A story about my drug-addict stepfather. 

I was born in St. Petersburg in 1994 in a family of drug-addicts. My parents were on heroin since they were 20.

The only period they did not use it was mum pregnancy and one year after my birth. We lived in a communal apartment with a neighbor, who hated me and my family due to obvious reasons.

When I turned six my father got seriously ill and I was sent to live with his parents in a little town called Uhta, in the Komi Republic. His mother – a tatar, convinced islamist, with a difficult character and unconditional love of her son has by that time going crazy. I lived there for two years. Around that time my father died, which I found out only after approximately half of year. When I was seven, m relatives from my mother’s side came and took me with them. I was unexpected. They asked: “Are you coming with us” and I answered that I am.

That is how I get there. I grew up surrounded by my mother’s family and her many brothers. I stuttered badly, I felt bad in new surroundings – I was a very shy and backward child.

I didn’t know where my mum was. Nobody was taking about her, but I remembered, that some time she was there,

I met her at the age of twelve. That summer we lived with her at the summerhouse. She was telling my family that she quit, but I knew that it is not so.

She was saying that since my father’s death she didn’t meet any men: she was saying that she had no need in that. But already next winter she met her old acquaintance in a subway, whom she was dating when she was 16. Since then they are together.

From time to time I met my mother; this man was also quite familiar. At that time they were leaving in the Youth Theater – my stepfather was working there as a light technician.

Since then a lot of things happened, excluding events that happened with my personally. But just now, thus year, there was a break through.

My mother was sent to prison for selling of drugs, and during all the courts and prison visits, a got really I got really close with my stepfather.

Also then, in the beginning of the year, I started photo shooting him. We visited different places, I communicated with him a lot, visited him place, gave him money.

Now this project is almost over, and now I know, what I want to say and tell about.

This story – not a social project about harm of drugs not about how they lead degradation and so on – too much was told in this topic. This is a story about, a person, whom is was whom it became – maybe is a cruel, may be scary, but it is a person, whom it was it is a person – violent, aggressive, and having its own opinion on every question, on which we have an answer that we were taught.

This is a story tells that different things happen in life, things that could only be imagined. I don’t want to wake a pity neither to myself nor to then unnecessary for neither one of us.

I want everything to stay as it is, And I am, sure if anyone should read of this