MY NAME

In this large group of people I was now totally alone. Over the six years in the cult I practically forgot my own name. Besides Aunt Katya, no one called me by name or only on those rare occasions when for some incomprehensible reason I suddenly became “good”, “healthy” or otherwise came into grace. Normally the adults either called me by my surname or came up with various strange nicknames. This sounded jovial, sometimes almost affectionate, but I always detected some kind of ironic derision. We children, copying the adults, also often addressed each other not by name but by various teasing epithets.

If by chance I ever heard my name, Ania, I always froze because it was so unusual. Every time I wondered what had happened, why was I suddenly Ania? Not filth, slut, arse, Chedia, Chedipops, pseudointelligentsia, sicko, evil bastard, filthy beast, or any of the things I usually got called, but Ania.

This is how children completely lose their identity. Such seemingly trivial instances soon build up and through them children lose their pride in themselves and in their name, roots, and family. They lose their pride and that means also their accountability.

MY FIRST AND LAST FRIEND

Our apartment on Lakhuti had become a commune, and more and more new children were brought there. They were from ages about 5 to 16 and were very diverse. I was never close to any of them, but I do remember one very well.

One day a boy came to us, about 12 years old. We became friends. Then I got my first slap in the face – a baptism of fire into adult life. I was told that I was definitely a whore, that I was perverting the boy, that I would drag him under the table and fuck him there.

Swearing was always encouraged: it was said to be the language of working folk, not “pseudointellectuals”.

I was the centre of long public speeches of a very harsh tone. Now I can say with full accountability that sexual awareness only appeared in me many years later, when I was approaching 20; back then I didn’t even understand the meaning of the obscene words. I fell into disgrace, and I was hunted like an animal by everyone, young and old.

I was totally shunned and treated like a slave. I prostrated myself and tried with all my might to “improve”.

I had no choice. Grandma was totally on their side. Mum and dad were far away and also very sick (so I was told); I couldn’t go back to them until they got better, otherwise I’d die.

There was also grandpa. But he had categorically refused to entertain the ideas of the collective, so I was told he was psychologically deficient and couldn’t be trusted. To be honest, I had always doubted there was anything wrong with grandpa. But I did believe what they said about my parents. After all, it was them who had put me there and never came back for me.

Since one of my first attachments was curtailed so crudely, I lost the desire to get close to anyone.

~

“Out of 10, how much anger do you have?”

“9”

“And protest?”

“9”

“Very good. Let’s cure you.”

HOW I WAS CONVINCED I WAS HALLUCINATING AND HEARING VOICES

Besides questions asking me to rate my anger and aggression out of 10, the educational psychologists who tried to cure me (which they did constantly), also asked about hallucinations and voices. I usually answered somewhere between 7 and 10 before the treatment, and after, when they did another test to observe the results, of course I gave ratings that were 2-3 points lower. I don’t remember ever being able to bring myself to say that I had no aggression whatsoever.