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Source: Rastvoritel (Instagram), 7 September 2026. Translated by the Russian Reader

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KYIV, Ukraine – It’s the last evening of my vacation.

I’m sitting in a taxi taking me to the Lviv railway station so I can return to Kyiv, and I can’t hold back my tears.

It’s not that I’m sad about returning to work and my normal routine. But when I get home, I know I won’t be able to sleep in my own bed. Once a cozy little nest, my own bed is now a place of constant fear, where even the deepest sleep comes at the risk of a ballistic missile or drone attack. I don’t trust monitoring channels anymore. I don’t trust anyone, except this primal fear that fills every cell of my body as soon as it starts getting dark.

And this fear is warranted. Russia has spent the whole summer launching large-scale ballistic missile attacks on Kyiv, taking advantage of Ukraine’s shortage of interceptors. They also used drones, including jet-powered Shaheds. Russia ramped up its missile production and also relies on North Korean missiles to intensify the attacks.

On top of that, Moscow seems to be adopting a new tactic, launching jet-powered drones throughout the whole day to paralyze the entire city. On August 27, there were 13 air raid alerts in Kyiv — a record-setting number of attacks lasting more than half a day. Since then, the attacks have been almost non-stop.

Basements and underground parking garages no longer feel safe enough. That’s why more and more Kyiv residents have started spending the night in the metro, often heading down there even before an air raid alert is issued.

Even when there’s no attack, people would rather spend a night in the metro than wake up suddenly to explosions in their own bed, unprotected.

Zoriana can’t sleep well anymore as the constant threat takes its toll

Night strikes started happening more and more in July.

I took the first few nights of ballistic attacks as something I simply had to accept. Last year, Russia had also stepped up its attacks on Kyiv during the summer, so I was mentally prepared for it.

But this time, they started using ballistic missiles more often.

I told myself that they would run out soon, since ballistic missiles are very expensive, while flinching at every new explosion in my bathroom.

But it only got worse.

Notifications about air raid alerts have become useless, as they only give two minutes before the first explosions, which can mean an endless night of hundreds of those two-minute windows and lots of panicked running.

So I couldn’t sleep well anymore.

My psychologist suggested breathing exercises and a ritual to help me calm down. But when I tried that, all I could hear was how hard my heart was beating.

That’s how my bed turned into a place of tormented waiting. Waiting for loud explosions and … my own death.

So I started going to the metro, regardless of whether there are air raid alerts or not.

Mariana wasn’t afraid of air raid alerts until this summer

I used to be pretty calm about air raid alerts. I went to the basement only a few times at the beginning of the war, when every alert was new and seemed scary and dangerous. But luckily, my hometown of Vinnytsia didn’t get attacked much. So I stopped going to the shelter and just continued on with my life, despite sometimes hearing the sounds of faraway explosions.

When I moved to Kyiv in 2023, I was a bit more cautious.

At night, the corridor became my sleeping spot during attacks. And although the explosions became more frequent, I still didn’t care enough to disrupt my sleep and go somewhere safer to hide.

But constantly seeing news of residential buildings completely ruined after massive attacks on Kyiv made me feel like the corridor was not enough. So in June, I started going to the shelter.

Zoriana wonders why she pays rent when she sleeps in the metro every night

People can go into the metro and stay overnight even without an air raid alert. Of course, you can wait and go once the alert starts, but I definitely can’t make it there in two minutes — the approximate time of a ballistic missile’s approach.

That’s why, at 10 p.m. every day, I have to decide whether or not to spend the night in the metro.

Without an attack warning, there aren’t that many people in the metro — typically around 30. I have already started to recognize a few familiar faces, and every evening we exchange a tired smile. But when there’s word of a massive attack coming, there’s not even enough room to drop a pin.

I have a separate warm tracksuit that I sleep in at the metro, my own folding bed, a comfortable pillow and a blanket. I always bring a thermos of tea, too.

But the constant thoughts never go away: maybe it will be quiet and I can stay home; maybe it won’t, and then it will be sheer terror.

Mariana sleeps better on hard school chairs than in a cozy bed at home

When I go home by metro at night, I see some people preparing to sleep there. They set up an improvised camp using mats, pillows and blankets. But even the metro can’t guarantee us complete safety.

At the end of July, the vestibule of the Lukianivska metro station, which I always use when commuting to my university, was damaged. At the time, people were sheltering there from the attack.

Since the closest metro station is 15 minutes from where I live, I go to the basement of a nearby school. I always bring a bottle of water and a sleeping bag with a pillow — they help me feel a little bit more comfortable while lying on hard school chairs.

I constantly check the Telegram channels that monitor incoming attacks, while other people in the basement whisper among themselves or snore. I hear the explosions outside, but it seems like the missiles can’t reach me in the shelter.

Eventually exhaustion gets the better of me and I fall into a restless sleep until I hear the all-clear signal. But I don’t leave the shelter right away. The thought of having to come back again because of another attack makes me stay until 4 a.m., the time when I for some reason feel that the threat is over.

With drones being launched constantly now, there’s no period of time that is truly safe. A new alert can come at any time, day or night. And when that happens, I’m too exhausted to care. I stay in my corridor and listen to the explosions, just hoping that I’ll be lucky and not get hit.

I’m consumed by only anxiety and exhaustion now, and whichever feeling is more intense at any given time is what dictates how I respond.

Zoriana fears this living nightmare made her a bad person

For the past two months, I haven’t been able to rest at all. There are no weekends or weekdays anymore, only day and night. Days filled with anxiety about my life. Nights full of fear and uncertainty.

And, strangely, I felt the worst when there was no attack. Exhausted, I walked home from the metro at 6 a.m. after taking shelter there overnight. That was when I caught myself thinking that I was sorry there had been no attack. I had wasted my night, and they hadn’t even bombed us. A second later, I burst into tears over that intrusive thought. How could I be disappointed that there was no attack? Am I really such a horrible person?

That was when I realized how much this is destroying me, dissolving everything joyful and bright that I had spent years filling my soul with.

It has been two weeks since my vacation ended, and I have slept alone in my apartment only twice.

I am still in Kyiv, trying to keep living my life. For how long? We’ll see.

And even as I write this right now, I’m packing my things for another night in the metro.

Source: Zoriana Semenovych and Mariana Stadnyk, “Why pay rent just to sleep in the metro,” The Counteroffensive with Tim Mak, 10 September 2026. As a paying subscriber to this Substack-based journal, I’m happy to share it with my own readers occasionally. ||||| TRR