Chapter One — Siberian Gopnik School
It was definitely the soviet school system — my first contact with sadism, violence, and so-called real education. I changed quite a few schools. I was a tall girl, already very opinionated; as the teachers labeled me, I was sensitive and rather naïve.
So I quickly learned how either to avoid trouble — which in soviet school means not to stand out — or how to deal with bullies. And here I mean both: teachers and other children.
The taller I grew, the more I had to give up on the art of blending in. And the better I became at dealing with all kinds of bullies. I was a horrible teenager. But I survived — without a massive trauma or a heroin addiction. Some of my later classmates didn’t.
That stage taught me to be extremely creative with what’s in the room. It taught me how to threaten verbally and to escalate first, to avoid the physical fight. You have to be smarter and bolder than your opponent. You must attack first.
Basically: you have to become the bully.
Chapter Two — Cultural Fascism at Uni
When I moved to saint petersburg, people tried to reduce my Siberian background to “village girl.” Little did they know I had traveled in one year as much as most of them had in their lives. There I began to learn the art of humiliation, sarcasm, and mind games. It took me ten years to escape that cloak of russian culture.
One useful thing at university was the course they canceled after me: History of Religion. It made me a complete atheist at that point. I also learned that big business is run by big, cruel idiots.
Back then I thought it might be only in russia.
I was naïve.
Chapter Three — The Real Stuff
When I had to deal with the russian police, that’s where I finally touched the hardcore stuff — or, more accurately, where the hardcore stuff touched me.
I guess this is where my habit of trying toys on myself first comes from. It’s also where I encountered some quite non-consensual power exchanges. Writing this now, years later, I begin to think it was partly my choice to experience that simply by physically being in russia.
Oh — and of course I had a violently envious boyfriend who taught me a few self-defence tricks for close combat. I broke his nose with my elbow; later my mother visited him in hospital because he was crying like a child. It was useful learning: if you show up with a black eye at university, very few people will care. Those who do will likely judge or insult. No one will offer support. Good thing I already had true friends and wasn’t alone.
So here are the three pillars of a sadistic persona.
Imagine — this is just the beginning. Uh?