girloftheforest

My frens look what I have I will show what’s inside later

My frens look what I have I will show what’s inside later

My fruit salad! I didn’t wash the apples well enough because..

My fruit salad! I didn’t wash the apples well enough because I thought they had a natural pigment, but it turned out to be wax and dirt. Guess I’ll die.

Sorry not sorry for my fabulous, incredible, and utterly bre..

Sorry not sorry for my fabulous, incredible, and utterly breathtaking pajama pants, which are hiding underneath them no less incredible high-waisted cotton underwear 🥴

Last night, I had an absurdly long dream about Zelensky and Valuev coming to clean out the sewer system at my summer house. Valuev, in a rather heroic display, literally descended into the manhole and cleared it with his body, while Zelensky stood above, keeping an eye on him to decide when to pull him back out. To make things even stranger, my entire family and extended relatives gathered to watch this spectacle.

I have serious questions for my brain. Why can’t it give me dreams about, say, flying on a dragon, a romantic encounter with a dark lord, breathtaking landscapes, or mastering new, fascinating skills? They say dreams reflect what’s on your mind. I never realized my subconscious was this deeply preoccupied with politics and plumbing.

Went to the gym with my mom today. I hadn’t been there for t..

Went to the gym with my mom today. I hadn’t been there for two months because of my illness. It’s nice to feel that my body can still lift a few kilograms. I don’t have any hopes of losing weight, but moving and keeping myself in relative shape feels really good. It was scary when I first got sick and felt that working out didn’t bring me any joy, only drained my energy. Today, it wasn’t like that, and I’m really happy about it.

Please pray for my dog. She’s fine, she’s just very ugly😭😭😭

Please pray for my dog. She’s fine, she’s just very ugly😭😭😭

Me, who’s super self-conscious about my body, at 11 p.m.: ea..

Me, who’s super self-conscious about my body, at 11 p.m.: eating sandwiches and watching a film about the Gulag.

I’m still learning to draw and write with my left hand. We g..

I’m still learning to draw and write with my left hand. We got a lot of snow—it’s insanely beautiful. My brother’s dog has been staying with me for the second week now. I wonder if they still remember her?

Hello, my friends! Since I’ve gained a few followers recentl..

Hello, my friends! Since I’ve gained a few followers recently, I thought I’d share a bit about why I’m on OnlyFans. In my very first post, I mentioned that I planned to use this page mainly for myself—to share my thoughts, the things that weigh on me, and what I keep hidden from people in real life. This platform gives me a sense of safety and anonymity, which is why I chose it. But recently, something changed, and I found myself wanting some virtual company here, so I broke my own rule and started looking to connect.

As you can probably tell by my figure, I’m definitely not starving, so I don’t see this platform as a way to earn money. I lack the courage or skills to promote myself here. I’m quite shy and awkward, and also very self-conscious about my body. Posting a photo in underwear was a huge challenge for me. I rarely wear makeup or dress up somehow pretty, I don’t own much aesthetic clothing or lingerie, and I’ve never really posted my photos online before. I don’t see this space turning into a commercial page where I’d sell anything intimate.

But, in any case, I’m always happy just to chat, get to know new people, and give or receive a bit of support. Love you all, kisses to everyone❤️❤️❤️

I’m practicing writing letters with my left hand before bed...

I’m practicing writing letters with my left hand before bed. It’s been a long time since I felt this calm. In case you’re curious—my eyes are always lined because it’s permanent makeup. I was too lazy to draw anything with my left hand today, but that’s okay. There’s always time to do it later.

I absolutely love cleaning floors! And just cleaning at home..

I absolutely love cleaning floors! And just cleaning at home in general. There’s something so satisfying about the order and organization, the harmonious flow of effort leading to something useful and complete. Each step naturally follows the last. My love of order naturally led to a love of anatomy in university, while everyone else seemed to struggle with it. I studied it like I was reading literature—no matter how you look at it, everything just works.

