Ervin is one of the fighters we have been supporting since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. This time, he agreed to speak openly about something difficult to express in a way that is convenient and digestible to others. This difficult, vulnerable interview touches on PTSD, the gap between civilian and military life, society’s unwillingness to accept the existence of invisible to the eye trauma, ordinary human dreams, and self-defence mechanisms in conditions where centralised assistance is almost non-existent.

We want to remind you that each episode in this series is an attempt to initiate a dialogue — to remind you that even amid the everyday reality of war, there are things that are easily shut off and forgotten. As this reality becomes more widespread, we start to believe that some topics are not worth discussing or listening to — at a time when more and more people remain unheard.

Could you describe what an average day on active duty was like for you?  What did it entail?

I suppose we could even discuss the current situation, right? If so, then there are two options. This can be either while a combat mission is being carried out or at the personnel dispersal point in the combat zone. 

These are two different situations with different circumstances and different beginnings of the day, because there is no morning routine during combat missions. The first such long deployment was to the left bank of the Kherson region. It was an amphibious operation to cross the Dnieper River by boat. I spent eight days and seven nights on the left bank. Right from the start, I knew that it would be really hard when it came to food, sleep and so on. Due to the constant shelling, it was impossible to sleep properly. As soon as I would fell asleep – not so much because I wanted to sleep, but because I was exhausted – I woke up again due to the shelling. And my sleep was quite restless. The same went for eating. The only ritual that brought me joy was boiling water on a portable gas heater to make tea.

It was October 2023, and it was already quite chilly. I wasn’t even under any reliable shelter — just a trench, covered with plastic sheeting and slightly camouflaged with branches. That was it. Inside, there was wet sand, and it was impossible to dig deep because the ground was already muddy.  By the fifth day, I was so tired that I didn’t care what was going on anymore, and I was already suffering from post-concussion syndrome. I just watched the frogs jumping around me and the newts scurrying about. I lay there on the damp sand, indifferent to what was happening around me. That’s how every day would begin during that time, like a never-ending story.

As for where the personnel were stationed, it was in half-destroyed villages, in some houses without utilities. But it was still a shelter of sorts, where you could more or less organise your daily life, and there wasn’t much operational work to be done. In my case, as a senior combat medic, my role was similar to that of a rural feldsher or nurse practitioner. People came to me with various complaints. I examined them, gave them medicine, performed procedures and gave injections and sometimes IVs. 

Could you describe what happened when you were injured? What exactly was happening at that moment? If there were several incidents, please describe each one separately.

I can recall four such cases. However, none of these were recorded by the medical service. In some cases, I was playing the hero a little, and in others, evacuation was simply impossible. It was simply impossible. Either the injuries were too severe, or I had to stay with the group as their medic. Evacuation was impractical, so there was no concern about it.

The first time took place in autumn 2023. We were stationed on an island in the Dnieper River. There was chaotic mortar fire —  the enemy’s response to our boats moving at night. Well, they didn’t know exactly where the boats were moving, so they just fired 152 mm or mortar shells into the area around the island. I was in a trench, which didn’t even have any cover. I heard the launch and the whistle, and quickly managed to lie down at the bottom of the trench. My comrade was closer to where the mine landed. There was an explosion, and shrapnel flew through the branches, making a rather interesting sound as it hit the wood. It felt very close. My comrade said he could see the fire spreading in front of him. And so we waited until morning.

I was agitated and had a headache. But it didn’t even occur to me to radio the commander for an evacuation. After all, I was the most senior member of the group at that moment. I was responsible for the others. In the morning, we examined the landing site, which was about 10 metres away, and saw that a fairly thick tree had been uprooted by the landing. We could really feel the explosion. But that was the least of it.

Then followed the second and third incidents during the first long sortie to the left bank. My comrade from the first story and I met groups arriving by boat at night and guided them to their positions. The arrival of boats at a specific point on the shore was usually accompanied by heavy enemy fire, which was aimed.

