Hell of a time. 2020 COVID-19— business collapsed.

2021 I had a car accident that involved a deadly victim. Five months later, my father died of cancer in his brain. Now the war in the 21st century, I am a war refugee.

We are living in Poltava with almost no food in supermarkets or medication. Mother-in-law on a bed after spine surgery, brother-in-law on the front, credits closed and limited to withdraw per day the equivalent to $100 from cash machines and not every day.

The family is safe in the village; I am in the city helping Defenders, buying them food within my capacity, and guarding the house.

Now I need to leave to grant my family safety, but I am not allowed in trains as men cannot occupy a woman or child's place. Roads are too risky after curfew hour, as police and soldiers have orders to shoot to kill. On roads connecting cities and especially those leading to safe borders, cars are sometimes stopped and robbed, leaving people out of their belongings in the middle of the road.

It will get worst. All Ukrainians expect this, but they will fight and die standing like a tree.

Humanitarian corridors have not been respected, ambulances and people have been shot down just as a statement from the Russian troops to break the Ukrainian spirit. But they won't succeed. On the contrary, Ukrainians have no mercy and hunt them down like dogs—a living hell.