In previous posts, I’ve written about my persistently negative feelings toward my university; the curriculum feels like it was thrown together by a neighbor lounging with a bottle of cologne in the bushes under the window. The sheer volume of material is enormous (anyone who’s studied medicine in the former Soviet countries knows this). Every second professor thinks they’re a genius, having written their own textbook for the course—often a blend of poorly translated Russian, English, and German textbooks that contradict each other and themselves (this sounds exaggerated, but you can literally trace sources by Googling phrases that have been directly translated through Google Translate🫠).

But anatomy… there’s no way to ruin it. Like an engine, a car, or an airplane, it just works. With its million intricate details, anatomy justifies every second spent learning it. It isn’t mindless memorization of someone’s nonsense, but a science of deeply embedded logic, where any mistake or guesswork would stand out in the otherwise perfect symphony.

I’m really, really sorry—I honestly didn’t expect something ..

I’m really, really sorry—I honestly didn’t expect something like this to end up on my page 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 I guess I’m in a super good mood, and I feel like my makeup turned out really nice. I was just looking at the pages of people who looked so beautiful, and I wanted to try too. I just hope I don’t start regretting this photoshoot later. But I really, really love the first photo; I absolutely adore it. Thank you to everyone watching, and sorry again!

Flying obesities for years destroying my morning sleep.

Flying obesities for years destroying my morning sleep.

My drawing today with my left and right hand. For some reaso..

My drawing today with my left and right hand. For some reason, the randomizer really loves insects. I keep getting messages suggesting I promote my account, and it’s honestly making me curious.

I heard that OnlyFans is for posting explicit content, so I’..

I heard that OnlyFans is for posting explicit content, so I’m sharing this extremely erotic (no) photo without underwear. I was so lazy to get dressed after my shower that I went to carry pellets for the boiler like this.

So I traced this irrational pattern of avoiding and realized..

So I traced this irrational pattern of avoiding and realized that my already low self-esteem seems to have taken a sharp, pathological nosedive for some reason (maybe due to medication). And, well, there’s actually a good chance that someone were genuinely interested in talking to me, though it’s hard for me to accept that. But either way, everything that happened yesterday was completely irrational and unreasonable. And it honestly bothers me because all my life I’ve been very tough and had a clear understanding of my emotions, the rational aspects, the objective and subjective sides of things. But in recent months, due to illness, it feels like I’ve lost that skill and can’t understand what’s going on—almost like my own mind has become unreadable to me. And the worst part for me is that I always try to appear really cool to others, like this kind of superhuman persona, and suddenly I’ve become this cringey version of myself. It scares me because what I fear and dread most in life is being out of place and awkward.

A few days ago, I met someone online—a guy who, from the sta..

A few days ago, I met someone online—a guy who, from the start, seemed genuinely charming. He had humor, intelligence, creativity. We started messaging, but I was too insistent, too focused on myself and what interested me rather than on him. Without really noticing, I kept pressing forward, oblivious to how it might seem. He answered regularly, even asked questions, but eventually, I felt a sharp pang of awareness that I wasn’t truly interesting to him—that he was replying mostly out of politeness.

Yet, through him, I felt something delicate, a strange kindness from the world itself—a feeling I could hardly bear, something both tender and cutting. In the past, feeling even a glimmer of that delicate kindness would have kept me lingering for years, clinging on just to experience it again. But that longing has cost me more than I ever expected. And yesterday, I felt that same sensation rising again. It wasn’t about romance or attraction; it was about the way a stranger’s simple decency can reach you. For him, it was probably just common courtesy, yet in me, it awakened something raw and guarded. A part of me felt torn—one moment wanting to lash out at this gentle hand, the next to flee from it entirely.

So, what did I do? I told him I didn’t want to talk anymore, made it as clear as possible, leaving no room for misunderstanding. I could have tried to explain, to ask how he felt, but I didn’t. It was just me, acting on impulse, already overthinking after only two days of talking. I had been forward enough, already sent him foolish messages. I ran from a connection that hadn’t even been made. But the fear of being intrusive, of being unwanted, felt so much worse than any regret. The dread of seeming pathetic—it’s almost unbearable.

