A country of raw beauty

After I finished all my training in Russia, I was sent to Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan. Now, I grew up a city boy in Russia. I was then forced to become a country boy overnight when I moved to Canada. I might have lived on a farm but I was never really an outdoors person. Tajikistan changed that.

During the summer, I had the chance to explore the absolute raw beauty of Tajikistan's mountain ranges. I went on a 3 day trekking trip with a few of my Russian friends in the Fann Mountains in the Pamirs.

My new phone screensaver.

This was my first time trekking and it was breathtaking. The clear blue skies, the green-tinted lakes lakes, the snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance. I've never seen such raw beauty. 

Tajikistan is a country of raw beauty. The city boy in me has slowly been transformed into an outdoorsman as I take in the beauty of this mountainous country. Even in Dushanbe, I see the silhouette of the Fann Mountains in the distance. 

I never thought I'd fall in love with a small landlocked, Muslim country in Central Asia, bordering Afghanistan of all places. Tajikistan is a poor country. Like most Soviet republics, Tajikistan was thrown into chaos following the collapse of the USSR. A civil war broke out as civil uprest broke out across southern Tajikistan. 

Remnants of Tajikistan's Soviet past still remain. Most Tajiks still speak Russian. It is often said, to climb the social ladder, you must speak Russian. Many Tajiks also work abroad in Russia to support their families. 

I'm currently trying to learn Tajiki. Its a dialect of Persian, similar to Dari in Afghanistan or Farsi in Iran. Tajikistan uses the Cyrillic alphabet, another remnant of its Soviet past, which lucky for me, makes learning it much easier. 

I've been living in Tajikistan for 6 months now. I hope I won't have to leave any time soon. Maybe one day, when I leave the military, I'll settle down in Tajikistan and live my days in the mountains. 

Vladik

Hey it's been a while

Wow its been over 6 years since I last posted. Looking back at this blog has been a journey down memory lane. So much has happened since 2013; I barely even recognize 14 year old me.

I'm now 21. I'm proud to say I've been recovered for the past 4 years. I now eat an average of 2500 calories a day without feeling an ounce of guilt. I can't believe 6 years ago, I would break down crying if I ate more than 500 calories a day. It's been quite a journey that I wish I could have shared with you all. But, my journey to recovery was a journey that I had to take by myself.

I moved back to Russia two years ago. I love Canada but I felt so restricted there.

I was a crown ward, living in rural town in Northern Ontario.

Population: 3,500.

I don't know if you've ever lived in a small town before but everyone knows everything. You can't keep a secret. People knew about my history with alcohol abuse, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, and running away. When I moved out of my adoptive parent's house (this was when I was most active on social media), I thought it was going to be a new start. I moved to a town 8 hours south. No one knew me.

Yet, somehow my past followed me there. People soon started to piece together my broken past. It became common knowledge. And, it became so suffocating.

I knew I wanted to move back to Russia. But, I wasn't sure how to do it. I had a Canadian passport but wouldn't I need to get my Russian passport as well? All I knew at the time was that I had to save up money for my trip home. So, I began taking on any and all jobs.

The day I turned 18, I aged out of the foster care system. I hitchhiked for two days to reach Ottawa. Once I got to Ottawa, the first place I visited was the Russian Embassy. I walked in, showed my Canadian passport that proudly displayed by place of birth as 'St Petersburg, Russia', and said in Russian, "I want a Russian passport to go home."

I couldn't produce a Russian birth certificate. I had no idea if I was even still a Russian citizen. All I had was my adoption certificate stating that "James Smith" was adopted from Russia to a Canadian couple.

It took the embassy 5 months to confirm my identity, another 3 months to produce a birth certificate, and another 2 months to issue me a passport. They gave me the choice to go back to my Russian birth name, Alexander Zavrazhnov, or keep my Canadian legal name, James Smith.

I chose neither.

I didn't want to be Sasha, that homeless kid around St Petersburg. Nor, do I want to be James, that weird kid who starved himself.

I had been going by the name Vladik for quite some time and it just felt right. I chose the name Vladimir.

I moved to Russia a few months before I turned 19. I didn't have anything waiting for me back at Russia so I decided to join the military. Conscription is a thing here so to cover myself, I volunteered for service.

Since then, life has been good. More posts to come :)

Cheers all,

Vladik

Autobiography

Cover

So twitter isn't working for me today so I decided to try writing an autobiography!! YAY! I'm writing my autobiography, titled Perfectly Imperfect, on Wattpad. Here is the link. So if you were ever curious about my story, here it is! Names and places have been changed and certain scenes altered because of the nature of the incident. My name has also been changed.

I want to say that this was very hard for me to write. I've always kept my past life a secret and now it's out there, on the internet, for anyone and everyone to read. My life is filled with pain and struggle but at the same time hope and happiness. What doesn't kill me always makes me stronger at the end.

I decided to write this mainly because I was bored but also to tell people who have endured the same thing that it does get better. One day, everything will work out. I promise you that.

Here are some excerpts:

Perfect.

It is a word that haunts me. Memories of my past quickly flood my mind when it is spoken. All I wanted was to be perfect. I did anything and everything to achieve that. I didn't care about the consequences, all that mattered was that I was perfect.

So many people called me that. Now and then. On the outside, I might look that way but on the inside, I am the exact opposite. On the inside I am an emotional train wreck. Horrible mood swings, uncontrollable urges to drink, throwing up what I eat, are all part of my perfection.

I am perfectly imperfect. (Prologue)

XXX

“We want an abortion!” suddenly yelled Alex.

“An abortion?” questioned Golovkin. For someone who had sounded so confused, they seemed to be quite confident in their decision.

“Yes...” whispered Lucya. (March 30, 1998)

How did my Eating Disorder Start?

I've been asking myself this question for so long. How did my ED start? Did someone say something? Was it because of my biological parents? The police?

I don't know.

I don't know how my eating disorder started or why it did. This has been driving me insane not knowing the answer. Most doctors think that my ED is related to my upbringing. I was abused (physically and emotionally) and neglected as a child. By the age of seven, I was on the streets. I eventually was put into an orphanage. All I wanted was control. I couldn't control anything else in my life but my body. So that's what I did.

That's the doctor's theory. Whether it's true or now, I don't know.