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Two Years of War

Writing  ✺  Ukraine

I hate this time of year.

There is a strange part of me deep down that knows it’s time. Time to mourn. Time to have anxiety. Time to feel not in control.

2022 was the worst year in many of our lives. Every year I do my best to pull myself together, bit my bit. And I largely succeed, until February.

Every February I start feeling in control, but come March I’m in a much worse place. It’s a force that drags me under and keeps me there.

Now that 2.24 has passed, I find myself picking up the pieces. Like last year. Like the year before.


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