This kind of feeling doesn’t happen often, but every time it does, it’s as if I lose a little something. My chest fills up with scar tissue, leaving less and less space for a heart.

I can admit to myself now that he might have actually found me interesting, that he could have been genuinely open to getting to know me. If that’s true, then I truly regret leaving so abruptly.

When I draw with both my left and right hands, I choose an a..

When I draw with both my left and right hands, I choose an animal for the task using a random word generator. Today, I got campodea. I felt annoyed and disappointed, thinking, “What a disgusting cockroach.” I would have preferred to draw a wolf or a deer. But a task is a task. While drawing, I looked at photos of the campodea and started to feel sorry for it. This tiny living spark, almost transparent, just trying to find food and hide from predators. Such a delicate creature. And here I am, some arrogant person who decided to draw it, causing more harm than good, and thinking I have the right to find it repulsive. Now, I actually love the campodea.

My father became an addict more than 15 years ago, starting ..

My father became an addict more than 15 years ago, starting with prescription drugs, as he himself is a psychiatrist specializing in addiction treatment. Then he became an alcoholic and smoked inside the house, then hit my mom and me during an alcohol- and drug-induced psychosis, cheated on her, and left to live with a new woman—someone troubled, who’d also used drugs with her former partners—all while my mom’s father was dying. As my father puts it, he felt “empty,” so he started using. This makes me sick. It’s absurd to me because he had everything—a fantastic job with a high salary and flexible hours, a wife who also worked in psychiatry, constantly developed new hobbies, pursued interesting activities, and planned things for the family like trips, events, and special getaways for just the two of them. He had healthy kids—kind, talented, polite, helpful, and grateful children. A beautiful apartment, a private home, money for any hobby. It was idyllic. Literally a paradise on earth. I would look at my classmates’ families and think, “How lucky I am; I live in heaven.” And yet he felt “empty.”

And then he started using. Gradually, our family began to disintegrate from the inside. But, honestly, I hadn’t intended to write about this. Since I’m currently not studying or working, I manage all the housework. Although he no longer lives with us and the house is far cleaner now, my daily cleaning and laundry still take me almost two hours. When he lived here, I had to constantly clean up after him—he left a mess everywhere, dirtying every clean space: dishes everywhere, the sink overflowing, mud tracked on the floors, a filthy toilet. Whenever I complained to my mom (talking to him was pointless, as he didn’t accept criticism and did only what he wanted), she would say that he earned a lot of money and provided us financial security. And yet, he worked only until noon at best and would then go to cafes or come home to watch comedy shows, eat, and lounge until two in the morning. I can’t help but feel that if he washed his own dishes ten times a day, he might not have felt so “empty” in life—he simply wouldn’t have had the time. Financial security became the absolute value in our family, overtaking trust, safety, and respect, and in the end, creating a monstrous glutton who had lost all sense of boundaries.

My new drawing with left and right hands🥺

My new drawing with left and right hands🥺

I went to see the animated movie 10 Lives. It’s a very sweet..

I went to see the animated movie 10 Lives. It’s a very sweet film for kids with a wonderful message. But there’s something that bothers me—I often notice that in animated films, couples are portrayed with the female character having a proportionate figure, a round head, and a pretty face with childlike features (tiny nose, huge eyes). Meanwhile, the male character often looks like some kind of mutant, with an eggplant-shaped nose, an odd-shaped head, a thin, crooked body, and an awkward lack of coordination. The female character is usually kind, sweet, serious, responsible, and organized, often working at a challenging job that she’s earned through long and diligent effort. Meanwhile, the male character simply has a “good heart”—whatever that’s supposed to mean—and perhaps some sort of inborn genius. I feel this approach is problematic, as it instills in children skewed ideas about expectations for both genders and about relationships.

By the way, in the photo, you can see the result of my long and dedicated relationship with burgers.

