What does the word freedom mean to me? That's a question I've been thinking about all too often for a while, and I'm still thinking about it sometimes. For me, freedom, a year ago, was just a word under which I imagined freedom of movement, freedom of speech – the opportunity to express my opinion, to live and perhaps to be free – without obligations.

But now that I realize what happened in the past year, I'm still thinking, if I knew what I was going through then, would I do it again? And the answer is yes, and even more stubbornly than I did then.

A year ago, I was a naïve girl who dragged on for the 17th year, and I didn't really know anything about life. What did freedom mean to me then? Just a word, a concept, and basically nothing more. In my stubbornness and 'blindness', I did not see that the person I thought I loved would soon make my life literally hell on earth. It was clear, inevitable, yet it happened. Within a few months, I was fighting to save my nerves, to save my own life, and without exaggerations, I can really say that my life was at risk, literally. Suddenly it was November, and I realized that the fight for freedom was worth it.

And so I fought.

I went through situations I would not wish on my own enemies, I went through the worst experience of my life so far, when all my pride and strength almost disappeared, and I naively gave up hope for freedom, the moment I had it at my fingertips, all I had to do was to stretch it out and grab my fingers. That's all.

It made me worse. I'm thinking I couldn't have known, even though I'm just lying to myself and trying to justify myself. It was obvious, and I didn't see it - again.

I've been fighting for freedom all December. I was between two millstones, and I didn't know where to go. Despair, fear, and a desire for freedom are all I have left. I had friends — yes, I did, but there are things that you have to deal with on your own, even if you have to discuss them with others, the final decision rests on the person concerned.

I was fighting for freedom, and I knew I wasn't going to let him just marry me. Let me just admit that the idea of having another boyfriend was intolerable to me at the time. But (everything has its own but, in short, notch) during that month I spent a lot of time with a person who was broken up with a lady. For a long time, I did not know that, even if we were both troubled, there was a bond between us, and so we were without the doubts together.

For a while, I was sorry to lose - for him - the freedom I had so laboriously won. I was sorry, but now I'm sorry I was sorry. I am gradually finding that if I had insisted on my (New Year's) resolution at the time, I would have lost a person who is very close to me and without whom I cannot imagine my life now. Furthermore, I am glad that everything turned out well in the end, and I found that freedom does not mean: to be alone, free, but that it means to live, to love, and to have the right to freely express your opinion, even if it is sometimes difficult.

So, what does freedom mean to me? Many, very many, and I'm happy to live normally and still be with the person I care about very much. Freedom is beautiful, but nothing should be exaggerated. I mean, we're free, so what are we dealing with? It has been, and can always be, worse.