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Quote by Nihad M. Kresevljakovic

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2. Maj 1992. Bio je lijep i sunčan dan

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Nihad M. Kresevljakovic

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“Čekamo da netko dođe i da nas izvede odavde. Iz stana koji nije uništen, ali je sablasan. Čekamo treći maj. Kao da čekamo novu godinu. Jer trećeg maja mora biti bolje. Drugačije. Nije bilo. Samo se na kraju, kad smo završile zakucavanje folija kroz prozore nije više vidjelo ništa. I tako četiri godine. Vedrana Seksan”

“A friend of mine who is familiar with both my messy relationship history and my recent recovery journey asked me the other day, “So where is the line, exactly, between regular love and love addiction?” To which I could only reply, “I’ve got bad news for you, buddy. Nobody really knows.” It’s the same with all addictions. When does a regular drinker become a heavy drinker? And when does a heavy drinker become a problem drinker? And when does a problem drinker become an alcoholic? And when does an alcoholic become a danger to themself and others? It’s often impossible to know exactly when, how, and why these escalations occur. In the rooms of recovery, this is called “the invisible line”—that shady moment when complete dependency sets in, and the addict is no longer capable of living a manageable or dignified life. The invisibility of that line is a large part of the reason that identifying and treating addiction is so difficult. It’s also why addicts of all varieties are so masterful at denying that they have a problem in the first place, and why they are so good at gaslighting and deceiving their loved ones. But if I had to define the difference between regular love and love addiction, I would say that it has to do with the level of intensity—with the sense of urgency, dependency, and desperation that grows by the day until it becomes an obsession, trailing behind it a wreckage of lies, destruction, and self-abandonment. And once that hungry ghost is awakened, it can never really be sated.”

“My mother cried every day, on a cue, as if someone tapped her on a shoulder and said "Go! Now!" She looked thin, and her hair looked disheveled, getting longer, flat on the top with curly remnants from a perm on each side. I didn't know what to say or do partially because she never tried to explain her sudden outbursts, so I thought she wanted us to leave her alone to mourn in peace.”

“Srebrenica was officially ‘protected’ not just by UN mandate but by a 400-strong peacekeeping contingent of armed Dutch soldiers. But when Mladić’s men arrived the Dutch battalion laid down its arms and offered no resistance whatsoever as Serbian troops combed the Muslim community, systematically separating men and boys from the rest. The next day, after Mladić had given his ‘word of honor as an officer’ that the men would not be harmed, his soldiers marched the Muslim males, including boys as young as thirteen, out into the fields around Srebrenica. In the course of the next four days nearly all of them—7,400—were killed. The Dutch soldiers returned safely home to Holland.”