"My Journey Through Life: Young Adulthood" Part 7

The school year had started, and along with it came the constant Warsaw rain and my 24/7 hellish headaches. At that time, my blood pressure was consistently super low, and it seemed to drop even further once the autumn-winter weather kicked in 😅

But sometimes coffee saved the day ))

To be honest, the academy didn’t quite get why I was even there—most of the students were people who had basically never held a camera before 🤣

And at first, some things—like developing and printing film ourselves, the whole process from A to Z—were totally new to me. It was hard and exciting at the same time 🤣

I remember one time, while someone from the group was rinsing film in the reel, the whole group sat at a long table in complete darkness.

And since I had gathered a good bunch of jokes from my dad back when he worked in the police, it became a bit of a tradition—Nastya told jokes, and in the dark, they were even funnier 🤣

But what I loved most were the people—so many creative souls, burning with the desire to learn. I made a lot of friends.

The group had people of all ages, from 17 to 40, and honestly, we didn’t even feel the difference.

And while others were learning things I already knew well, I had time and opportunity to dive into beauty retouching training—a pretty advanced retouching technique. Around that time, I was dying to become a retoucher (yes, yes, haha).

Especially after a guest teacher—who had worked as a retoucher for Zara—taught photo editing at the academy for a week. She said I had an excellent result. Then another teacher from the academy gave me several test tasks with different lighting and makeup styles. He was actually looking for a retoucher and would’ve been happy if it turned out to be me. (Test photos before/after will be in the carousel.)

I took on the work with so much enthusiasm.

The funniest part? It’s practically impossible to do that kind of retouching without a tablet. Of course, I didn’t have one 😅 So I tortured my hand to the point where I couldn’t even wash dishes with my right hand anymore.

And after sitting at the computer non-stop for 12 hours a day, my eyesight suddenly started to drop, and I decided to slow down a bit.

From time to time, I’d get orders for toys, but very, very rarely.

So I knew I had to find some way to earn money.

I posted an ad on Facebook and started taking animals for temporary care, and I was so happy about it—first of all, because I missed my own animals terribly (they stayed back home in Dnipro with my parents), and second, because I could make at least a little money.

I also drew a little ad saying I could walk dogs from my building or the one next door and taped it to the entrance door.

Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you how many dogs I had in my care over time—especially considering that our rental contract strictly stated: no animals allowed 😅🙈

But in all fairness, I only took in small to medium dogs, since it would’ve been really tough to keep a big one in 35 square meters. Plus, they had to be well-behaved dogs so they wouldn’t damage anything in the apartment.

There were even cats! Once, a girl asked me to come feed her cats at her place twice a day for a week—there were like six of them, I think?

Later on, all those cats ended up staying at my place for a day—and wow, it was total chaos 🤣

Every now and then I’d go to a local shelter to photograph animals looking for homes, but unlike in Ukraine, there were already plenty of people helping out here, even without me.

Now it’s important to talk about something else.

After that phone call my dad had with Nik, he kept looking for a place to live for another six months. All that time he was sleeping on a pull-out couch in the living room. Something inside me had shifted—and I didn’t know how to deal with it yet. I started doing to Nik exactly what he had done to me for years: I humiliated him, mocked him, tore him down.

And no, I’m not proud of it.

But you know what? That’s when I realized just how low his self-esteem actually was.

He clearly never expected that I’d be capable of things like that—I told him I’d just now noticed he smelled like an soooo old man, that his clothes looked ridiculous, and stuff like that. And I could see how much it got to him.

It was like he started shrinking right in front of me—this big, scary monster slowly turned into a small, weak, spoiled, insecure little boy. And as shameful as it is to admit—it gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction.

I was getting revenge without even realizing it.

And through him, I saw how deeply destructive that kind of behavior could be. Even though what I said and did was nothing compared to the things Nik used to do to me—it was still more than enough to crush him.

So tell me, Nik, who was the fragile one after all? Who ended up breaking who? 😅

But that didn’t stop him from getting violent—oh no.

He carried so much rage and aggression and all kinds of self-destructive emotions inside that there was just no way he could’ve held it all in. To do that, you need real strength.

So yes, the fights kept happening.

