The Price Of One Victory

My mother never drank or took drugs (per my knowledge). Nevertheless, she developed a psychiatric disorder, and at a certain point, I realized I needed to establish legal guardianship over her. In 2013, I filed the paperwork for my mother’s guardianship. Her mother and sister wanted to prevent this and launched a massive campaign against me, convincing everyone around that I wanted to take my mother’s apartment. Even though I had gathered all the documents, a secondary psychiatric evaluation deemed her not in need of outside assistance, her sister said she is not in need of guardianship and me.

Following this, I was subjected to everyday harassment from relatives and their friends. I became severely ill.

Also at that time, for some reason, I couldn’t speak normally, I was driven to a state where my speech became impaired. And could only say short sentences without any chance to explain a problem clearly. Looking back at these symptoms, I suspect this was not just about the stress of civil proceedings and sleep deprivation, but involved torture with the use of narcotics. On top of everything else, my cat died in terrible agony without a visible reason.

After the harassment began, and my mother couldn’t find a single kind word for me - only false accusations — I dropped everything and left. I wanted to earn money, be able to help myself, and preserve my identity. At that time, I was already studying modern software development.

I moved to Simferopol, then to Kyiv, then to America. During this time, I managed to build a career as a developer, work for German and American companies. In America I was attacked and drugged while asleep — an assault that, despite its severity, was never properly investigated by authorities in Austin, TX . I had to flee to save my life. How I was learning it described on this website (good till 2034), mirror.

After returning, I couldn’t bring myself to visit my mother. The pain of the trauma I had endured stopped me. But eventually, as flashbacks began pouring in and I realized that alongside the civil court, there had been a criminal or military one that I knew nothing about due to amnesia, I decided to go see her.

I walked into the building entrance. She was standing by the mailboxes wearing my old uniform cap — from when I was a student working in a store — and my mid-season coat.

She was emaciated, with sunken eyes. I asked, “Mom?” She replied, “Who are you?”

I was caught off guard, even though back in 2014 I had already braced myself for the fact that my mother’s personality would begin to disintegrate without proper treatment. I didn’t want to upset her and had already turned to leave. She asked, “Olya?” I said, “Yes.”

She invited me in and started looking for a nonexistent sweater for me. I stepped into the apartment. It reeked of sewage. The refrigerators and gas stove were disconnected. There was absolutely no food anywhere. In the bathroom and toilet, there were leak stains on the walls. And against the backdrop of this absolute ruin, she told me her sister had been there yesterday. I got into panic. I went to the store and bought canned goods, milk, some sausage, and bread rolls.

I asked her why she was so frail. She said she didn’t have her passport and couldn’t get her pension. She couldn’t correctly state her own apartment number, and insisted that someone was stealing her food and money.

Now, this is crucial: she said someone had come to see her who introduced themselves as me. That woman also brought someone along whom she called her daughter (my mother’s granddaughter). I don’t have children. I never was pregnant in my life. Or do I just think so?

Considering my flashbacks, in which someone is being tortured, beaten, and has a pregnancy terminated as a result, I believe her words might not be a delusion — at least the part about a woman presenting herself as me and bringing a granddaughter. It is possible we are dealing with crimes where gangs target vulnerable or lonely people, driving them to a breakdown in order to abuse them, kill them, and steal their housing or just show that they can. It is also possible that they

In 2013, her mother and sister launched an entire campaign to stop me from saving her, accusing me of having financial motives. Today, the result of their “victory” is an emaciated person with no memory, no passport, and no food in an apartment with the utilities cut off. I no longer have the health or resources left to fight for her. Those who so desperately hindered me back then got exactly what they wanted — and then simply left her to die.

Video Evidence 1: The Apartment. I have uploaded a video of the apartment to YouTube and am leaving the link here. This is a part of a raw, factual recording, not a stylized video. I did not take the time to add subtitles — they may be added later. I have completely obscured the sections where my mother’s face is fully visible. The audio remains unchanged. My mother had the radio playing, which is clearly audible in the background of our conversation. Open it only if you are investigator | can help: there is nothing for regular readers.

Video Evidence 2: Police Video Recording The second recording captures a conversation between a Crimean police officer and the individuals who abused me in 2025 (after returning from America).

Open it only if you are investigator | can help: there is nothing for regular readers.

In this recording, several alarming facts are established:

The officer explicitly admits that he intentionally did not document the damage. The officer refers to me using an antisemitic slur (“жидовка”). A bizarre and baseless attack, especially given the fact that I am not even Jewish. The officer casually uses a phrase (“ее пол-Аграрки имело”), implication of a severe violence and gang rape. My neighbor discusses reporting me to the FSB (Russian Federal Security Service) solely based on my previous residence in Kyiv. They discuss duplicate of keys to my apartment, which my mother’s sister reportedly possessed — keys that I never shared. During this conversation, the officer also references the year 2014 in an accusatory tone, implying I committed some sort of wrongdoing. My only conscious memory of that period involves the civil court proceedings regarding my mother’s guardianship, where I operated entirely within the law.

Because his accusations do not align with the documented facts, it is highly probable he is referring to the events I cannot consciously remember due to induced amnesia. I am currently piecing these events together through the flashbacks documented on this blog. If the fragments I am describing — which involve forced drugging and systemic torture — are the reality of what happened in about 2014–2018, these actions constitute severe violations of human rights conventions.