I ran from my psychopathic mother, mainly, not from the whole of Russia. The woman kept me under lock and key, nearly literally, all my life. The only way for me to actually get to freedom was to physically run from her and the society that enabled and supported her.
By then Father was a zombie and not only wouldn’t take my side, he was eager to please his master by beating up Meg and restraining me. He was the muscle, where as Mother was the mind behind the attack in Kiev.
The attack, actually, compared to the whole of my life with my mother in Russia was not such a big deal, to me. It was my final step in my liberation (well, almost final). It was when I saw that I can stand up to her. That not only I have broken free but that I have become free and nothing she could do about it even if she locked me up again.
So, here I am, 18 years later. I have no connection with my mother, the monster. She is far away but I am always on her mind. She keeps coming up with ways to hurt me through emails, the only way she can reach me. It doesn’t work. But she doesn’t know about it.
If Meg and I will end up in former Yugoslavia and my mother realizes I am no longer beyond the ocean… I don’t know what she is capable of. And I can’t fathom how her sick desire to hurt me can still be alive. So many years later! But they say psychopaths never forget, so, Meg and I have to be on guard.
This is the latest photo my mother sent me, for my birthday. It is the cat she now has.
My cat, Pasha, who was living with us when I was there and whom I dearly loved, mysteriously died immediately after my escape. Mother said it was a heart attack.
Header image: These are my toys and souvenirs I had to leave behind. Mother set them up together for the picture, to tease me, to remind me what I lost. She never welcomed me back and din’t send me a single item of my belongings.