I realized that my wife is almost at the epicentre of the explosions. I rushed to her. At that point, the Grad multiple rocket launcher systems started firing. Tree branches were flying over us. Shells exploded some 50-60 meters away. Shell-shocked by the explosions, birds fall to the ground. I knew then that I was running towards my death.

I carried 20 guinea pigs from Sloviansk to Kharkiv. There was no public transport then, the bridges were destroyed. My dad drove us to Barvinkove, and from there a shuttle bus went to Kharkiv. I took a plasma box, made shelves for the pigs and they sat there like sprats — there was no other option. Then they got out, and I had to catch them on the bus.

Since I have realized that I lost Mariupol, I don't miss Kharkiv. And I have also realized what roots mean. You can dislike the city where you were born, but the roots still give you their impulses. And you will never confuse what you have lost when you lose it.

Always, especially when the siren goes off, I imagine a missile hitting my apartment: I see the furniture flying apart and how I get killed. I relive these moments constantly - I accept the fact that I'm going to die, and I feel better.
 

I have not come to terms with the fact that my house continues to be shelled. But I'm ready to go back to Izium. And it doesn't matter what it looks like. I'll be fine, spend a few years there, do something. The main thing is that it should be territory under the control of Ukraine. The way home for me will not be blocked by the IDP certificate.

It is as if my internal matrix superimposes on both Kharkiv and Horlivka the image of what they were like before the war. That is, I continue to visualize them as normal, undamaged, and war-free. 

In the chat of the Union of the Owners of Multiple Houses it was written that orcs were getting into the fourth entrance, trying to tear down the door. I thought then: “Well, that’s it, they’re coming after me!” I dressed up and waited. It turned out that the russians got a person from the fifth floor. At that time it reminded me of the events of 1933 that Remarque described: when Germans from the Gestapo arrested people in their apartments.

It took us a while to adapt to life. The emotional state was a strange one. Work had kept us distracted from all the stress of the war, and we felt a lot of fatigue. And when we arrived and were able to exhale a bit, the stress came back like a spring. Everything that we experienced during the three weeks of volunteering came crashing down, and we could not do anything. Going to a store became incredibly difficult, and speaking to people  — even more so.

What struck most painfully was the feeling of being a refugee. You had a home, a hometown, and a life with achievements and accomplishments. And now you are a nobody. You run around social services asking for help because you have nowhere to live. I mean, we ride with our newborn son, and we know there's a chance we'll be spending the night in a field.