Somewhere Only We Know

Ten years.

A fucking long time, yet it passes terrifyingly fast. How does that work? How is it possible that one day you're still a preteen, obsessed with Marvel movies, stuffing your face with popcorn, your sexuality just starting to wake up—then you blink, and suddenly you're twenty-two, standing on the job market, feeling like a massive loser?

As kids, we want to grow up. As adults, we'd rather go back to childhood, sit in front of the TV, and play with LEGO. It was fucking great. At least that's how I remember it. I think. For a while, everything felt perfect.

Of course it wasn't. My entire childhood happened in the dark. Family conflicts, my parents' divorce, daddy issues, grandparent issues, all of it. There were flashes of light, sure—but those don't mean much if, as an adult, you're left dealing with psychotherapeutic symptoms. Sometimes it was good to be a kid: playing freely, calling stuffed animals imaginary friends. But that's no longer the priority.

Now the priority is trying to meet everyone's expectations. Family. Partner. Friends. Boss. Even some random homeless person on the street. Everyone wants to be fucking perfect, because that's what every social media platform is selling. Don't get me wrong—I doomscroll my phone like a pro every single day—but that still doesn't make it okay.

For years, I kept thinking about how, when, and where I should write down the story of my life. Most of the time, it felt pointless. Why would strangers care about my story? Why would it matter to anyone, when everyone has their own struggles? Whenever I did manage to write a page or two, I'd end up deleting it. I told myself I'd deal with it later—when I was older, calmer, more put together. With the book. With myself. And then it just stopped.

Originally, I planned to finish this story back in 2019. Instead, I completely blew it off. I always experienced my life as if it were a movie, so it seemed obvious that after three fucking awful years of elementary and high school, the suffering would end. Obviously, man plans and God laughs, and my life went in a completely different direction. School changes. Family issues. Identity crisis. Awakening sexuality—and then its reinforcement. Tons of new friends. Everything happening at once, impossible to keep track of. I woke up at dawn, traveled for hours just to attend a better high school. Exhausted, but present at the 8 a.m. chemistry class. Or later, when I lived in a dorm and had to attend mandatory programs—weekly devotions, compulsory children's day bullshit—just so there'd be photos for Facebook.

As time went on, there was always something new. A new stress factor. A new friend. A new love. A new excuse to eat even more and make absolutely sure I wouldn't lose weight. This went on for ten years. And then, suddenly, a chapter ended.

I spent two years living in a small provincial town while attending university. It was one of the lowest points of my life. I ended up in a cult-adjacent environment, surrounded by cult-like people—partly because of them, partly because of my own childish decisions. I left. There was a lot of crying. Sleepless nights. Even today, my stomach tightens when I think about it.

Last year, in the fall of 2025, I got a job at a hospitality venue. I met people—found a community—I had always wanted to belong to. Sometimes they pissed me off. Other times, they made my days lighter. Colleagues, friends I could laugh with honestly, be myself around, talk shit with. People I could ask things from and give things to. People who asked how I was. People who actually cared.

Maybe—and I'm not sure, who the fuck knows—I fell in love. If it wasn't love, then it was an incredibly strong crush, a motivation that set me on a path. Through one conversation, I found peace. One fucking conversation. I saw myself. I was talking to a guy who was almost at the same place in life as I was. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—he's straight. He likes girls.

And that's why Robin's speech to Will in the final season of Stranger Things hit me so hard:

"I was looking at this little version of myself. And that little me, I could hardly recognize her. You know, she was so carefree and, like, fearless. She just loved every part of herself. And that's when it hit me. It was never about Tone-deaf Tammy. It was always just about me. I was looking for answers in somebody else, but... I had all the answers. I just needed to stop being so goddamn scared. Scared of... who I really was. Once I did that, oh, I felt so free. It's like I could fly, you know? Like, I could finally be..."

I was always looking for answers in other people. Other guys. Other connections. When the guy who already had the answers was me.

I lost six kilos. I got my ears pierced. I grew my hair out. And this is only the beginning.

That "little kid" who apologized for everything, compromised constantly, bent over backward just so no one would be mad at him—that was me. I was desperate for love, and while craving others, I lost my best friend: myself.

I hereby officially announce it: I found him.

The expedition was successful.

This is how we save lives. And this is how we save our own. Because if we are not okay, no one around us can truly be okay either.

This is the message of How To Save A Life.

Enjoy the reading, dear readers—and fellow life-savers.