Trigger warning: mention of war, anxiety/panic attacks, and suicide.

Yes, you read that right. 

I, a Russian citizen here in the USA, stand with Ukraine. 

If your first thought was, “Wait, seriously?” then let me be the first to tell you I am not the only one. Many Russians have relatives, friends, and memories in Ukraine. The last thing we want is war. Because war, if you have yet to read a history book, is a synonym of destruction. Who, in their right mind, wants that? Now, unfortunately, propaganda works, and not every Russian is against the war. But I know for a fact, not every Russian is for this war.

I found out Russia invaded Ukraine on Thursday, Feb. 24 around 1 am. It was one of those nights when I just couldn’t fall asleep, so I decided to indulge in a scroll fest on TikTok, to ease my mind enough to fall asleep.

            Oh boy was I clueless. 

            One more scroll and I heard the most heart-wrenching sound I have heard in a while: sirens. Kyiv was under attack.

             I froze. “This can’t be real.” I thought.

            Oh, it was real. 

The video looped, playing over and over again, the same sharp siren screams piercing my soul, as I sat there, dumbfounded and paralyzed, staring at the screen.

Tears welled in my eyes. I got down from my semi lofted bed and onto my knees I fell to pray but all that could escape my mouth were pain-filled cries and broken whimpers. I wanted to scream, to punch, to kick, to fight, to cry out, “Why God? Why?” but I barely had the strength to cover my mouth with my hands to keep quiet. After all, it was 1 am, way past quiet time. My eyes had become Niagara falls, drowning my face in saltwater. And my stomach became a sinkhole. Everything in me was collapsing in on itself. I tried to say something in prayer, but my mind abandoned all words like earthworms abandon the earth in the rain. Instead, my tears became my prayer, and I know that they were heard, because I felt God in my room, and even God was crying, too. 

While on my knees, I remembered my dad had served in the military in Russia in his late teens, and wondered if that meant I would lose him. I didn’t want him to go back and fight.

In a hurried panic I called him. He and my mom picked up, we talked, my dad comforted me by saying he’s “too old now” and they wouldn’t want him anyway. We talked some more, and said goodnight. I felt a little better, but the gravity of this war was just beginning to settle down on my shoulders. In those moments, I knew I had to say something about the invasion, about this war. Speaking up felt like my obligation. I probably tweeted something, but it was 4:30 am, and my mind was half way beyond this world in surrender to my pillow and duvet. Somehow, it was easier to fall asleep with the world’s weight on my shoulders than with a mind at peace.

Some of you know I grew up in Russia. I went to kindergarten and elementary school in Moscow until I was 12, that’s when my parents and I moved. I loved my classmates, and I still remember quite a few of them. My first crush, who walked me from our home classroom to the front doors while carrying my backpack so that I didn’t have to. My best friends, with whom I sat next to during lunches and talked smack about the girls who were envious of me because I was good friends with the boys, while they were not. My classmates, the people with whom I rehearsed the poems we had to memorize. I stuffed my face with blini during Maslenitsa with them, colored the asphalt with chalk in preparation for May 9, and planted flowers around the school together. But now, I can’t help but wonder, how many of them have been drafted into this mess? How many of them are cleaning guns right now? How many of them have already been killed or captured? How many of them have taken innocent lives? Most days I can’t help but wonder how many of them are still alive. I hope every single one of them is breathing fine. But that is simply not realistic. Because this war – is pointless. And it is many evil things, one of which is a reflection of a greedy, delusional man who has too much power. 

It’s been over two months of this war. And every day it finds a new way to pierce my heart and take away my hope. Homesickness has become a toxin I can’t get rid of, pumping through my veins. Anxiety and panic attacks have found their way back into my life, paralyzing me at the most unfortunate times. And when left unchecked, my mind wishes for war to come to me. Not America, just me. And all of my family, except for my parents, are still there in Russia and some are in Ukraine. I have not seen any of them in person in over 7 years, and now, I don’t know when or if I will see them again. The thought of giving up is easier some days than others. It feels silly to celebrate or to simply think of gratitude, it even feels wrong to rest. But all of these things are important for survival. Doom scrolling is not a sustainable way to live, I’ve learned that the hard way. It is a quick road to emotional destruction. So if you, too, are feeling burdened, whether it be war or life, remember it is okay to not be okay, but it is not okay to give up. One step at a time, and it will get better. 

         In the meantime,

         I, a Russian, am against this war. 

        And I hope you are, too.