My task was to turn on a red flashlight to guide the skipper and the group travelling by boat, so that they could see the beacon. At that moment, very heavy shelling began. If we had been on the shore, I don’t know what would have happened to us. Nothing good, that’s for sure. So I tied the flashlight to a tree, and we ran to the nearest trench. We made it just in time.

My comrade was the first to jump into the trench, and I jumped on top of him. I told him to move further, because I simply cannot fit. I was lying on top of him and trying to stay below the ground level at least. Then he said, ‘That’s it, I’m stuck.’ It was a very shallow trench. All hell was breaking loose around us, with countless explosions, falling tree branches and flying debris. You could feel it all around you. Then one of the pieces of debris hit my armour on my back. I could sense the danger at that moment because there were dozens of explosions around us – we counted somewhere between 20 and 30. But we were lucky not to be hit.  I also got an intense headache, felt disorientated and weak. I took a lot of painkillers and anti-nausea medication, which helped at the time, but only improved my condition slightly.

The third episode took place on the left bank, closer to the enemy. The russian position was about 800 metres across the swamp. There was a casualty collection point in the camp where I did my best to stabilise the wounded and transfer them to further evacuation points. There were quite a few people there. At some point, the enemy spotted us with the drones and began firing mortars at us. From my trench, I could see the shells landing just 10 metres away. We had both wounded and concussed people there at the time. Several mines then fell very close by. I lay at the bottom of the trench, covering my ears with my hands and pressing my fingers against them to try to muffle the noise.

One mine fell a few metres away from me. Then the surrounding debris burst and buried me. When it was all over, I moved my hands, but I still couldn’t hear anything except ringing in my ears. I lay there for a while, then tried to shout to the commander to request assistance for the wounded. My shouts were heard and understood, but the ringing in my ears and my impaired mental state meant that after half an hour, I felt like I was losing consciousness. That’s how it was.  One guy had a severe concussion and lost consciousness. Another was injured when a mine exploded nearby. I took care of them, and later that evening, when I was able to move around on my own for a considerable distance, I led them to evacuation, while staying behind myself.

After we left, I suffered from constant headaches, insomnia, and uncontrollable aggression that came in waves. However, it was still bearable, I could control it, and I didn’t think anything serious was happening. A few months later, when we returned to the same place, it started again.

We arrived at night. In the morning, I could hear drones and explosions. I could hear the wounded screaming and calling for a medic. I asked the commander for permission to go out and help. He said we had to wait because the drones were still hovering overhead, which was dangerous for everyone.

I waited for a while. However, the situation was somewhat ridiculous: it was February, and I had just taken off my boots and climbed into my sleeping bag when everything happened. It took me ten minutes to put my wet boots back on – to reach our position, we had to walk through water. I never imagined it would take ten minutes to put my boots back on. Then there was the sound of people shouting in the background. Suddenly, I realised that putting on boots had taken ten minutes, and that time was being wasted while someone was injured and needed help as quickly as possible. But it’s good that the commander got his bearings.

I grabbed my medical bag and moved towards the wounded guys, who had already been dragged to another trench. There were five of us in that trench. Once again, the trench was neither deep nor wide. Two were uninjured, and they pulled the wounded out. One of the wounded had a critical bleeding wound to his right arm. He was facing me, and I took care of him first. The second wounded soldier had a shrapnel wound under his helmet, and he was really out of it. There just wasn’t enough room in that trench for me to hide fully, so I was in the passageway instead. At that moment, the drones returned and, of course, they saw me because there was nowhere else to hide. One of the drones descended, and at that moment, I drew some anaesthetic into a syringe to treat the soldier with the wounded arm. He was screaming in my ear that a tourniquet had already been applied, but I applied it more effectively. The bleeding was under control, so I gave him painkillers to stop him from interfering with my work.

Just as I was drawing up the anaesthetic into the syringe, I heard the drones approaching. We all realised that there was nowhere to go. They had spotted us and were about to strike. Then all hell broke loose: the survivors climbing on top of the wounded, trying to use each other for cover. It’s a very stressful situation. I just lay on top of them, holding the syringe aloft. I found it funny. Humour is an easier way to cope under such circumstances.