The only difference was—now he knew that my parents were aware of everything. And that clearly took the edge off his fury, at least a little.

On the bright side—I no longer had to go to crazy lengths to cover up my bruises. I even miraculously found an old photo from that time 😅🤣

I remember one fight ended with Nik having to patch up a wall after smashing a chunk of it with a punch that, judging by the angle, was clearly meant for me.

There was also a dent in the hallway closet, a chipped piece of parquet on the floor, and—oh, my favorite—eggs on the snow-white wall in the living room! 🤣

Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you who threw the egg at whom—boiled soft, of course—but I do remember trying to scrub that yellow yolk off the wall and oh my god… it was a nightmare.

Did you know how impossible it is to clean egg yolk off a pure white wall? 🤣

I also remember almost using my pepper spray once.

But when I ran toward him, Nik managed to grab a pillow just in time and covered his whole face with it (what a circus).

That gave him a chance to get close to me, grab me, snatch the pepper spray, and—honestly, I have no idea what his plan was. I think he was just improvising.

He pushed me down onto the bed and tried to press me with the edge of the mattress—it’s hard to explain in words, easier to show—but of course, it didn’t work.

Mattress don’t exactly bend the way he thought it would 🤣

When he realized that, he suddenly let go and backed away into the hallway, this time without the pillow—because he had my spray now.

But I was so worked up and furious by that point—I shot up from the bed without even thinking. I remember everything hurt from all the fights, but I didn’t hesitate for a second. I grabbed the first thing within reach—you won’t believe it—it was my phone 😅

He saw me storming toward him, tried to grab me—but I swung, and hit him in the head with my phone, hard. So hard he immediately stumbled back to the wall and slid down it.

And then… I saw it. A thin stream of blood trickling down his face from his head.

And guess what? Yep—I felt sorry for him again 🤣 (My compassion seriously ruins my life.)

I ran to grab tissues and started wiping his face, pressing something cold to his head.

By the way—do you think he ever, even once in all those years, helped me after one of his beatings? Uh-huh. Right.

He asked me what I’d hit him with—and I showed him the phone.

Oh guys, you should’ve seen the way he started pitying himself.

“Oh poor me, look what she’s done…”—a whole performance.

We stopped the bleeding and he went about his business.

Later, I saw a call from my mom—I picked up, and do you know what I heard? You’ll never guess!

Turns out, the second he left the house, he called his mommy (the one who always called him “my little boy, sweetie, darling”), and cried to her that I was insane, unstable, and had hit him so hard he was on a tram now, feeling dizzy and nauseous. (He was completely fine, by the way—but you know, the drama wasn’t going to write itself.)

And his mom? She called mine.

Oh my god, I was dying of laughter—I just couldn’t stop.

But my mom? Not laughing at all. She asked when he planned to finally move out and had a few “sweet words” to share with his mommy about her precious boy.

But let’s be honest—his mother never really cared what he did. She’d seen and heard similar scenes herself.

Everyone knows that a son like that doesn’t come out of nowhere.

She never once told him what he was doing was wrong, disgusting, unacceptable. Never.

So he grew up convinced that he could do whatever he wanted.

Long story short—yeah, it was a wild ride.

But you know what? Nik kept thinking—or maybe genuinely believed—that we still had a chance to be together.

He even said once, after he moved out, that if we had met later, when we were more mature, things could’ve been different.

I was honestly speechless. I told him, “No. It never could’ve been different. Not in a million years.”

And now it’s time to mention someone else—Bobby.

Back when we still lived in Dnipro, Bobby and I started to get really close. (And no—it was purely friendly, at least on my side.)

We realized we had way more in common than we’d ever thought.

We both came to the same conclusion—that our whole friend group was toxic and stagnant.

I remember him telling me that he never actually wanted to be friends with Nik, not even as a kid, but he got dragged into it because Sam always invited him to hang out with them.

That’s how it started, according to Bobby.

Bobby even gave up meat, started reading the same spiritual books I did, gave me little thoughtful gifts—and I gave some to him, too.

He came to visit me in Warsaw once and didn’t even want to see Nik.

He’d walk me home to my building but never came upstairs, because Nik was there.

