Anastasia
Anastasia is attending North Seattle Community College, where she plans to complete an AA degree and transfer to the University of Washington.
SEA has helped Anastasia overcome her guardianship issues and she receives scholarship support to supplement the income she receives
from working. Without this scholarship, she
would not have been able to afford to work part time while going to
school full time this past year. We will be continuing to provide
scholarships and advocacy to Anastasia as long as she needs and wants them.
I was born in Russia to an alcoholic mother and my father was in prison. By the age of five, I was living on the streets of Russia begging for food and shelter. That same year I was put into an orphanage. I learned more on the streets than I did in school. At the orphanage, I was poorly fed and was not cared for; my health was bad and I was often in the hospital.
At the age of ten I was sent to America for a month to better my health and get away from the streets. My first trip to America was very interesting, but also frightening because I did not know any English or the people. After my time was up in America I was sent back to the orphanage. I was sad to leave such a beautiful country knowing that I was going back to the dirty, scary streets. I had to face reality and I tried to forget the lovely streets of the dreamland that I visited called America. Half a year later, I found out that I was going to be adopted by the nice people who I stayed with when I first came to America. I was overjoyed and ecstatic knowing that I had better future in front of me and people who cared about me.
When I first came to America I was happy knowing that I had my own family including a brother and two sisters. The idea of having a family was awesome, but when it came to following directions and calling them mom and dad it was very hard. The only mom and dad that I ever knew abandoned me and did not care a bit about me. I was soon visiting therapists and counselors. I hated it because they told me that I had Reactive Attachment Disorder, meaning that I did not bond with mother and father figures. Soon I noticed that my adoptive parents were growing tired of me and sending me to different homes for the weekends so they could spend more time with their own children.
When I turned fourteen, I was sent to home for children who had troubles at home. Knowing that the people who adopted me were now sending me away to a different state far away from the only people I knew in made me even angrier. Feeling rejected and unwanted made me suicidal. At first I wanted to prove to my parents that I cared about them and wanted to get better for my own good. Two months passed and I grew more angry and rebellious knowing that my parents did not acknowledge that I was trying so hard to do better. I was put into detention and over time I didn’t eat or care what people thought of me.
Finally, I jumped out of a two-story building and landed on concrete, trying to end my horrible life. Unfortunately, I ended up OK, not breaking any bones. I could barely walk for weeks and could not run for some time. After that my parents sent me to a mental hospital because they did not want me at home. I tried to do better and start again. I was sent even further away from home, in Utah. I did well at first trying again to impress my parents so I could go back home. But then I stopped progressing, because I only heard from my parents in letters that they sent me on holidays. I started hating them more then ever. I stayed in Utah for a year and three months.
Then one day my adoptive mother came and picked me up and told me that she was taking me to another home. I was confused as ever and hated my parents for doing this to me. The home was in California and was run by a lady who was about sixty years old and was into religious stuff and therapeutic stuff. This was not the same as any other place I had been in. She had eight girls about the same age as me who had similar diagnosis as me: Reactive Attachment Disorder. I hated this place. The lady told me to call her “mom” and was always watching us and telling us girls what to do and to talk about our feelings. If we didn’t she would put us on the back porch and feed us poor food, which made us lose weight. We had to do extra chores and not talk to anybody.
I turned sixteen at the home in California and totally did not care anymore what happened to me, knowing that I did not control what happened to me. At this place the schooling was even more poorly managed than before; we were being home schooled, but barely studied anything because we were told that we needed to fix our emotional problems more than we needed academics. I was seventeen and still doing ninth grade work. I was treated like a dog there, and I stopped caring about anything: family, school, and even where I would end up. I could not see a future for myself that was any better than what I would have had in Russia.
One day I finally had enough. The lady’s daughter yelled at me and grabbed my shoulder and neck. After that I stayed in my room for two weeks not eating or going anywhere but the bathroom. I was growing weak. I was not allowed to eat until I told what happened to me and why I did that and how I felt. I never felt like this in the world before, not even in Russia because I had a choice in Russia, but here in America, my land of dreams had turned out to be my nightmare.
I told them I did not care where I went, but I had to leave. My adopted family, who I had barely spoken to and had seen only once during three years, gave me an airplane ticket back to Seattle. I was glad to go. When I came to Seattle, the people I called mom and dad did not care about me and had given up on me. That night they took me to a youth shelter. I was overwhelmed and scared again knowing that I was in the same place as I was when I was in Russia but only now I was in America.
I started hanging out on the streets of down town with other homeless kids. I just had shelter for the night, no other support. On the streets I was introduced to alcohol and drugs. I did not care about my schooling and was doing stupid stuff. I lost my respect for myself and was begging on the streets and going to places for homeless kids to eat.
Then one day I heard about the YWCA Zine Project at the University District Youth Center (UDYC) where homeless youth can be creative and get paid to write. This was an internship that would last for 12 weeks. I loved every second of it. Even though I was living on the streets at the time I did my best to attend because money did not come easily to me. During that time I met Anthon and he wanted to help me. He told me to pursue my dreams and not to give up. I did not listen right away because I was enjoying the way I was living, doing drugs and drinking and still coming to work. Soon I grew tired of that and finally I got into school at UDYC. I had a place to stay and a school that I attended every day and work that I was enjoying. I got a job and continued to do what I thought was best for me.
When the summer started I was still going to school and was thinking of going to college like I always dreamed of, but knowing that I had no support from my family. I attended school until I finished my GED. Finally, I told Anthon I was ready and got connected to Seattle Education Access, where he is helping me go to college and pursue my life to the fullest. I finally have people who care about me and want me to do the best as I can.
~ Anastasia