We heard the drone descending and realised that it was going to crash. It hit one branch with a loud bang and then flew off and hit another branch with another loud bang. These two branches probably changed its trajectory so that it crashed a few metres away from us rather than on us. Debris scattered above us. Later, I stabilised the wounded, contacted their commanders, requested an evacuation boat and took the wounded to the rendezvous point. However, in addition to my concussion, psychological problems developed. The sound of the drone hitting the branches kept coming back to me throughout the day, and I felt like I was being pulled back into that moment, falling out of reality.

I asked my commander for leave, but things only got worse during my time off. I couldn’t sleep at night and, when I did manage to fall asleep, I had constant nightmares. I became very aggressive towards my loved ones. I felt as though I could see movement out of the corner of my eye, but there was nothing there. My head hurt almost constantly, and I took lots of different painkillers, but most of them were ineffective. My blood pressure would spike.

One morning while I was on leave, I woke up feeling very weak. I had to go out, and while I was on the street, I felt like I was losing consciousness. I went into a pharmacy and asked them to take my blood pressure, but they refused. They said that I could only have it taken if I bought a monitor. I couldn’t argue any more because I had already told them that I was a soldier and that it was an emergency, but that was the attitude in that pharmacy. Instead, I went to a diagnostic clinic and asked them to measure my blood pressure. They took my reading and were surprised, even a little scared, because it was 80 over 35. That’s an extremely low reading. I didn’t usually have any problems with my blood pressure. Sometimes it would rise. Not critically, but still higher than normal. That also felt unusual. It felt like a health crisis.

Then I unofficially turned to a psychiatrist, explaining the situation to her, that I didn’t want to undergo treatment yet, but perhaps she could help me with medication. She prescribed me several drugs: anxiety medication and antidepressants. Well, I took them for a short time. I can’t say that there was a significant improvement.

Then another combat incident occurred on the island on the Dnieper. By that time, it was summer. We advanced to a firing position within a day, and the enemy quickly determined our location. Initially, they attacked us with incendiary devices from drones. The island began to burn. The fire spread quickly, causing large trees to fall. There were additional attacks from drones and mortars. Despite all this, we managed to reach the evacuation point and were evacuated within a day.

However, I experienced an unpleasant situation during this mission: my haemorrhoids prolapsed. This required urgent treatment. Within a few days, I was in the hospital. I had surgery, followed by a month of recovery. While in the hospital, I consulted a military psychiatrist and told him about my condition. He prescribed me stronger medication: antidepressants, anti-epileptics and antipsychotics. My condition improved a lot with these meds, because I explained that I was so aggressive that I could easily kill someone over something insignificant. There were these episodes with uncontrollable behaviour. I won’t say that I was on the verge of suicide, but I did have suicidal thoughts, though not obsessively. Sometimes, while I was doing something, I would think that I should take a blade and cut my wrists. That’s how it was. Then I tried to rationalise it, trying to understand why I had that thought at that moment when nothing was happening. I couldn’t explain it to myself.

It just happens uncontrollably and seems like the right thing to do, but then I think: ‘Why do it?’ On top of all that, I think it’s just trivial, but I developed an eating disorder. After the surgery, I lost about 15 kilograms in a month. I was so weak.

I also didn’t understand how I could return to the army. But I had to return, I explained to the commander, and they were aware of my state. I’ve been like that for a year now.

I also took antidepressants. I have already stopped taking them, having gradually reduced the dosage by half over the course of a month. But I still take a number of medications to keep me going during the day, some of which are questionable. I told my psychiatrist that I could take a high dose of Valium or pregabalin, so that I can feel more or less normal. Of course, he said that I shouldn’t do that and that I should seek treatment.  However, I’m still in the army, so my goal is to remain functional and avoid ending up in a psychiatric clinic. To this end, I take a variety of stimulants, mainly sports supplements.