On my birthday, Bobby came to Warsaw again—this time with his sister and one of her friends, just to make the celebration more fun. ))

And I remember walking into the apartment and Nik greeting me with a cake, candles, and singing “Happy Birthday, Nastya.”

Honestly, it just made me feel sad.

I pitied him—for trying to “save” the relationship, or whatever his real motivation was.

I just remember being hit with this wave of sorrow.

He suggested we go out and celebrate, but I told him Bobby was here and I’d be spending the day with them.

He was clearly hurt—not so much by me not celebrating with him, but by the fact that Bobby didn’t even want to see him.

So one day, during another argument, I finally snapped.

I unloaded everything I’d been holding in.

I told him about Sam—how he tried to hit on me even though Nik and I had already been together for over six months.

I told him about Oliver—how we’d been secretly involved for two years behind Nik’s back. (He didn’t believe it.)

I laughed and told him how Oliver once told me he loved me, and how I said it back.

How we first slept together when I visited Dnipro recently.

And so on and so on. (Thank god I didn’t know yet that Bobby had also fallen in love with me 🙈😅)

And oh my god—I saw it hit him like a brick. So hard that he didn’t scream, didn’t lunge, didn’t throw anything. He just put on his shoes and left.

And I stood there alone, full of bitter satisfaction.

And also incredibly sad—that I had ever put myself in a position where I’d feel the need to say and do things like that. To hurt someone, even if they deserved it.

A while later, he came back with a beer, sat on the couch, turned on the TV, and started drinking.

And you won’t believe this—I felt sorry for him. Again. 🤣

Poor Nik, hurt by so bad Nastya.

And I started comforting him. Can you imagine?

I don’t even know what I’m more ashamed of—hurting him, or pitying him afterward 😅🙈

But at least he finally realized that I was not some weak, helpless, unwanted little girl like he had probably always thought.

I was certainly a pain in the ass, sometimes, but in reality I only subconsciously became more and more like the person he called me over the years. As experience has shown, with an adequate, kind person from whom you don't need to defend yourself, I became a completely different.

If you will constantly kick a dog, won't it eventually start biting and become angry and distrustful?

And maybe, just maybe, he also realized that he didn’t actually have any real friends. Because any one of his so-called “buddies” would’ve ditched him or hit on his girlfriend in a heartbeat.

But as my friend once said—shit sticks to shit. And since that whole group was the worst kind of trash in our town, I guess it’s not a surprise that they all made up and still hang out. Supposedly.

Eventually, Nik found a place and began moving out. And on the final day, when he came to get his last things and left for good—I felt sad and terrified.

I remember saying goodbye, closing the door, walking into the living room and sitting in a chair. I sat there for a while, just listening to the silence.

Looking at the empty shelves where Nik’s stuff used to be—and I started sobbing. I was scared to be alone.

In a foreign city, in a foreign country. With no one I knew.

I felt deeply, painfully alone. And I wanted to go home—to Dnipro.

Let me remind you—since I was 14, I’d always been in long-term relationships. One after the other. I didn’t know how to be alone. I grew up in relationships.

And I couldn’t believe—it was really over.

This is where I want to pause and reflect on just how careless I had been.

And I only fully realized it recently.

The lead singer of Noir Désir beat his girlfriend to death and spent years lying to everyone (even shed a tear on camera) about how much he loved her and how she “accidentally” hit her head on a radiator.

After watching the documentary “From Rockstar to Murderer”, I deleted all his songs from my phone.

“American Murder: The Family Next Door”—a man kills his wife and children.

Everyone around him said he was a loving husband, neighbor, and friend.

And I’ve watched so many of these documentaries in the past year. And each time I understood more and more—I was lucky. I survived.

My parents and grandma used to scold me-How could I be so stupid, so reckless? He could’ve killed me—even by accident—during one of those fights.

But I just scoffed and waved it off, like, “Pfft, let him try.”

Oh how many lectures I had to endure.

But my mom did say one thing—that there was one silver lining in the fact I kept silent all those years: “If your dad had known what was really going on before you moved to Warsaw—he would’ve shot Nik. 1000%. And I know it’s true.”

