I wasn’t eating, but I was constantly throwing up from fear

On fleeing Donbas.

I was born in a small town in Donetsk Oblast. Until 2014, I had a perfectly happy life as a schoolgirl. Yes, it’s a small town, but I remember the feeling — the town was blossoming. Everything was changing for the better. My family was middle class. If we wanted something special, a camera for instance, we’d save up for it for a year, but clothes, food, trips to the seaside — we had all of that. We mostly went to Crimea, but we were perfectly content.

In 2014, I was 17. Senior year, exams — I was a straight-A student and was buried in books 24/7. The first time I realized something strange was happening was when I heard on the news that troops were moving toward Donetsk, Horlivka — and that’s only a half-hour drive from us. And then it was all like a movie: there’s Mom packing things, there’s my stepdad pounding on the table saying, “You have to leave now!” And then I’m already sitting alone in a Kharkiv dormitory.

For all those 8 years, I studied in Kharkiv, fell in love, bought furniture for an apartment, built my business, and worked incredibly hard. I dreamed of earning enough money to bring my parents over. Kharkiv became my second home. And I don’t even know which is the greater loss: the city where you were born, or the place where you came into your own, achieved everything yourself through sheer hard work.

On fleeing Kharkiv.

I knew there would be war as early as February 22, during the day. Mom called: “Sasha, if anything happens, I love you very much!” There’d been an ungodly number of such calls over those 8 years, and here it was again: “Sasha, there are rumors they’ll start shooting here, mobilization is beginning.” And then that evening announcement recognizing the DPR, and I was simply seized with horror. That state where you’re not exactly crying, but tears are pouring down your face. For the last 2 years, they wouldn’t let me into the DPR because I have a Kharkiv registration. And I understood: if something, God forbid, happens, they won’t even allow me to bury my parents. There’d already been such cases.

On the morning of the 24th, I woke up to explosions. But I wasn’t planning to go anywhere until the very last moment. I had this feeling that if I left Kharkiv now, I’d never return. Like I never returned to Donbas. I remember we went outside with the neighbors to stand in line for groceries. An elderly woman was standing nearby — she was so frightened. I put my arm around her shoulders and said: “Don’t worry, this is a residential area — whatever they may be, they won’t bomb here.”

The next day, while standing in another line, fighter jets flew overhead. That’s the most terrifying sound in the world. No Grads, no tanks, nothing induces such horror. We all drop to the ground — and a few seconds later, a deafening explosion. And then a shell hit a 16-story building on my street. I can’t even find words to describe how terrifying it is. I was already vomiting from nerves. I wasn’t eating, but from fear I was retching constantly. These planes kept flying back and forth. The jet flies over, then the sound goes silent, and you tense up completely — waiting for the explosion. Over and over.

At first, my boyfriend and I evacuated to a village outside Kharkiv, but nearby they bombed Yakovlivka, leveled it overnight, and we had to find another place. We took a volunteer truck to Dnipro, sitting on suitcases — at least they gave us tea and even handed out pastries. We just went wherever seemed safe and whoever would take us in. Outside Kharkiv, we stayed with complete strangers. Found them through five degrees of separation — a grandmother and grandfather took us in, fed us, and everything.

Among our neighbors and friends, we do a daily roll call. Who’s where; everyone helps each other, gives advice. We’ve bonded so much — we’ve become one family. After a while, explosions started in Dnipro too; I started shaking again, the vomiting came back, it all returned. And in the end, through some acquaintances — I can’t even remember the whole chain anymore — we found an apartment in Chișinău where we live just paying utilities. Me, a cat, and a dog.

My boyfriend and I broke up. Everyone told me I was crazy: “Who breaks up during a war, especially in a foreign country?” But I realized we experience this war very differently. This is already the second catastrophe in my life, and he couldn’t understand why I was crying so much, worrying so much — he couldn’t give me the support I needed. I decided I simply didn’t have the strength to explain all of it. It’d be better to part ways.

When I remember Kharkiv, it overwhelms me. So much is tied to it! The park where I had my first date, the café where I spent my first paycheck — it’s not just a city, it’s the happy moments of my life. When I go back, I’ll probably kiss the pavement. But for now, I tell myself: dead, without an arm, leg, or eye, I wouldn’t have been able to help anyone. I’m alive and, thank God, volunteers and doctors aren’t spending their energy on me.

I left to earn money, to donate, and I’ll be very useful to my country when it needs to get back on its feet. I’ll go and rebuild it with my own hands. I’m lucky — I have an online business, so I can still keep working somehow. Though right now it’s quite difficult; my reserves are practically at zero.

On mobilization in the DPR.

If we’re talking about who feels the greatest hatred and despair today, it’s probably those who lost loved ones — from Bucha, from Mariupol. And in second place are people like us — from occupied territories — from Donetsk, Horlivka, Vuhledar. People who left, built new lives, and now we watch as our relatives and former classmates are forced to fight against us.

How am I supposed to decide whose side I’m on when my ex-boyfriend’s father was forcibly mobilized in the DPR, and “Uncle Seriozha,” who once grilled shashlik for me, will be fighting against my current friends? I’m making donations, spending my last money to support the Armed Forces of Ukraine so they can kill this Uncle Seriozha — is that how it works? It’s that thought that tears me apart.

What I’m about to tell you is all from people I know personally, and all these cases happened to their relatives or our mutual acquaintances. These aren’t rumors — these are real stories.

