The blue elephant in the yellow room

TW: politics, death, and war mentions!

I think part of me would prefer the subject of this post not to be made public. It’s not a sexy story, but it’s as real as all the filth and wax that hasn’t yet been cleaned off my floor since last night.

So I’m sorry, dear reader, but in order for this blog to present my true self, we need this dark and nasty story more than ever. The part of me that wants to remain ignorant will have to go fuck itself. Not in a good way.

Why do I have to mention the war?

Feel free to call it compensation. Where I was born, you can’t talk about the war, you risk up to 15 years in prison for such a statement. (A month ago, when I wrote a draft of this article, the figure was 5 btw, they are catching up).

And since I am not there, but bear some guilt and responsibility for what is happening today, I simply have no choice but to exercise my privilege to speak out.

I am not trying to be a hero. It is my survival instinct combined with common sense. Let me explain. My survival strategy is to turn the pain and horror I feel in this world into something else, which usually involves other people cooperating, sharing, helping each other heal, etc.

Part of me wants to apologize and explain, to tell you that I voted in all possible elections, but it didn’t change anything. We were all convinced that the situation would not get that bad. We all lived our lives. And it wasn’t enough.

Sharing this with you doesn’t change much immediately. The therapeutic effect of this article starts later. Let’s first look at what is behind the guilt and sadness I feel.

I feel the legacy of this rotten empire inside me. It’s a weird mix of feelings, but the worst part is that I can feel that the hate creates more hate in all of us. Myself included.

One morning I was laughing and I swear I felt joy when I read news from Russia where one of the assholes who was telling people that covid isn’t real and that Putler is a messiah, was hospitalized because of covid. And I wanted him to fucking die.

I feel uncomfortable with it, but it’s true. Waiting for one particular person to die was pretty acceptable to me, but when it comes to two of them, I’m not sure I like the trend.

Then Sil showed me a flyer from the church in Lviv where they used the font “dead Russians” for Christmas mass (featured image) and I started laughing again. Loudly. Joyously.

What the hell is this?

I try to vent this frustration the same way I vent shame. I check. If it’s really mine. Or has it stuck in my throat because I CAN feel it?

Should it be mine?

I don’t know the answer.

All I know is that it’s healthier to survive this madness by talking about it. Rather than multiplying the hate.

And that this is the opposite of what oppressive systems want.

Talking, thinking, asking questions, having your own opinion, these are privileges that I have the right to exercise. Even if it doesn’t change anything in the immediate future. Even if someone might be offended. I feel like I’m betraying myself if I don’t address this in my blog.

The best I can offer is: trigger warnings will appear every time I bring up a topic like this.

I don’t claim to be the source of ultimate wisdom. I’m just trying to understand my own feelings. And it seems that sharing them with others helps me not to drown in the darkness I feel.

I know that the war in Ukraine is not the only war on the planet. And the worst thing is that we only realized in February that the war had started much earlier, in 2013, and the biggest victory of the propaganda is that the whole world only noticed it last year as well.

What I also know (as a manager and entrepreneur) is that in order to solve a problem, we must first identify and understand it, which means thinking, talking and asking questions.

Once we have identified the problem and its origin, we can solve it. Not earlier.

My problem was that I was afraid to express myself and felt too small to matter.

I never questioned if I should do something to help Ukraine, but at first, I didn’t know what to do exactly. I was helping refugees in private and felt as if I had no right to brag about it.

Some days, this ability to help helped me to survive.

I still can’t stop this war, but I try to do something every day. I reorganize my work so that the money from my projects goes to support specific causes or people in Ukraine.

I also wrote an article about 15 kinky brands from Ukraine because I think they are really great and also because I want to invite everyone who is looking for fetish outfits to combine fun with a good deed.

More information on how to help Ukraine right now is available here.

слава україні, ПТHX