And she was right. That’s exactly why I kept it all a secret 😅

There’s one thing I want everyone to remember—these men, these abusers, they all follow the same psychological pattern.

Every time I watched another documentary, I’d turn to Mark and say: “Nik was exactly like that.”

And now I honestly don’t even know how he didn’t kill me.

Every woman—every girlfriend or wife—thought it could never happen to her.

None of them believed that bruises could one day turn into murder.

No one believes it—until it happens to them.

After he left, I started leaving the TV on all the time—just to drown out the silence. I’d get up several times a night to check that the key was in the door, that it was definitely locked. I was terrified someone might break in while I was alone.

So, some of the girls from my academy started staying over at my place. They’d sleep over from time to time—not as often as I would’ve liked, but it helped ease the fear a little.

I started drinking a lot again. Smoking a lot. And I rejected everyone who showed up in my life and asked me out.

Even random Polish guys on the street would approach me and ask me out for coffee—but I turned them all down.

I wanted to learn how to live without relationships. I wanted to become so self-sufficient that I’d never, ever depend on anyone again. I wanted to feel so good on my own that I simply wouldn’t need anyone. I wanted to make up for lost time.

I even went on a short three-day trip with a friend to Kraków—it was the first time in my life I had traveled somewhere with a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend.

And with every passing month, I felt more confident living alone.

Nik even came over once to help me carry home those giant bottles of water from the store—enough to last me at least a month. It was already hard enough for me to haul heavy grocery bags by foot (I’d buy food for one or two weeks at a time), and on top of that—those five-liter water jugs.

Later on, some new friends started helping out. Two guys from my academy—yep, two whole men 🤣

I wanted to save some money, so I started looking for part-time jobs to do between classes.

It all started with handing out flyers—six hours straight of standing there, giving out those dumb, totally non-eco-friendly papers.

But the pay was decent at the time—really not bad money.

Until one day, they didn’t pay me at all. So I told them to go to hell and started looking for something else.

I found a job at a café on the other side of the city, in the old part called Praga (by the way, the sketchiest area in Warsaw).

But the café itself was pretty cute—full of antiques, decorated in a 1930s–1940s style, with vintage music playing on a gramophone.

Still, the job came with a price: I had to quit the gym and drop out of school, because the schedule was full-time—10 AM to 11 PM.

My duties included: making all kinds of coffee, preparing sandwiches, Belgian waffles, ordering cakes and groceries, cleaning the entire café every evening, including vacuuming and mopping the floors, cleaning the toilet and the kitchen.

At first, I didn’t even want to touch the antiques. I knew exactly how much each item cost, and I also knew that if I accidentally broke anything, I’d never be able to pay for it.

But the owner reassured me—if I dusted them slowly and carefully, nothing bad would happen.

In the evening, I also had to handle the bookkeeping.

And then drag huge trash bags out to the backyard of the ghetto, where giant, fat rats would literally run across your feet. (Thankfully, I love animals and I’m not scared of them—as you probably already know 🤣)

What bothered me the most was how much physical labor they made me do. In Ukraine, it’s just not a thing for girls to carry heavy stuff by themselves. But in Europe, things are totally different—men and women have “equal responsibilities,” and honestly… it’s insane.

Like, seriously—how is a 46 kg girl, on the first day of her period, supposed to haul a trash bag that’s literally bigger than she is all the way to the back alley?! And somehow lift it up and toss it into the dumpster?

At some point, I started noticing that the café owner began showing up almost every single day—for the tiniest reasons.

He was Polish, nearly 40, with a bit of a belly and a massive ego.

He started joining me outside for smoke breaks and even began bringing me lunch every day 😅

Because I had complained to him once about how I got off work at 10 or 11 PM (depending on how quickly I managed to clean the café and do the accounting), and then had to take a tram home, cook for the next day, do laundry—and I didn’t get to bed until well after midnight. And I had to wake up at 6.

So yeah, I was exhausted physically.

And he began bringing me lunch so I wouldn’t have to cook at night. And no—if you thought he did that out of the kindness of his heart… sadly, no. Then he started offering to drive me home.