Oh gods, I truly can’t understand how anything could be as d..

Oh gods, I truly can’t understand how anything could be as dense as my brother’s dog. She stays with me often, since my brother and his family aren’t exactly far off from her in terms of responsibility or foresight—they’re operating at about the level of a fish. But as a committed dog lover, I still can’t fathom how something like her even manages to breathe on its own and walk this earth.

Her name is Risa, though she has no clue. If you call her by name, she’ll just stand there and look off in another direction. Well, in two directions, technically, since her eyes wander off to the sides—but never towards you. She’s supposedly over three years old, and my brother’s wife has been taking her to dog school, but she hasn’t learned a single command.

When I go to the forest with my dogs, I let them off-leash without a second thought—they’re tuned into me, always keeping eye contact, and respond easily to my voice. They understand the basics of speech, know what’s dangerous, and what not to eat. Risa, on the other hand, I drag along on a leash the entire way—if I were to let go, she’d just wander off into the sunset without even a backward glance. Or worse, she’d run straight up to strangers and start barking at them. Calling her back is pointless—little bro even doesn’t know she exists.

When a car pulls into the driveway, Risa just stands there right under the wheel. You can’t call her or make her move. I have to get out, pick her up like a piece of furniture, carry her inside, and then park.

This morning, she woke me and my dogs up by stomping all over us on the bed, and then circled around the bed for twenty minutes at 4 a.m. I thought she had to go outside, so I finally got up and made my way to the door—only for her to flop down in her bed and start snoring. Safe to say, I promptly put her outside. And she also tries to hump everything in sight—the pillows, her octopus toy, my orange dog. It’s hardly surprising that my brother and his spectacularly clever wife decided to breed her, likely celebrating her one talent. Because, naturally, the world definitely needs more dogs just like Risa!

A nighttime picnic with my friend. I’m so glad I didn’t eat ..

A nighttime picnic with my friend. I’m so glad I didn’t eat everything on the way there, like I usually do.

I absolutely love how I look in glasses! I used to need them..

I absolutely love how I look in glasses! I used to need them for my nearsightedness, but a few years ago, I had eye surgery—which I still consider one of the scariest experiences of my life. But the outcome was worth it. Some people say they’ve gotten so used to clear vision that they don’t even notice it anymore. Not me—being able to see every single leaf on the trees still feels like pure bliss.

My drawings with both left and right hand. I’m not sure if t..

My drawings with both left and right hand. I’m not sure if this one was just easier, or if my left hand has gotten a bit stronger, but it looks pretty good.

This summer in Spain, one memory still deeply troubles me. I..

This summer in Spain, one memory still deeply troubles me. Inside the church at the Poblet Monastery, I found a fledgling sparrow—overheated, injured, and in urgent need of a little help. From my experience, it only needed a few days of basic care, no more than five, to either recover or, if there were internal injuries, to pass peacefully. I approached the monks near the church entrance, asking for assistance.

When I asked, I was immediately refused. I explained I could give precise instructions on what was needed—a small box, some water, and a little food. When they refused again, I pleaded with them to find anyone at the monastery who cared about animals and might help. But they simply repeated that they were sorry and couldn’t do anything, adding that there were many cats around. They did nothing—denying the little bird both help and the mercy of a quiet, protected end.

A woman at the ticket booth showed far more compassion. She comforted me as I held the bird, tears streaming down my face, and even offered to help it with her friends from the gift shop. But her shift was ending in ten minutes, and I had no choice but to place the little bird back on the steps where I had found it, giving it some water before I left. I couldn’t stay longer; it was my last day in the country, and time was slipping away. I don’t know what happened after that.

That moment—the image of me leaving the fledgling on the steps and turning away—haunts me. Anger and helplessness, on the edge of despair. A feeling that eats away at you.

Today’s drawing with both hands. Why is my left hand such an..

Today’s drawing with both hands. Why is my left hand such an idiot 😭😭😭

There is no language on earth that could capture the depth o..