So, stimulants like caffeine and L-carnitine?

I’m trying to cut out caffeine, but there are various pre-workout supplements, such as creatine or vitamins and mineral complexes. I take these tablets by the handful, or dissolve powders, amino acids, etc. It actually keeps me going more or less, thanks to some physical activity. To help me fall asleep normally, I also take melatonin and pregabalin, and my friends send me CBD oils. This way, I can rest when needed and carry on.

Did you have to help everyone around you all four times, and then either receive first aid yourself or not receive any at all?

Yes, all four times I had to do my job. And afterwards, I didn’t ask for help.

So it was all self-medication?

It was exclusively self-medication because I had access to a large quantity of different medications.

Again, this was due to my position. So, I was self-medicating, which actually only partially relieved the symptoms, nothing more.

You never got into therapy? Was it just medication?

I had therapy at the military hospital after the surgery. But I only went probably three times. Three sessions in total.

And you’re not planning to return to the therapy?

I understand that it needs to be done, but… Well, I have other problems… I don’t know how to explain it, but I find it hard to be in big cities or among civilians during my leave. I struggle to communicate because I feel such a significant misunderstanding. That’s why I lash out aggressively.

Yes, it’s easier for me to stay in the army. Here, everyone is in a similar situation.

There were significant issues. My wife and I divorced. I realised that I was making her unhappy because she was crying most of the time, trying to get through to me — especially during my leave. Instead, I avoided her and my close friends — I was rude and harsh. I just couldn’t control it. I didn’t even want to come home on leave. While I was in the army, I became so distant that I didn’t know what to say to her on the phone. How could I possibly explain what was happening? I could describe it, but I couldn’t convey how I felt. I couldn’t convey my state of mind, either. So it was easier not to say anything.

Do you feel the same way about the therapy, that there is just a huge gap with civilian life, because the therapist probably won’t understand the emotional states you’re going through?

Unfortunately, yes. You’ve just highlighted the main point for me. Because I couldn’t find the answer there for myself: ‘Why is it so?’ That’s really true. The psychiatrist who was at the military hospital was a military man who had been to the combat zone many times. I could talk to him. I was confident that he understood what I was telling him. However, I feel alienated, and I am afraid that I will not be heard.

Could you ask him, for example, to recommend a therapist with military experience?

I came to the clinic, but the psychiatrist I wanted to see was away on assignment, so I saw another psychiatrist instead. We talked, and he immediately told me that I needed to be admitted to a clinic for treatment. However, I begged him not to do that, explaining that I had come unofficially and that there would be problems if he did, as it would make me look like a deserter. This would cause problems for everyone, including me and my commander.

He wrote me a referral to take to the chief medical officer, so my commander could write me a character reference and I could return with an official referral for treatment. Of course, I didn’t do that — I destroyed the referral.

Apart from sport supplements, how else do you help yourself cope with your emotions? Is there anyone who helps you? Is it only your comrades, or is there someone from your civilian circle who supports you and helps you cope with emotional swings?

Apart from sport, what other ways do you use to help yourself cope with your emotions? Is there anyone who helps you? Apart from your comrades, is there anyone from your civilian circle who supports you and helps you cope with emotional swings?

I should mention that I don’t really have any close friendships with civilians. I can tell them about certain events, but I can’t talk to them about how I perceive those events. What helps me is that I try to train and even coach at a local level here. Together with my brothers- and sisters-in-arms, I have purchased various pieces of sports equipment. Exercise can help control certain mental states.

For example, I can release aggression through heavy repetitions with a barbell.

But it’s not just physical exercise. I remember you enrolled in medical college?

Yes, I have high hopes. I want to continue studying, get a medical degree, or even a higher education. Because I feel confident in this regard, whether it’s my actions, organisational matters or further learning. Yes, that’s what motivates me.

Are you always trying to keep yourself busy?