One day, I had no energy left in my body, so I finally agreed. On the drive, he kept going on and on about his big countryside house, how he originally opened the café for his fiancée (who, surprise, didn’t get to keep the café after the breakup), and how now he wanted to “gift” it to his future girlfriend.

Basically, he was pitching himself like a real estate agent trying to close a deal, and I just sat there praying he’d get me home already.

He kept pushing me for an answer—would I come visit his countryside house?

Finally, I said I had a boyfriend waiting for me at home (lol), and that no, I wasn’t going anywhere with him.

And just like that—he flipped 😅

From the very next day, no more lunches, no more smoke breaks, and instead… he started nitpicking everything. Suddenly, nothing I did was right—he picked on every little thing.

And I was over it. I’d had enough of being treated like garbage.

One day, on my day off, he texted me saying the card terminal was broken—the screen was cracked, and the device didn’t work anymore.

The night before had been my shift. I told him everything was working fine when I left, and suggested checking the security cameras.

Of course—he was too cheap to install even one damn camera in the whole place.

So instead, he told me I had to pay for the damage—600 złoty. That was my entire week’s pay, which he was about to give me.

He said we could split the cost between me and the other girl who sometimes worked shifts with me, since she was the one who discovered the broken terminal the next morning.

She also said she didn’t remember dropping it or anything like that.

If only there had been cameras—this all could’ve been avoided.

So I told him to take my week’s pay for the terminal and to forget about me. I quit.

(Thankfully, like most Ukrainian students in Poland, I worked off the books, so quitting was quick and easy—one text and done.)

I started showing up at school again from time to time.

One of the girls from my group was looking for a new place, so I offered her my couch for a symbolic rent, and she agreed.

So we started living together—and, oh boy, I regretted that decision pretty soon 😅

She was the least tidy person ever. Total chaos everywhere (and I have an actual physical intolerance to mess). She started borrowing my stuff from my room without asking, especially when I wasn’t home… you get the picture.

But we did have fun—so I tried to let it slide.

By then, I had already decided: when the school year ends, I’m going back home to Dnipro.

I mean, what was the point of staying in a foreign country all alone? What was I even doing here?

Meanwhile, I started job hunting again, and my roommate joined me in the search.

I saw a Facebook ad—some “venue” was looking for young waitresses for night shifts. We agreed to go to the interview together.

We showed up at the address, but it was closed. I called the number listed, and after a couple of minutes, a sweet-looking woman opened the door and invited us in.

Ohhh guys, the shock we felt…

Turned out, the place was a strip club—or something very close to it. From the outside, there were no signs. Nothing to suggest what it was. Inside, everything was bathed in dim red and blue lights.

They led us down a hallway, with curtained rooms on both sides. (Yeah… that’s when we realized where we were.)

Then we were taken into a big main room with two poles on pedestals. We were seated on a little couch, and the woman started explaining the job. At that point, all we could think about was how to get the hell out of there.

But we were too scared to make any sudden moves—we had no idea where we were or what kind of place this really was. So we sat through it.

The job included serving drinks to clients, being charming and talkative (to get more tips), and—if desired—“spending private time” with clients in the curtained rooms.

They told us all the girls were from Belarus and Ukraine, so there was “nothing to worry about.” (Yeah, super reassuring, right? 😅)

We barely made it through that talk, asked a couple of polite questions, and said we’d think about it.

And then we ran. Literally. Thank god nothing happened—but you never know.

After that, we swore off answering sketchy Facebook job ads.

Later, I asked a friend of mine—he’d been working as a chef in a restaurant for years—if they had any openings. And they did! They needed a busser.

I came to the restaurant on the scheduled day and met with the manager. We talked, and they hired me.

The pay was the same as my previous job, the schedule was similar—but I started a bit earlier and finished earlier, too.

And best of all—no mopping, no coffee-making, no cleaning toilets. Plus, it was just a 10-minute walk from home. Maybe even less. It was a great setup for me.

My tasks included clearing and setting tables, helping grate Parmesan (which was hell, btw 🤣), polishing dishes, and running little errands for the manager and head waiter.

Sometimes during busy shifts, I’d help take orders, especially when Russian-speaking customers came in—they couldn’t understand a word of Polish.

