How I Tamed Death and Made It Serve Me

Death has always been close—a shadow I’ve learned to tame. I’ve faced it in many forms: wars, disease, attacks. Each time, I walked away alive, carrying scars that turned into strength. Every encounter with death became a lesson, a strange kind of power.

I grew up in a fortress, a grand place with danger pressing from both sides. On one side, an abyss I passed every day on the bus to school—so close I expected we might fall into it. On the other side, a psychiatric clinic. I was fascinated, always watching people try to escape its walls. Life felt fragile and surreal, even then.

Then came the diseases—endometriosis, haemolacria, anaemia. Blackouts struck anywhere: in the metro, on the street, in the middle of life. Each time, I thought it could be the end. But it never was. Somehow, I survived again and again. And I know—it’s not without reason.

I could have died many times. But instead, I learned to live differently. I refuse to be defined by fear, or by the expectations of others. I speak for myself—and for those who have been silenced. I will be the voice they can’t ignore.

Maybe I don’t know how much time I have left. But I’ve made peace with that. It keeps me on edge, yes—but it also sharpens me.

Death doesn’t scare me anymore. I’ve turned it into fuel. Into fire. Into art.

Each day is a gift. And I intend to create something meaningful and beautiful.

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