There is no language on earth that could capture the depth of my hatred for my university. It has no unified curriculum—each professor does whatever they please. Tests? However they want. Presentations? As they wish. Assignments? At their discretion. While one group might have a one-hour class where the professor delivers a clear, structured lecture, another group could sit through a four-hour session listening to the professor’s personal anecdotes. Some students get a multiple-choice test that the professor reviews afterward to ensure understanding, while others get an open-ended question on a random topic—write whatever you want, however you want. And yes, if you don’t write it, you’re barred from the next exam. Some professors will assess a student’s grasp of the basics before gradually increasing the question difficulty to set a fair grade; others will fail you outright if you miss a single hyper-specific detail, regardless of how brilliantly you answered the rest. One student might know the brain’s structure thoroughly yet fail for not knowing a tiny nuance, while another—who doesn’t even know what a pons is—will pass because, and I quote, “he’s such a nice guy.” (Yes, that’s an actual quote from a professor, and yes, this happens all the time.)

This is the reality at our university. Many students have written complaints, gathered signatures, sent letters to the dean’s office and even the Ministry of Education, involved lawyers, and filed lawsuits. But not a single one of these attempts has succeeded. The administration and part of the faculty are simply incompetent—they’re not equipped to do their jobs, and this fact would be obvious even to a monkey without a pituitary gland. These people are just “friends of friends” comfortably settled in well-paid positions. And with each passing year, the university tightens its grip: exams become increasingly complex, and the material reaches unreasonable levels of difficulty. By the third year, less than a quarter of the original class remains, which is catastrophically low. Given the steady decline in our small country’s population—accelerated by the government’s increasingly absurd policies—it wouldn’t surprise me if this push to reduce the number of much-needed doctors was some sort of state mandate. Otherwise, I can’t understand how this could even be happening.

The closer an empire is to collapse, the crazier its laws become. I only wish I didn’t feel so strongly about things that are beyond my control. That’s my mistake and my burden to bear.

Omg literally me

Omg literally me

I’m having breakfast, and for some reason, I feel this terri..

I’m having breakfast, and for some reason, I feel this terrible weakness, as if I’m moving through milk. I find myself wondering if I’m an awful friend. I’m viciously jealous, and I openly wish all kinds of failure and misfortune upon friends who have anything better than I do. I even say this out loud—every one of my friends knows this about me. I only hold back with those who have less than me or about the same, but the second someone has even a slight edge, this deep, black envy ignites inside me. The only ones I don’t envy are those who have fought hard for what they have; with them, I feel only respect. I sincerely admire people who’ve put in long, honest effort to get where they are. Life has shown me that success is mostly a matter of circumstances aligning just right, and I’m deeply envious of the things that are simply out of my control.

And yet, my friends consider me genuinely kind and warm-hearted. I always try to help them and put real effort into it. If there’s any information that might be valuable to someone, I make sure they have it. In conversations, I frame things so that my friend feels I’m on their side, facing the problem together, rather than against them. I don’t let people down; if something changes with a commitment, I go out of my way to warn them in advance and to offer a reasonable alternative. Ironically, I used to go out of my way to flatter people, to try to appear more likeable or charming than I truly am. And for all that, I was utterly alone or surrounded by people I couldn’t trust with anything. Now, though, I have friends I would trust with my life. They love me, despite all the venom in me.

I came up with a new daily exercise for myself: every day, I..

I came up with a new daily exercise for myself: every day, I’ll draw a random animal and write a phrase first with my right hand and then with my left. I just finished my first attempt, and it brought such a wave of positive emotions! I didn’t have to make anything look good or criticize myself for mistakes; I just drew, messily, with both hands, and simply enjoyed the process. Drawing with my left hand was an especially amazing experience—my hand was shaky, I couldn’t control the pressure, and I kept going outside the lines. I felt like a little kid holding a pencil for the very first time, just trying to draw something, without any concept of whether it’s “good enough” or not, simply learning this basic skill.