And they fed us there, too! I often hung out in the kitchen with the chefs—we joked, laughed, and they taught me Polish tongue twisters.

I don’t remember how long I stayed—maybe a month?

But I left eventually. There was still so much discrimination toward migrants—especially Ukrainians. (And honestly, I don’t blame Poles entirely. A lot of the Ukrainians who moved there were poor workers with bad manners, loud behavior in public, and even theft… yeah, not a great reputation.)

So once I’d saved enough—I quit. And now… let me tell you what I was saving for. A trip to the mountains.

Bobby and I decided to go to Zakopane—a mountain town about two hours from Kraków, in the Polish Tatras.

But to be honest—I was a little nervous about this trip.

Because something had happened just a month earlier, in March, while I was visiting home in Dnipro.

Bobby and I were supposed to go to a symphony concert in Dnipro, and, as always, he was coming to pick me up.

He texted me when he arrived, so I came out.

And there he was, standing next to his car—with a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back.

He looked at me and said, “You look beautiful today,” and handed me the bouquet.

And while he kept talking, I just stood there—eyes wide—and accidentally muttered out loud:

“Please, not this… anyone but you…” 🙈😅

I saw the excitement on his face turn into disappointment. But he went on anyway. He hugged me and said he had been in love with me for a long time. (Even though he knew I was still in love with Oliver at the time—even if Oliver and I weren’t together.)

I didn’t know what to say.

So he told me I didn’t have to say anything.

I went back inside to put the flowers in a vase. Of course, my parents saw that and started asking questions. To which I just replied, “Leave me alone.” 😅

They had already accepted the fact that every single one of my guy friends eventually fell for me.

On the way to the concert, Bobby stayed silent. Clearly upset.

I asked him, “How are you?”

And he replied, “How do you think?”

And then… we just stayed silent.

After that, I never let things go that far again.

From then on, I made it clear to every new guy friend: don’t expect anything from me. Ever. If you’re okay with that—great, let’s be friends. But if six months later you confess your love—sorry, this friendship’s over.

And it actually worked.

A couple years ago, one of my guy friends thanked me—he said, “Thanks for being honest from the start. I realized I had no chance, but I still wanted to stay in your life as a friend.”

And we’re still in touch to this day.

After the concert, Bobby apologized. He told me I didn’t owe him any feelings, and that he wasn’t sure he’d be strong enough to stay friends, but he would try.

And I felt a huge relief 😅

But he still kept doing sweet things for me—like surprising me with a horseback riding trip. It was cute.

And then… one by one, all my friends, my grandma, my mom, and even my dad started wearing me down—month after month—with the same old question: “Why won’t you be with Bobby? You’d make such a great couple.”

And I kept saying, “Please just stop already. I love him only as a friend—nothing more. I’m not even attracted to him.”

Even Sam jumped in on this way before I moved to Warsaw. He kept pushing me to finally leave Nik and get together with Bobby—because, apparently, everyone saw we had a great “match” back then.

Then in May, right before Bobby’s visit to Warsaw for our mountain trip, a friend of mine said something that, at the time, sounded like it made sense.

Now, though? I know it was total BS 😅

He said I should at least try—that I might be missing my chance at a good, happy life. That what mattered most was that he loved me, and that my feelings would grow with time. That not everyone falls in love right away, and so on…

And I started thinking.

What if they’re right?

What if the universe is trying to tell me something—through all these people—like, “Here he is, don’t mess this up”?

But I just couldn’t force myself. How do you even try to be with someone you’re not into?

And then Bobby arrived. We still had two or three days before our trip.

My roommate had gone to visit her family in Belarus, so it was just the two of us in the apartment—which gave him some extra confidence, I guess.

I was in the kitchen, wearing a white sundress with black polka dots, making something to eat. Bobby came in and said how amazing I looked, how beautiful and attractive I was.

At that point, I already didn’t like where this was going. I thanked him, but he kept coming closer and closer. Then he suddenly grabbed me by the waist, lifted me onto the kitchen counter, and tried to kiss me.

I told him to stop and slid off the counter, but he wouldn’t back off. He was right there, inches from my face, and I kept backing away until I hit the wall and realized—I was cornered.

