"Knock on the Door" Chapter 1

Dear Diary, do you know what it's like to envy an ordinary human happiness? Simple, unremarkable, yet so desirable? A regular life, so mundane! And yet, the ability to care for someone and feel cared for in return. To support each other and walk through life hand in hand. I miss those feelings so much.

I sit in a small, dark, and damp room. I've spent most of my life here. I grew up here and became a man. I remember how, as a child, someone close to me advised me to start writing down my thoughts — to write about the difficult moments, as well as the joyful ones. This, they said, should help me reflect on my life, assess all the good, and cross out all the bad that's happened to me along my journey. It should help me reconsider the past and try to start over. I don't know if that's true, but I'll try. And right now, in my position, I see no other way. I find it silly and laughable — writing down my thoughts. But somewhere deep down, I hope it will help. I hope for that!

I have so many questions that I can't find answers to, and I want to believe that eventually I'll be able to find them, to escape the trap that fate herself sent me into.

Sometimes, when I see happy boys and cheerful girls on the streets, in cafes or parks, old couples, playing children, and loving pairs — when their faces glow with joy and satisfaction from the lives they're living — apathy seizes my mind, and everything inside turns upside down. Anger, envy, and hopelessness take over my soul, my mind, and my blood runs cold, and my heart stops listening to me. And I stop hearing it. It's painful, unbearable, and disgusting.

I often ask myself: why didn't things turn out for me like they did for many others? Why? I just want to exist, unnoticed, live a regular, stable, and uneventful life. To rejoice like those strangers to me, walking through the park, who burn my eyes with their happiness every day.

I'm only 21 years old, yet inside I feel like an old man, one who's seen hunger, betrayal, and loss. That makes me feel even more worthless, used, thrown away like something unnecessary. Something that was never truly needed by anyone, anywhere.

I never wished ill on anyone, but envy, anger, and apathy choke me. They don't give me peace, I just can't live like this anymore. I simply can't. I'm tired! Don't think that I don't fight these feelings, I try, I try so hard, but when I'm alone with myself, I realize: I can't win this battle of emotions.

Let me start from the very beginning.

I was born into a happy, healthy family. My father was an ordinary working man, a builder. Kind, funny… I remember how, no matter how tired he was after work, he would always sit me on his lap, tell me scary stories, and tickle me until I cried with laughter. In the mornings, he always made me breakfast, told me tall tales, and made me laugh — we had great times together.

After he left for work, I stayed with my mother. She was so sweet, caring, patient. I loved her dearly. She never raised her voice at me, always attentive, caring, and kind. She was a wonderful mother.

We often went out for walks, exploring different beautiful houses. I used to think she had a lot of friends, and only when I grew up did I learn that she was a cleaning lady. She worked for hire, tidying up various apartments, offices, and other places. Leaving me with someone else was impossible, so she always took me with her. And I was happy to go out with her.

We lived poorly, but our home was always bright, warm, cozy, and full of food. My parents were orphans and didn't know who their parents were.

I think this haunted them and never gave them peace. I'm sure their love story, their life story, deserves its own telling. I know for sure that apart from each other and me, they had nothing. Even the apartment they lived in was given to them by the state as part of a support program for children with difficult pasts.

That's why they cherished every moment in life, their love, and of course, me.

I often heard them laugh and joke. My father would often call my mother "My Cinderella," and she, laughing in return, would ask, "Where's my castle, oh my prince?" They always joked loudly and talked a lot about different topics. Now I understand that I was one of those kids who woke up and fell asleep with a smile on their face. Back then, I never realized how hard it was for them. But they did everything they could to make me and each other happy. They were really good at it.

I don't know if I could ever be a parent like them, especially like my father. A husband like my father. But, probably, that won't happen, because not often do children face what I've faced, and because of that, it feels like my feelings have been deformed, atrophied. I just don't have them anymore. I don't know how to love, I don't want to love. I don't want to hurt myself or anyone else anymore. I don't want to.

At just five years old, I experienced my first real loss. This loss changed me, shattered and broke apart our family. We just stopped being a family. It also destroyed my chance for a happy future, turning me into what I've become.

I don't remember what day it was, just that it was too late. Usually, we'd all gather for dinner, but that evening, my father didn't come home. That same day, he didn't tell me a scary story, didn't make me laugh. I waited for him, waited a long time, but eventually fell asleep, drifting into a sweet fantasy world.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and I woke up to the sound of the ringing. I heard a scream, or rather, a howl.

At first, I didn't recognize the voice, but after a moment, I realized it was my mother's. Her voice made me shudder. I was so scared, I'd never been so scared before. I didn't understand what was happening. Later, neighbors and some unfamiliar people rushed to our house… But no one could calm her down. She just screamed. Screamed. Cried loudly.

I didn't understand what was going on. They say that a child's mind protects them from pain. I guess that's really true? And at that moment, my mind protected me… But only until they brought my father's lifeless body into the house, wrapped in a sheet. I remember it as though it happened just yesterday.

I remember how people gathered around him, reading prayers, crying. And I… I couldn't understand what was happening, couldn't believe it. I screamed, called for my father, asked him to wake up. I begged him to tell me a story. But that didn't happen.

And at that moment, realizing what was going on, I understood: life would never be the same again… In that moment, I grew up beyond my years.

Oh, father… How I miss you. If only you were here… Maybe everything would be different.