"Walls all singed, blackened. Beds weren’t better. Air was stinking and stifling, medium-sized window with net, grates and a wall two meters behind it. There was almost no light from that window. As if You entered the basement. Only three times worse. Hole. You consider yourself a normal person and there are only degenerates. Bald, skinny. Or the other way around – muscular. You’re standing there and saying to yourself: “Dear God. What the fuck have I got myself into?!” Then immediate fear. They’re gonna get you. I wasn’t able to sleep for two weeks. Every night I had my eyes wide open. Later, when I got used to it, I slept very well.
I have never slept that well in my life. Habits stayed with me. At home you’re switching the light off, in prison you don’t. One time I was at a hostel with a friend of mine. Conditions were so bad, we felt like in a cell. And there were bunk beds. And we waited for someone to come and switch the light off. That night was the first time I slept as well as in prison. I felt safe".
– Ula Krutul, "Input/Output", Bialystok 2015.