When he got even closer, I covered my face with my hands, slid down the wall to the floor, and said, “Please stop.” Honestly, I just didn’t want to be taken by force. Not again 😅

That’s when he snapped out of it.

He helped me up, apologized, and said that it was my dress that “blew his mind,” and asked me to go change. (Seriously, it’s just a dress. I’ve seen it on plenty of girls in the street.)

I went and changed, and then we talked as usual.

We slept in the same bed—but all we did was talk. We talked and talked until we fell asleep.

When I was a kid, especially in summer camp, I’d often share beds with Sam, Bobby, or even Nik—boys loved when I snuck into their rooms at night behind the counselors’ backs (boys and girls had separate rooms).

We’d giggle, joke around, sometimes play PSP, and fall asleep. It was fun. Later, some of the other girls started doing the same thing 🤣

So for me, sleeping in the same bed with someone just means sleeping—especially if we’re friends.

Then we finally went on our trip.

I think it lasted only three days, but it was the first time in my life I saw a mountain lake. And not just any lake—Morskie Oko. One of the most beautiful lakes in the world. The whole Tatra National Park was breathtaking, especially since it was my first real hike in the mountains.

I was overwhelmed with joy when I saw Morskie Oko—my jaw literally dropped. I could barely breathe, it was so beautiful.

Then we hiked higher to another lake—Czarny Staw pod Rysami—which was just as stunning. There was even snow still on the ground, which made it all the more magical.

I fell in love with that place so deeply that I kept going back year after year. And I really hope we’ll go again this summer—now that we live so close!

After that trip, I never stopped loving the mountains. With every fiber of my being.

It’s still my dream to live in the mountains. But I think I’ve already said that a million times ))

And then, on the second night… yeah guys, I gave in.

All those voices in my head, all those people saying I’d miss my chance, that love would grow over time…

I caved.

There’s no other way to describe it. Even now, remembering it makes me shiver.

It was the first and only time in my life that I had sex with someone I didn’t feel anything for—not even attraction.

And damn, it was hard. But I told myself I’d give it a shot. I guess. I decided to start from the end 🤣

I mean, I’m not Nik—I don’t drag things out for six months 🤣

But I’m the kind of person who really can’t hide emotions when they start spilling out.

So yeah… after sex—I burst into tears 🤣

Bobby came out of the bathroom and looked totally stunned, asking why I was crying. And honestly—I had no idea.

I just felt so overwhelmed, so suddenly sad and miserable. I knew the sex had triggered something. But I didn’t expect it to hit that hard.

Unfortunately, the past four years hadn’t just disappeared—and I’m still working through the trauma.

Especially the sexual kind. Bobby didn’t know about that.

Like how my ex would keep going harder on purpose when I said it hurt.

And how I’d cry and just wait for it to be over.

And when I finally asked if he meant to do that—he just said “yes.” Just… yes.

But I needed to hear it from him.

So Bobby took it personally, and I had to explain. Not the whole story—not the details. But I managed to get the point across.

He took it well.

It was so hard to talk about—but now I make myself do it. It’s part of my therapy.

And honestly, if I were someone else, I’d probably be thinking: “What the hell is wrong with her for staying with a guy like that?” And I’d be right to think that.

After that, I didn’t cry again. (Well… except later with Mark, same story with the tears 🤣)

Eventually, I told Bobby I had a yeast infection (which I did), and that I needed to use vaginal suppositories, so we’d have to abstain. (What Bobby didn’t know is that the medicine I was prescribed works like instantly, after one use 🤣)

So yeah, that’s how I managed to avoid sex with Bobby all the way to the end of our “relationship.” (Phew 😅) But more on that later.

When I finally left Warsaw for good, I sent all my stuff via a shipping service and flew to Kyiv myself. (Everyone knows that flights to Dnipro only went to Israel or maybe Canada 🙈 So we all flew either through Kyiv or Zaporizhzhia.)

While I was on the plane, I kept imagining how I’d walk around Kyiv alone while waiting for my train to Dnipro.

Where I’d go. What I’d eat.

And imagine my surprise—when I walk out of the airport and there’s Bobby, standing right in front of me 🙈 I was honestly shocked, and barely managed to hide my disappointment.