You know, about a year and a half ago, I stopped thinking that the war would ever end. Not only that, but I also stopped thinking that there would be some kind of imaginary demobilisation or that a bill on demobilisation and terms of service would be introduced. I just decided not to get my hopes up, so that I wouldn’t be bitter later when it doesn’t happen. Actually, it’s not that simple, but you have to keep yourself busy every day and establish some kind of routine for yourself. If this isn’t possible due to external factors or tactical situations, then you have to create it for yourself. That’s why I teach tactical medicine classes every week, sometimes two or three times. I’m always looking for information on tactical medicine online to learn something new. I also buy or order previously unavailable tactical medicine devices from ‘Solidarity Collective’ and learn how to use them. That’s how it is.

This is probably the basis of my life.

If you don’t mind me asking, are there any sounds or sights that trigger your trauma? If there are, then what kind of?

Yes, I find the various sounds of the city quite disturbing. I really don’t like it. You have to communicate with people. Unfortunately, I often dream about combat encounters, either with sequels or alternative versions, where I see enemy military targets and run to warn my comrades. Or I dreamed about drone attacks — those are the kinds of dreams I have. I have become aggressive towards russian music. I have rejected it for myself and react badly if someone listens to it in public. 

And the russian language is also perceived as hostile. Because I remember the positions of the russians, I could hear them shouting there, giving the orders. But yes. It is perceived as hostile towards me.  It is very sad that in Odesa, it is not perceived as such.

But as far as I can recall, you were still speaking Russian in your previous interview with Solidarity Collectives.

Maybe, maybe so. If it was a video interview, though, it must have been filmed in autumn 2022, before I gained most of my combat experience.

That’s true, yes. Well, because I’ve always been a russian speaker from the Donetsk region. For me, the Ukrainian language used to be something distant. I didn’t practise it.

Do you still feel that you need some additional support? If so, what kind?

Personally, I see treatment in a psychiatric clinic as the solution. For now, however, I am resisting this option. I will try to explain my current state to you.

It’s relatively calm where I am now, but everything is relative. I can sleep until ten or sometimes eleven because I have trouble falling asleep. When I start my day, I sometimes just sit and stare into space for half an hour, trying to work out what to do first. If I can’t figure it out, I feel so lost. Then I cling to a ritual, like making tea, and it somehow gets easier; it’s like the first step. I then look for the next step, and it’s as if I’m making my way into the day. I don’t know if anything will help remotely — maybe some kind of medication, it’s hard to say. I think self-medication definitely won’t help because it just makes me feel like I’m flipping on and off a switch, and that’s not good. But the situation with such forced treatment is scary.

It’s as if I have zero resources to be in the army. Well, I’ve had zero resources for a long time now. But I don’t understand how to not be in the army. There is some kind of gap between returning home and my current state.

As I understand it, there is also a difference between what you would advise another person with a similar experience and what you currently consider to be right for yourself. For example, would you advise someone with PTSD to undergo therapy?

Yes, I missed that point because when I was in the hospital, I saw a military psychiatrist who diagnosed me with PTSD with dysphoric arousal. It’s a disorder that prevents me from feeling joy. I didn’t know such a thing existed, but it seems a bit odd to me.

Well, if someone has been diagnosed with PTSD and this disorder, like me, I would advise them to see a psychiatrist. That’s for sure. I would also recommend they do it as soon as possible. Because I should have done it back in 2023. So to avoid being in such a… I don’t know how to describe my condition. I don’t know.

I feel very confused. The army helps because I know what to do in most situations. If something happens, I have a ready-made plan of action. I know how to get organised, how to move around, and how to provide medical and pre-hospital care. I can explain this to others, I can organise an evacuation group, etc. I find many situations in the army quite straightforward. However, in civilian life, it seems like I don’t know anything.

I need to start my life over again.

Am I right in thinking that, in this situation, you are heavily dependent on external factors forcing you to act? In civilian life, the stimulus must actually come from within. Given your position, are there many external factors to which you cling and which allow you to distract yourself from this confusion?

Well, I’ll tell you that with the military, with my brothers in arms, I don’t need to initiate any processes. They start on their own.

