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"My Journey Through Life: Adolescence" Part 5

Published: March 25th 2025, 3:00:12 pm

Hello, friends!

Sorry for the break in my story. As I’ve mentioned before, this turned out to be much harder than I originally thought when I first came up with the idea. I had an unexpected breakdown while processing certain things. But I’ve decided to continue—I’ve never been one to leave something unfinished.

And besides, next month will be the last month of these depressing stories—after that, my beautiful journey of transformation begins. But for now, we’re still in the dark phase 🤣.

During my last years of high school, in the middle of yet another relationship crisis with Andrey 🤣, I started hanging out with a group of guys. They were slightly older than me, as far as I remember, and honestly, they were a fun and positive crowd.

But there was one problem—they stole from stores 😅. And they weren’t from poor families or anything. I think they just did it for fun, since there wasn’t much else to do in our city. They stole food, groceries, and even clothes. They explained all their little tricks and schemes to me in great detail. Later, one of them joked that the student (meaning me) had eventually surpassed the teacher 😅. And as embarrassing as it is to admit… yes, I stole with them too.

I honestly didn’t have money to buy all those chocolates and treats 🙈😅. Sometimes, I even stole groceries that my mom had asked me to buy—I remember once bringing home an entire bag of bell peppers that I had stolen 🤣.

At the time, my parents probably thought I was making money from photoshoots—but nope. (Later, my mom told me that she had often wondered where I was getting the money for all this if I wasn’t asking them for any 🤣.) I could go out somewhere feeling hungry, walk into a store, grab a yogurt and a snack, and just walk right out with them in my hands like it was nothing. But this didn’t last too long—because I got caught.

That summer, I got a job as a hospital cleaner in a dental clinic to make some money. (Even that seemed better to me than asking my parents for cash 😅🙈). One day, they sent me to the store to buy some supplies for the staff, and they also asked me to pick up some cookies and candies for tea. I only had 15 minutes to do everything. The candies were sold by weight, so I measured out a certain amount, printed the price sticker, and then—without reweighing the bag—I added a few more candies and went to the checkout. When the cashier decided to reweigh them, she saw that the weight didn’t match the printed sticker. They called the manager and security. I told them, “You haven’t even scanned them yet, so I’ll just leave and not buy anything.” (Legally, they had no right to detain me, since I hadn’t actually stolen anything—the item hadn’t been scanned or paid for.) I turned around to leave empty-handed—but security blocked the exit and refused to let me out.

They took me down to the basement, showed me security footage of me adding extra candies to the bag, and told me they were calling the police. (Later, we found out that legally they had no right to do this—they were just scaring a little girl into paying them a bribe.) I called my dad. (Everyone remembers what he was back then, right?)

I handed the phone to the head of security. My dad spoke with him, and in the end, they told me to pay a “fine”—five times the price of the candies—and they wouldn’t call the police.

So I paid their stupid “fine” and went back to work. Of course, I had to come up with an excuse for my boss about why I was gone for so long. Later, when I called my dad again, he was laughing hysterically at the irony of his daughter—the daughter of a criminal investigations officer—getting caught for theft. He promised not to tell my mom, and I promised never to steal again. And I didn’t. (Although now, of course, my mom knows everything, and they sometimes joke about it—and I don’t mind at all.) Later, the guys from that group also got caught. But their troubles were much more serious.

When I was 17 and a half, I graduated high school and enrolled at the Railway University to study technical translation in French and English. And no, I don’t speak French—because we had the worst and most cruel teacher imaginable. She screamed at students, called us idiots and morons, and much worse. I even had to go to the university rector to file a complaint against her. Sadly, this kind of behavior wasn’t uncommon in Ukrainian universities.

For example, there was a male history professor who had been fired from his previous university for sexually harassing students—but our university hired him anyway. And yes—to pass his exams, female students had to wear low-cut tops and short skirts. If you didn’t? You could retake the exam a hundred times until you showed up in something sexy.

It was disgusting—he openly ogled girls, and everyone saw it. So yeah… university gave me nothing but headaches. During this time, my relationship with Andrey was falling apart.

I even had a small fling with a guy from my university—well, technically, he was a couple of years younger and still studying in the high school department of our university building. But he was an amazing guy, and I still think about him with warmth. He knew about Andrey, and Andrey knew about him, so I was caught between two people—both wanting me to stay with them.

But because of my fears, insecurities, and self-doubt, I chose to stay with Andrey. It’s always scary to leave behind the familiar and step into something new—especially for a teenager. So fear won over logic. And so, my relationship with Andrey dragged on, even though it was doomed. The only question was when it would finally end.

During this time, our home gained some new residents—and now, I’ll tell you about them. For years, I had been obsessed with the movie Ratatouille. (I think everyone has seen it.) After watching it, I dreamed about having a pet rat for years. But my mom never allowed it, especially since we already had many cats at home. But I wanted a rat so badly that I secretly convinced my dad to go buy one with me.

And so, we did. When we walked into the house with a pink cage, rat toys, and my new pet, my mom flipped out. She screamed at me—and at my dad, for going against her orders.

Then she said, “If I ever smell anything from this rat’s cage, you and that rat will be living on the streets.” She also swore she would never go near it.

And guess what? The very next day, she was baby-talking him and carrying him around in her hands 🤣. I named him Thomas, and everyone loved him—even my grandma, who had a phobia of rats. Thomas was the sweetest little creature—he never bit anyone, not even once. He was smart and affectionate. I even took him outside on the grass for little walks.

Eventually, my mom herself bought him a massive, three-story chinchilla cage so he wouldn’t be cramped when I wasn’t home. One day, I came home and found a tiny, completely black kitten in our house—weak, starving, just skin and bones. My mom had found him sitting under our fence, barely alive. (Animals always knew where to go for help—this happened so many times. How do they do that? 😅) Of course, I searched the whole neighborhood, but he belonged to no one. So, naturally, we kept him.

And what did my mom do? She stole my rat’s name—and named the kitten Thomas too 🤣.

At the end of my first year of university, I entered a four-year period that would become the darkest chapter of my life. A personal hell that would change everything. That story begins next month. Thank you to everyone who’s still here, still reading, and still supporting me. It means the world to me.

With love,

Anastasia ❤️