I had no job, no money and no family. I was young and had no identity documents, and was knocked back from government services because I couldn’t prove who I was. I took the first safe shelter I could. With the benefit of many years experience, I know there were other options but at the time it seemed like the only option. There are ways of accessing help without ID, but I didn’t know where to look.

It was a small, dodgy outbuilding at the back of someone’s property. It was clad by nothing but tin. The wind would lift the rusty roof up and slam it down with a deafening crash for hours at a time. No insulation, no services of any kind. I slept on an old mattress, just laid on the floor. It had a slope to it and the springs were poking through. I had a single, sweat-stained blanket.

I lived there long enough to experience both an unusually cold winter and a heatwave. I remember the sound of the frozen grass crunching beneath my feet. It was the first time I’d ever experienced temperatures that low, having grown up in a hot climate.

The owner would occasionally let me use the facilities inside their house, but only ever during the day when it was unlocked. They gave me enough food to survive which they’d leave outside for me. We’d have a very brief exchange maybe once a week. Apart from that I had a total absence of social interaction. The property was isolated if you didn’t have a car - which I did not.

It was a trap. It seemed better than the streets, because I had relative safety and a roof over my head. But it also left me totally unable to change the situation I was living in. I couldn’t go anywhere to find help, I couldn’t contact anyone. I didn’t want to leave because the alternative seemed worse. I was stuck.

The owner had meant well. They had their own mental health issues and, even if they had been high-functioning, they had no idea what to do. They were a hoarder and the inside of their home was somehow filthier than my “living” space. The situation was a result of the contradictions between their heartfelt desire to help, their own anxieties and other mental demons. They were trapped too, in their own way, and had barely more contact with the outside world than me.

Isolation destroys your mind. You can’t think straight, you lose your ability to solve even basic problems. You become paranoid. You hallucinate. Your memory is obliterated, not just for the period of the isolation but the memories formed before and after too. I had to piece together a time line of major events in my life from a couple of years before and after from little scraps I kept.

I lost my inner monologue during that time. The voice in your head. My thoughts became sensations and movement, like water being poured into a network of branching channels and spreading amongst them. They’d remain that for years and even more than a decade own it’s still not the ‘same’.

I was almost non-verbal at the end - finding even a few basic words, to say “yes” or “no” to a question was exhausting. My manner of speaking is not the same as it was and my accent isn’t quite like anyone else who was born here. For at least a year later I was still losing time, hours or days, and was unsure of how I got there.

I was aware I was losing my mind throughout the process. I’d try to force structure and logic upon what I was processing but it doesn’t work. The information you’re receiving is already corrupted, then it gets further twisted in your mind. There is nothing more terrifying than being trapped in your own mind.

Eventually the owner, in a more lucid moment, managed to get mental health services to come out. I felt so betrayed at the time. I was terrified of them, unfamiliar faces after so much time alone. I was deeply ashamed. I’d come to realize this act saved me, but I hated the owner for it at the time.

Living through fall of communism in USSR and the start of capitalist era. One of the memories I have from the period is when food shortages started happening. All the families in my neighborhood would end up lining up at the store early in the morning like black friday, and then the store would just wheel out a cart with whatever they had that day, and people would rush in to grab it. Me being a small kid at the time, I could squeeze between people and get to the cart quicker than my parents. So, I was basically risking my life being trampled to death just so I wouldn’t starve that day.

TLDR: fuck capitalism.

Lived through and ethnic cleansing genocide. I always laugh when western keyboard warriors start talking about how war is “needed” or “coming” and larping out their movie fantasies. Real war is nothing like TV. Its hell all around. There are no victors in war. Everyone loses.

Going with my father to figure out how we would clean up the bathroom my grandfather attempted suicide in as I didn’t think it was something he should do on his own (it was my maternal grandfather but still…). I was right. It made every horror movie look tame. However, it was so terrible that there wasn’t much we could do other than phone crime scene cleanup and stay out of their way while they earned every single penny of their fee.

I’m 62 so this happened a long time ago. My mom didn’t like novacaine so she found a dentist who didn’t use it (I found that out later as an adult). For whatever reason I had 15 cavities one year. I couldn’t stand it but somehow I got to the last day of many and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t willingly open my mouth for that pain, I just couldn’t.

The dentist took that hooky little metal instrument dentist’s have, held it near my cheek, and said, “If you don’t open your mouth, I’m going to go in RIGHT. THROUGH. HERE.” Those last three words were punctuated by him poking my cheek with that little hooky instrument; once for each word.

I opened my mouth in the worst fear and feeling of abandonment I’ve ever felt. I now need nitrous and my wife holding my hand to get through a cleaning. Dr. Fryer. A sadist.