That makes things much easier for me. I don’t have to explain anything; there’s no extra effort required. I just say it, and everyone understands. In civilian life, explaining something to another person takes a lot of my energy. Usually, I do it in a commanding tone, which I don’t have the right to use.

But here in the military, it’s normal.

If I recall right, you haven’t had much experience with the rehabilitation system? Have you helped people with rehabilitation before?

I try to do so, but sometimes it depends on the situation. For example, I try to organise things by asking the officers from AFU’s Psychological support centre to do their job and at least conduct surveys and tests of the personnel. And I managed to get these tests done and distributed in the military unit. The soldiers answered various questions. In most cases, we determined that the level of depression was moderate or high. And I also try to outright suppress certain conditions with the help of various medications.

After stressful episodes, when the soldiers return to their location, I talk to them to determine what medications to provide them, so that they can at least sleep. Sometimes they come to me with specific requests because they know that I will find even some prescription drugs that will slightly improve their condition.

It seems that even if you haven’t undergone rehabilitation yourself, you have noticed things that could be changed or improved, and you are trying to work on that, right?

Yes, yes, that’s the right word — I try. I was told that I am like that; if something doesn’t work out, I persistently try to find a solution. I’m respected for that because I never ignore requests from my comrades. Even if it’s outside my area of responsibility, it’s probably something that requires resources from AFU’s Psychological Support Centre.

I have stood up for soldiers who abused alcohol on several occasions. In our unit, under previous commanders, they were simply neglected. If you know what I mean. They were taken to the VSP (military police), then to a medical facility, where it was recorded that they were intoxicated. They were left without their combat zone bonus, which amounts to hundreds of hryvnias, and were also fined. In other words, no one asked why the soldier had got drunk or what had happened. No one was interested in that. I tried to understand the reason for each case like this. I insisted that they get the support they needed when I found out that a few soldiers were unable to cope with their situation. They were under constant pressure, and this was how they dealt with it. Well, it’s like when I take Valium or pregabalin, but I still remain effective. While they are in a state of severe alcohol intoxication and are, of course, less functional. It was easier for them to cope with the stress that way. They were looking for alternatives. I referred such soldiers for treatment through those officers.

Have you always been aware of this issue, or did it come with experience and motivation to look at the root of the problem when you see a person in such a state?

Yes, there was a change after the occurrence of stressful situations. The first mortar attacks. When I realised that stress is difficult to deal with in general, and even more so without outside help.

Through my own experience, I began to try to understand others. The same was true for those soldiers who hadn’t seen their families for six months, who were also nervous. They refused to carry out certain tasks, saying that they would desert their military unit just to see their families.  I also started to feel this way when I began to deal with my own issues.

On that note, what are your thoughts on the idea of providing military assistance in a decentralised manner? Do you believe that these kinds of initiatives have a viable future?

From what I can see, centralised assistance does not work at all. In fact, it is simply absent. I went myself to see a psychiatrist about an eating disorder. It was my therapist who suggested that, because I told her that I simply didn’t eat, as it didn’t feel necessary. She thought that I had to see a psychiatrist, though it was mostly my own initiative to go.

Was this the first time since the surgery, or the second?

The first time.

It [centralised assistance] doesn’t work, it’s simply not there. The AFU’s psychological support officers are busy doing some paperwork at headquarters. They don’t even know the soldiers in their unit. They are clueless about their problems, what’s going on in the soldiers’ families, their current psychological state or traumatic experiences during the war. They simply would not recognise the soldiers. So what kind of assistance can we talk about? They don’t visit the positions; they don’t see how people live. They just hold their positions and that’s it.

I once looked through the documentation they are required to complete. It lacks information on most of the soldiers. It should contain information about their education, family composition, etc. This information is missing. In the event of a tragic situation, it will not be clear who should be notified. This is because the data is simply missing from the registers.

I haven’t seen any initiative from them, none at all. Because, unfortunately, the people who hold these positions are pretty random.