In the DPR right now, they’re mobilizing everyone indiscriminately, grabbing them right from their workplaces. They come to a factory, hand you a summons, and you’re stuck. You get 2 hours to pack. If you try to desert, they threaten you with execution. But the most interesting part is that on paper, these people are “volunteers.” And with each day, it gets more extreme: they’re now snatching people right off the street. Drunk men, pensioners, people with diabetes, with epilepsy — nobody cares. Men are afraid to even step outside.

You know what the attitude is in military circles toward people from Donbas? Cannon fodder. No protection, no training; they sleep on cold concrete floors. They feed them, but water isn’t always available. When the Russian army advances, they send these men first — so they get shot at, and it becomes clear where the fire is coming from. And they’re in sneakers, with no gear, no body armor. They don’t even retrieve them from captivity — nobody needs them. My stepdad has been sitting at home for 2 months now. Doesn’t work, doesn’t go to the store. He’s 55, never held anything in his hands besides a shovel. Mom said if they come for him, she’ll drop a kettlebell on his foot.

On the family in the DPR.

My greatest fear is that I’ll never see my family again. For all those 8 years, every time I went to visit relatives, I dreaded the checkpoints. At the border, a man with an automatic rifle boards the bus, and you don’t know what might come into his head. People sit there afraid to even breathe. They can take you away for interrogation and ask: “So, do you sing the Ukrainian anthem at your university?” That specifically happened to me. They can make you take off your jacket in the cold, show your tattoos. They go through your photos, your social media. They can just take your phone and smash it because it rang at the wrong time. And at those checkpoints, I always wanted to tell those soldiers what I thought of them. I don’t know who these people are, but I hope they’re Russian. Because thinking that a Ukrainian picked up a rifle and treats his own neighbors this way is simply horrifying.

The last time I saw my family was in 2020. Under the pretext of COVID, they banned us from entering, and now it’s a problem even to leave. Men over 18 aren’t allowed out at all; the rest can leave, but only through Rostov and Belarus. Something like that.

DPR residents also get asked the question: “What were you doing for 8 years?” And I can understand the people who stayed despite everything. My grandparents, for example — they’re 75. They refuse to leave. Grandma says: “I was born here, I’ll die here… I won’t abandon my home…” And so on. Mom can’t leave her parents behind. My sister finished school, but her diploma isn’t valid anywhere. And there are a million stories like this. And how do you earn enough for relocation when life was getting worse and worse each year?

On the lack of freedom in the DPR.

There’s this notion that everyone in Donbas supports Russia. Let me explain where it comes from. Sure, there are pro-Russian people. But these are people who’ve never seen anything, never traveled anywhere. They don’t know what it’s like to live in Kharkiv or Odesa. They don’t know that parks like that can exist, that you can live without a curfew. That you can simply work as a waiter and earn 1,500 dollars a month. They believe the propaganda, think they’re being rescued. But at the same time, very many people are on Ukraine’s side. Like my parents, for example. They’re modern, they watch YouTube, they understand everything perfectly. But they can’t voice their opinions.

In Russia, people are afraid to speak up, but in Donbas it’s even worse — for 8 years, guys with automatic rifles have been walking the streets. There are so many stories of people being put on a list. Say you’re selling things at the market. Armed men come up to you and say: “You’re doing pretty well! Wouldn’t it be a shame if your stand caught fire? How about you start supporting the right authorities.” So it turns out everyone’s afraid, and only the pro-Russian crowd speaks out.

Communicating with people there is very difficult. You can know someone for many years but have absolutely no idea what’s going on in their head right now. And you carefully, with leading questions, try to figure out whose side they’re on. When you realize the person isn’t pro-Russian — you exhale.

The situation in the DPR is worse than in North Korea. At least North Korea is recognized. There’s a state on the map. But these people’s republics — they’re not recognized by anyone. And nobody gives a damn about them. Crimea, I think, Russia actually needs. But Donbas is just a bargaining chip. And it was so hypocritical to say they were going to “liberate Donbas.”

On Russians.

I always thought Russians and Ukrainians were similar. And I separated the government from the people — I had this internal compromise. But I can’t think that way anymore, no matter how hard I try. I have many colleagues and students from Russia. But almost nobody even wrote me a private message of support. On social media, people write me such outrageous things! I go to see who’s writing — these aren’t bots, they’re real people. A happy mother of three can write: “Finish off the khokhols!” Or in response to what I said about forced mobilization: “What are you talking about? Why are you posting fakes?” After that, all compromises break down, and only hatred remains.

On the past and the future.

I dream of returning to Ukraine and I’m even prepared to live knowing something could hit at any moment. I wasn’t that much of a patriot before, but now I understand that our people are a symbol of will and courage, and I’m bursting with pride — that’s how amazing we are! I want my children to live on this land. Only a Ukrainian can understand a Ukrainian — what we feel going through this war. We never needed pity, and now even less so. We only need support and help. Each of us is fighting on our own front. Some fight, some cook, some collect humanitarian aid. I know how to speak, and I use my tool to open people’s eyes.

I used to dream: if only I could go back in time, I’d buy Bitcoin or something like that. Now I have completely different thoughts: I want to go back to 2014, get a Ukrainian flag, and stand in the square waving it among all the pro-Russian crowd, among the planted provocateurs. Mom reassures me: “You were a schoolgirl, what could you have known back then?” Fair enough. But I still believe that anyone, even at a young age, should take an active civic stance and not limit their interests to school, work, or family. To realize that television isn’t the only source of information. It’s a shame I came to this too late. If I hadn’t been silent then, I wouldn’t want to scream now.