This is not a confession. It’s just my reality.

Guys, let me just remind you (again), since I recently got another message scolding me — everything I share here is not to seek pity, or drama, or for someone to send me an embroidered tissue.

I’m simply sharing what’s going on in my life.

It’s like a reality show — just without the producers or camera crew. But yes, with taxes.

Sure, sometimes life throws me straight into a survival quest from hell, and I talk about it.

Not because I want you to cry, but because… well, this is my page. This is my life.

And honestly, I don’t know how to be here other than just being myself.

If I wanted sympathy, I’d adopt a one-eyed kitten and name it VAT (spoiler alert for today’s topic).

Welcome to a new chapter.

Yesterday started like any other day. Weather was decent, I had plans to work. All very normal.

And then I got a letter.

From the tax office.

I didn’t open it right away — I waited until I got home.

Because I already felt my chest tightening.

And when I finally read it… it knocked me out.

Cue panic attack:

My hand went numb.
My upper lip went numb.
My whole body felt like it was being crushed.
I ripped off my clothes because even fabric felt like too much.
I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.I felt trapped inside myself, like I couldn’t breathe.

And no, I hadn’t officially registered my OnlyFans.

Why? Because surprise — I’m not a porn star, not a millionaire, just an artist with ten loyal subscribers (two of them being my cats).

But apparently, the tax office has different ideas.

I downed a few calming pills, and when I could think again, I realized I needed to physically distract myself — otherwise my thoughts were going to eat me alive.

So I stood on my head.

Yes, again. Headstand therapy. To balance something.

Then I started painting, and somehow, a small artwork was born.A little piece of reflection through chaos.

And now — drumroll — the amount I might have to pay is around $8,000.And that’s just the tax, not including the “you’ve been living outside of accounting morality” fine. $800 for the jaw diagnosis I’m still waiting on. ~$2,000 debt to the startup I work with, because I couldn’t pay them yet.rent, food, existence…

anxiety levels like: “Google, how not to evaporate inside a panic cloud.”

So if I’m not replying fast, or if I vanish — it’s not because I’ve become a diva or am chilling on a yacht in Monaco.

I’m just sitting on the floor, hugging my anxiety like a stuffed toy, and pondering life.

You know — “should I sell a kidney and move to Tibet?” kind of thoughts.

I have no team, no manager, no SMM wizards, no personal translator.Everything you see here or on my Instagram — it’s just me and my two hands.

I read every message, translate it from English into my brain-language, write a reply with heart, and translate it back again (with internal cursing — don’t worry, it stays in my head).

All the posts, stories, photos, thoughts, meltdowns, inspiration, and chaos — that’s 100% me.

So if I disappear for a bit, don’t worry.

I’m probably just fighting for justice… or for stable Wi-Fi. Or for my mental health.

We’ll see who wins tomorrow.

As for what’s next — I have no idea.

But if you want to support me, the best thing you can do is stay here. Just be with me. That already means more than I can explain. 🩷

Thanks for listening. That’s the news for today