In the fall of 1996, my mother, while carving meat, slightly injured her finger with a knife. It was a small wound, no more than a millimeter. The mother did not tell anyone about this and did not treat the wound with anything.

A few days later, she complained that her finger was hurting. I looked and told her to go to the doctor and open it up, or take antibiotics.

In the evening of the next day, I came home and saw the following scene: my mother was lying on the sofa and talking animatedly with her father about something. The mother was flushed, she helped herself with gestures. Her father was sitting in an armchair next to the sofa, smiling condescendingly and nodding his head at her. I understood what they were talking about me. I asked what happened and my mother shouted: “Who are you?! What do you think about yourself?!”, she began to tell me that in the afternoon, she and her father went to the clinic, literally, “to the district infectious disease specialist” and the district infectious disease specialist prescribed my mother... biseptol! Mother jumped up from the couch and started running around me, continuing to shout: “Who are you? What are you doing all over the place!? Understand?! This is a district infectious disease specialist!!” The words "district infectious disease specialist" were uttered by my mother with emphasis, in a triumphant voice, and each time she uttered them, she waved her finger instructively in front of my face. I thought she was just insane. I told her that Biseptolum is not curable and that she will go to the hospital, and went to my room.

Two more days passed, and at about two in the morning, I heard my mother calling me. I went into her room and she told me that she was "cowardly all over".

Friends... I am not a doctor. I have some knowledge related to the treatment of wounds, but I am not a doctor. These were those very “dashing” 90s... The ambulance did not come at all then - they simply did not have gasoline, and the ambulance that arrived did not mean that there was a doctor there and he had something to treat. I got dressed and left the house to look for a doctor. It was a moonless night. There were no lights on the street. There was also no light in the windows of the houses - everyone was sleeping. It was visible at arm's length. I moved by feel. Nearby was the 16th hospital. That's where I went. It turned out that my friend was on duty in the intensive care unit and she called her colleague, who worked part-time there, was also on duty at night and asked him to go and see my mother. After listening to me, he took some medicine and followed me. He examined the mother, made some kind of “cocktail” in a syringe and injected it all into her vein. After that, saying that the mother would definitely not die until the morning, and in the morning, having slept, he would come and examine her, as expected, and went back to the hospital. I followed him.

The next day, after examining my mother, he diagnosed me with erysipelas. In addition, he told me that he would never, under any circumstances, treat my mother again. I could not get from him what my mother told him. A few days before, immediately, the mother stated in an ultimatum that she got sick because of my cats, that it was an infection from cats. I asked the doctor if she had told him anything about cats, but he said that it was not about cats, but about what he did not say.

After that, for some reason, he prescribed not the most effective, in such cases, penicillin, and I had to, I don’t remember how many days, several times a day, give my mother injections. Then, the prescription of penicillin surprised me, but now I understand that he prescribed the procedures not for medical reasons, but in such a way that for as long as possible, I would have to look after my mother, take care of her. That is, instead of two tablets a day, 4 painful injections were prescribed, for 10 or more days. I don't remember exactly. And I saw how my mother liked it, that she finally captured my attention...

I describe all this in such detail so that it is clear that my mother herself is ready to inflict physical harm on herself and is ready to endure torment, just to be in the center of my attention, to force me to follow some of her script, ritual, serve her, take care of her.

She constantly strives to adjust everything so that I have a constant feeling of guilt in front of her, so that I am overwhelmed by this feeling of guilt, I constantly try to atone for this feeling of guilt and, on the basis of this feeling of guilt, would obey her requirements.

She kept saying that she got sick because of my cats, and then I had only 3 of them, that it was my fault, she tried to persuade the doctor whom I brought and who saved her life to help her and load me with this, and only a few years later she let it slip that she pierced her finger with a knife while carving meat...

My mother is obsessed with the fact that I do not appreciate her, do not help her, do not worry about how she is doing, do not look after her. She is simply possessed, in her desire to become the center of my attention. She is willing to physically harm herself just to make me think about her. She is ready to harm herself, just to know that by doing this she is doing some harm to me...

She deliberately ruined my life. Everything was very simple: every evening I came home and ate dinner, and she, mother, gave dinner... She asked me how you were doing, what was the day, I told her, this is my mother, and then... But then everything happened like this that the information that I communicated to her, as the closest relative, got into the work and was used in such a way that I was surrounded only by those people who performed certain functions in the interests of the one who worked with the information received from my mother...

Once again I emphasize: this is beyond the power of a pensioner. There were different people around me and the fact that none of them sent her to hell and told me about her deceit suggests that these people were somehow influenced in some way, and this, in turn, says that she worked with this information and used her "office", the opera.

As a result, I was surrounded by people who knew something that was killing me, right before their eyes, right here, but none of them did anything themselves and did not warn me about what was happening.

In no other civilized country would this be possible. But Ukraine is not a civilized state. Ukraine is a Jurassic park. Jurassica.

Mother believed, or someone convinced her that by destroying my life, she would become the center of my attention, that I would finally see, notice how good, hardworking, caring and loving mother she is, a sacrificial woman, how much she is for means me and how much she does for me, but as a result, she aroused in me only a fierce, indomitable hatred for her and a desire to kill her, which I repeatedly told her about. And she says she doesn't understand why...

Many years later, already, after I found out her diagnosis and found a description of her behavior pattern, I understood why she does everything the way she does.

One of the properties inherent in the MSBP personality is the predilection for creating, one’s victim, an artificial trap, a hopeless situation, in order to later impose oneself as “Moses”, who will lead out of this trap, will help ... And so, cyclically, for years, without end...

And an attempt to appropriate, to impose on his victim the diagnosis of epilepsy, also one of the main, key markers inherent in MSBP personality. All the seizures, I had 3 in total, occurred at home, in the presence of my mother, a few hours after eating. The last convulsive attack occurred during a suddenly flashed, deafening nighttime scandal between them. I woke up from their wild screams and I started having this hiccups, which, supposedly, was considered convulsions, and both of them, seeing this, began to simultaneously yell at each other: “Look what you did to the child, what you brought the child to!” And they yelled this at each other for 10-15 seconds, until the hiccups went away by themselves. None of them helped me. For each of them, the main thing was to assign the blame for what was happening to another, to use the event as a lever of pressure on the other. They didn't care about me.

And in the end, I want to add only one thing: just a year and a half before this incident, with a local infectious disease specialist, my mother almost started dancing when she learned from me that just half an hour ago, I miraculously returned from the next world... And a year before this, she didn’t drain a kettle of warm water to me, a sick person... And when I learned from her that she was sick, I immediately went to look for a good doctor who would save her... And if I treated her the same way she treats to me? I wouldn’t go for a doctor, but would tell her, for example, that it would pass anyway, or would advise her to drink some tea, and he would go to his room, quietly rejoice and wait until she starts to die... She would have been in there were no survivors, so I saved her life several times... And I would have lived in America for a long time, I would have made a career, I would have a family...

But it's not her fault, and it's not me... It's the state's fault! The bastard, hybrid state of Ukraine, in which the state authorities have grown together with the underworld, in which the law is no longer the boundary separating the underworld from the civil society, in which representatives of the state authorities implant, in the civil community, the ideology of the underworld as a natural worldview... The hybrid state of Ukraine and the police system of this state are to blame, the basis of which is not the Constitution of Ukraine, but the motto of Adolf Hitler: "I came into this world not to make people better, but to take advantage of their vulnerability."

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