trauma played. The story of “The Cold Bottle” shows how childhood trauma and hidden memories can influence our behaviour later in life. Sometimes patterns like alcohol consumption are connected to emotions and experiences we no longer consciously remember. Understanding these hidden connections can be the first step toward healing and self-awareness.

---

The Cold Bottle – How Childhood Trauma Shapes Our Behavior

One day an old friend came to see me and asked for a session. We did not meet often, but whenever we did, it was always a joy for both of us. On that day, however, I could immediately see that something was seriously wrong, and we arranged an appointment right away.

My friend—let’s call him Holger—was 48 years old, a very pleasant, sympathetic, and friendly man. He began to describe his problem.

He told me that not long ago he had drunk so heavily over a weekend that he eventually woke up in a hospital. There the doctors informed him that he had been admitted in an acute state of delirium. The cause had been extremely heavy alcohol consumption that had apparently lasted for several days.

Holger could barely remember anything. For him it had been a terrible experience to wake up in a hospital and receive such a diagnosis.

He had always had what he called a mild alcohol problem. But it had never been this bad before. The situation had frightened him so much that he now wanted to seek help for the first time.

I had known him for many years and was aware of his emotional struggles. We had spoken about them occasionally, and I had often suggested that he might want to consider psychotherapy one day.

He would usually just smile and say:

“If it ever really comes to that, I’d rather come to you.”

Then we would laugh and change the subject.

Now that moment had apparently arrived.

I asked him what had happened shortly before that weekend that had led him to drink so much.

“Nothing special, really,” he replied. “Maybe there was a bit more stress at work that week, but that happens quite often. Still, I was feeling a bit more down than usual those days. That happens to me sometimes, as you know.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. “What exactly do you do when you get into one of those phases?”

Holger thought for a moment.

“Usually it happens on weekends. I suddenly feel very lonely and sad. I can’t tell you why. It comes completely out of nowhere. Then I just want to be alone and barricade myself at home. I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I feel paralyzed, barely able to think or move. Then I start drinking—until I’m completely drunk.”

“Can you describe how you feel in that situation?”

Holger took a deep breath.

“That’s hard to describe. It’s like a mixture of fear and sadness. It’s really terrible.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes.

“I think this is the first time I’m telling anyone this…”

I nodded with understanding.

“You once told me that you’re adopted.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I don’t know my biological parents. But I have a very loving relationship with my adoptive parents.”

“Good,” I said. “If you want, we can try to find out what the cause of your problems is.”

Holger gave a slight grin.

“Will it hurt?”

I smiled back.

“It probably won’t be completely painless. But don’t worry—I’ll be with you.”

I explained what we would do during the session, and he agreed.

Hidden Memories and Emotional Patterns

Then we began.

I stood behind Holger, asked him to close his eyes, and let my healing energy flow into him.

After a while he twitched slightly.

“What do you see?” I asked.

Holger was silent for a moment.

Then he said in a choked voice:

“I’m in someone’s arms.”

“In whose arms?”

“In my mother’s… my real mother’s. It feels wonderful. I’m so happy.”

“How old are you?”

“Maybe one year old.”

Suddenly his facial expression changed.

“What’s happening now?” I asked.

“A man has come. My mother and he are arguing. They’re very loud.”

He swallowed.

“My mother puts me back into my crib. After a while they both leave the room.”

“What do you do?”

A short pause.

“I’m lying in the crib and crying. No one pays attention to me.”

“What happens then?”

“I lie there whimpering. I don’t know for how long. It’s terrible. No one comes. I’m completely exhausted and eventually fall asleep.”

“And then?”

“I wake up again. Still alone. I stare at the ceiling. I’m so scared. I want my mom, but she’s not there. I’m hungry. I scream and scream—but eventually I fall asleep again.”

After a short pause Holger continued.

“I wake up again. I hear voices. Footsteps. The door opens. Men and women come in. I don’t know them.”

“What happens then?”

“They take me out of the bed. A woman picks me up. She says comforting words. Then they take me away.”

“How do you feel?”

“Exhausted. Confused. But also relieved that finally someone has come.”

He took a deep breath.

“They bring me to a hospital. I’m lying in another crib again. There are other children too. I hear them crying.”

“Where is my mom?” Holger said quietly.

“I start crying again. A woman comes. I don’t know her. She picks me up and gives me a bottle.”

He paused.

“But she doesn’t feel loving. She’s just doing her job. Her embrace feels cold. And the bottle feels cold too.”

He whispered:

“A cold bottle.”

“Then I’m lying there again staring at the ceiling. I see the cold light of the lamps. I feel paralyzed.”

He swallowed.

“Sometimes I cry. But there are many other children crying too. It often takes a long time until someone comes.”

Then again:

“The woman comes and gives me the bottle. But it feels cold again. A cold bottle…”

Holger continued telling me that later his adoptive parents came and took him with them. From that moment on things became better for him. But the pain of losing his mother stayed with him. Later, as an adult, he repeatedly attracted women who eventually left him. Each time those experiences hit him deeply. Then he started drinking. He would lie on his bed, stare at the ceiling, and feel paralyzed. Just like back then.

Awareness as the First Step to Healing

Finally I asked him:

“Where do you recognize this feeling of the ‘cold bottle’ from?”

Holger thought for a moment. Then he said quietly:

“That’s exactly what it’s like when I drink. When I’m alone, I often drink straight from the bottle. Then it’s the cold bottle from my childhood… my substitute.”

I nodded.

“Exactly. The cold bottle without love.”

Holger looked at me.

“But why do I do that? It never made me feel better. Why do I repeat it?”

I explained to him:

“Your subconscious stored this trauma. Whenever you get into a similar situation—for example when a woman leaves you—your subconscious remembers the moment when you lost your mother. Then the old feelings come back: fear, confusion, loneliness. And unconsciously you repeat the behavior from back then. You lie down. You barely move. You stare at the ceiling. And then you reach for alcohol—the cold bottle.”

I paused for a moment.

“When you were in the hospital back then, you finally received attention again. Unfortunately not your mother’s love, but the care of an overworked nurse. She gave you the bottle. It felt cold—without love. But at least it eased your pain a little.”

I went on to explain that children in such situations often believe that they themselves are to blame when their parents disappear.

These unconscious feelings of guilt can later lead to self-destructive behavior.

Tears ran down Holger’s face.

“Now I finally understand why I do this.”

Later in the session I guided Holger, on a spiritual level, back to his mother. There he was able to clarify why she had never returned.

Then the adult Holger went to the little Holger in the hospital crib. Finally he lifted him out of the crib. He took him into his arms, comforted him, and explained that he was not to blame. He promised him that from now on he would always be there for him. Then he took the little Holger with him into his present life.

We ended the session.

A happy Holger looked at me—and smiled.

From that day on, he would be free from his alcohol problem.

Marco Hennings – Biography