Apparently, I didn’t do a great job, because later Bobby said, “You could’ve at least pretended to be happy to see me.” 😅 But I did pretend! Or at least I thought I did.

My first words to him were: “What are you doing here?” 🤣 We hadn’t seen each other since the mountain trip—so, a month or more had passed, it was already summer.

Bobby had decided to surprise me, meet me at the airport in Kyiv, and take the train back to Dnipro with me. I told him I had just wanted to wander Kyiv on my own before heading home.

His arrival had completely thrown me off.

Back in Dnipro, we started talking about where we’d live.

First, he offered to move into an apartment his parents had given him. But the more we talked, the more I hated the idea.

I started coming up with excuses (which I genuinely believed at the time) like:

“But I don’t have a car, and public transport from there is awful—how will I buy materials for my handmade toys?” (By then, I’d also decided to start making plant-based milk—because in Ukraine at the time, no one had even heard of such a thing.)

I told him I still had to buy all the tools and ingredients to learn how to make it.

Eventually, I convinced him to move into our place. (My parents had already separated part of the house just for me—where Mark and I had lived before we left Dnipro during the war.) We shared a courtyard and a gate, but the houses were essentially separate. (Unlike Bobby’s parents, mine couldn’t buy me a place. Money had only been getting tighter for them each year.)

At first, Bobby agreed. But the longer our “relationship” dragged on, the more he realized it wasn’t going anywhere.

He knew I had no feelings for him—I never pretended otherwise—and one person’s enthusiasm just isn’t enough. He started getting irritable. Moody. And eventually, he was the one who decided to end it.

Thank God for that.

But we didn’t part on good terms, so we’re no longer friends, and we haven’t seen each other since.

And here’s why—Bobby had always been just a friend to me. So even when we were “a couple,” I kept acting like we were just friends.

I’d casually tell him about guys messaging me, pestering me for dates. Sometimes I’d bring up Oliver, or other stuff like that. I forgot that to me Bobby was just a friend—but to him, I was something more. And of course, that made him angry.

Looking back, I wasn’t acting my best. But deep down, I just desperately wanted him to stop being in love with me. I wanted him to stop putting me on a pedestal—so we could go back to being just friends. And eventually… that did work 😅

I did throw a bit of a tantrum at the end.

At first, I didn’t even understand why I was exploding like that. (Hello, borderline brain.)

Even when Bobby said, “If you ever want to meet again and talk things out—just write to me,”

I snapped, “I won’t.”

Later, when I was crying at home, my dad asked me why. And I said, “I don’t know.” (I still struggle sometimes to identify my emotions—borderliners probably suffer the most from that.)

Then Dad said, “Okay, let’s try this—are you crying because you actually had feelings for him?”

I said, “No.”

Then I made a joke: “I’m crying because he managed to dump me before I could dump him.” 🤣

The truth is—I just didn’t know what to do next. That’s what scared me. I had no plan. It had only been a couple weeks since I got back from Warsaw.

School was over. And I had no idea how to move forward.

I needed time.

To start over.

But at least… my cats were sleeping next to me again. And that made me so happy—I had missed them so, so much.

I knew I’d be okay. I just needed time.

And I didn’t want any more relationships.

The next person I’d be with—would either be my future husband… or no one 🤣

I was done wasting myself and my life on all this.

I wanted to learn how to truly be alone.

I had tasted what that felt like in Warsaw—and I’m so grateful for that experience.

It taught me that I could be happy alone. That I could feel whole even when I wasn’t with someone.

I needed to keep learning how to enjoy being with myself. To find joy in my own company.

And finally—finally—learn how to love myself. Not someone from the outside.

I just wish someone had told me back then—that all the love and care I kept pouring into others…I should’ve been giving to myself. Because I was the one who needed it most from myself.

And that’s what I started learning.

Though, as you know—deeply rooted neural pathways aren’t easy to break 😅 But to grow, to change—to become better—you first have to name the problem.

If you don’t even know what you’re dealing with…How can you ever fix it?

So I knew—I had a long, hard journey ahead.

To become a new, better version of myself.