Are they random in the sense that they are unprepared/uneducated? Or do they still have some education or understanding, but lack motivation?

Actually, they have no education. A higher education is sufficient for officer positions. Unfortunately, none of the officers I know has a degree in psychology.

Not even a psychology education*?

Yes, they don’t even have that.

They just took a course and that’s it. It’s also a big question how those courses were organised. If you’ve heard, there’s a protocol to help relieve a soldier’s combat stress in a critical situation. There is a sequence of actions that one should follow. I learnt about this protocol during tactical medicine courses in Germany. I don’t remember what kind of training it was, but it was certainly not my first training to become a combat medic. The first thing they taught us was the iCOVER protocol. Each letter corresponds to an action that must be performed. There is also a description of how this action should be performed. Unfortunately, the officers in charge were not familiar with the iCOVER protocol. It’s the least they can do, but they don’t even know it.

*In Ukraine, a psychologist is simply someone with a higher education in the humanities. They don’t need to be doctors and aren’t required to undergo additional specialised training in psychotherapy.

**iCOVER: is a comprehensive response protocol for high-risk situations, designed for the rapid evacuation and protection of civilians and military personnel. “Identify buddy in need, Connect, Offer commitment, Verify facts, Establish order of events, and Request action”.

If centralised assistance is ineffective, do you see potential in veterans’ organisations? Or would that also cause mistrust? Would you like to participate in such an initiative yourself?

Yes. It is certainly a possibility. Perhaps it is the only effective option. After all, compulsory medicine is rather problematic.

Okay, we’re pretty much done with all the questions. I really appreciate you sharing what you could and trying to convey to me some of your experiences, which can sometimes be difficult to put into words.  Is there anything else you would like to add?

I would just like to emphasise your point about the necessity of organising veterans’ organisations. I am not seeking gratitude from society for my choice of career.

However, I would like society to view me as a healthy person, not as a wounded or sick soldier with PTSD who has certain needs. It feels somewhat ridiculous and inappropriate to listen to expressions of gratitude, especially from high-ranking officials.

When the war first started and the first wave of volunteers, including me, made their choice, we were focused on something completely different. Not money, not gratitude. I would like the gratitude to be expressed in the form of the fastest possible socialisation and return to life.

You say, ‘I would like society not to see me as wounded or sick.’ What does this mean in practice?

There will be significant social tension when the soldiers return from the combat zones. I don’t believe that any truly effective mechanisms for controlling and resolving this problem will be implemented at the state level. Most likely, veteran associations will take care of that. In other words, these will be grassroots initiatives.

One day during my holiday, I was hanging out with my friends and one of them turned on a russian rap song about anarcho putin through a Bluetooth speaker. I asked him twice to turn it off, after which I threw the speaker against the wall. They said I was crazy and should be sent to a psychiatric ward.  I could see the fright on some of their faces. One of them started to ask why I had broken the speaker because it was someone’s property, but another veteran silenced him. Then there was a tense silence, which I broke by asking: ‘What happened?’ and ‘Why do I have to put up with this?’ No one asked me why I did what I did, checked how I was doing, or what had triggered me.

In other words, it was a condemnation of the soldier’s aggressive behaviour. Of course, I could have addressed the issue more politely by explaining that russian music triggers me, particularly when it mentions the dictator’s name. I could have mentioned that until recently, I used to listen to Letov and Yanka Dyagileva.

This is why I believe that society is not ready for the return of the military to civilian life and is not preparing for it. When that happens, it will be another tragedy. There will be a lot of aggressive and radical responses.

I would want to go back and work in my studio. I would want billboards to stop advertising war as a romantic adventure with some kind of scenario; I would want patrol officers to go to the SPs and patrol the line of contact; I want the men in the gardens to stop mowing the grass wearing MM14 [camouflage].

I would like to return to working in my studio. Not only that, but I would like billboards to stop romanticising war as an adventure, patrol cops to go work on the front line, and men in gardens to stop mowing the grass wearing MM14 camouflage.