It was 04:15 in the morning. We were going to leave town. At this time, a shell fell near the house, and you I was holding my one-and-a-half-month-old baby. We hit the road. The car got hit by the fragments from the exploding shells.
War is a scar on the soul, heart and life, on cities, land, people and the country.
For the first month of the war, we moved from place to place in search of a safer haven. It was raining. There were five of us in the car – me, my husband, my son, my daughter-in-law, and my grandson, including a baby. In was night. We have no place to spend the night – no one wants to rent housing to internal refugees. At times like this, you feel helpless, unprotected and empty.
In 2015, fragments hit our apartment – windows were broken, walls and furniture were damaged.
I can't forget that the once peaceful and prosperous Donbass has turned into ruins. Many factories and mines have been shut down.
I lost stability and my usual way of life because of this war. I was forced to leave my cosy and comfortable home and change it to an old rented one in a strange city.
My old mother stayed there. It is difficult to move across the line of demarcation because we have to pass the checkpoints.
Does this affect my daily life? Of course, it does. I can't be near her and come to her aid in time.
Civilians need all-round assistance. Those people who live there say that no one helps them except the Rinat Akhmetov Humanitarian Center.
They all have one question, "When will this all be over?" Almost six years of hell - the attacks do not cease today.
It is war. Everything about it is scary.
I dream of returning to my native peaceful city.
Happiness is when your family and friends are alive and well.
No one really knows what lies ahead. And only when things get really rough, you begin to understand how happy life was earlier. Life is the most precious thing.