ivansitnikov

[ivansitnikov]

why do so many teenagers follow me. you know i do drugs right.

[ivansitnikov]

Mama.

Oh Mama. I'm so sorry. Mama, I'm so sorry, I'm crying while I write this. Mama, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry Mama. Please forgive me. Please Mama.

Mama, I told you that I had left all of that behind. I promise, I never shot up again, not since the relapse five years ago. I made some bad deals with some bad guys back then and Tesco doesn't cover it. I've looked at your accounts, so you can't blame this on yourself. You couldn't cover it either. I've been delaying them seven years Mama, I bought us all the time I could. But in June, it's over. I'm sorry Mama. Please forgive me. I can't run all my life.

My earliest memory is you in the kitchen, baking something and humming эй ухнем while you worked. I think you always used to hum that tune. You at least hummed it when Nastya was a baby. Anyway, Mama, my point is that you're musical. You've always been songs in my eyes. My favourite thing about you is the look in your eyes when you see a public piano, and your fingers still remember the training from when you were a little girl.

There's so much I owe you for. Here's a short list.

Thank you for:

giving birth to me

singing

Nastya

holding it together when Papa died

not telling me how he died until I was older

loving me while I was on heroin

loving me after heroin

letting me still live with you

moving to the UK, even though it scared you

putting me and Nastya first

putting Nastya before me when I tell you to

being you

loving me

everything

Боже, мама, what would the world be without you? Oh. Check my wardrobe, third drawer from the bottom on the left. I left you some cash so you don't have to work while you grieve, and because it'll be rough with Nastya once I'm gone and you'll need help getting through that. There's also a fancy french wine and a new scarf. Forgive me if it's ugly. I don't know much about that thing. But it's turquoise, and you love turquoise.

I'm sorry, Mama. And I'm sorry that this letter wasn't as deep as the ones to Andrew or Nastya. I think I'm going to tell you what's going on the day before it happens so I can tell you the deep things in person. I want you to be the last face I look at. If you look proud of me, I think that will get me to Heaven. So don't worry, Mama. If I managed to make you proud of me, then we'll see each other up there, and this won't be the last you get of me.

Пока-пока, мама. Я люблю тебя вечно. Береги себя.

[ivansitnikov]

Condemned housing in Altrincham, 2025.

[ivansitnikov]

Discussing baby’s future

[ivansitnikov]

[ivansitnikov]

Nastya.

Hi. Me. Hi Nastya. Anastasia, Ana, Nastya, Nasty, Sia, Silly. My baby sister. I owe you an explanation. I can't give you one. All I can really tell you is not to do stupid shit because of grief, that's the path I fell down.

What you should know is that I have always loved you, since before you were even born. Back in Russia, which you hardly remember, I would cuddle Mama with my ear on her belly and listen to you kick, and I would whisper "я тебя люблю, я тебя люблю, я тебя люблю", so that you would know the sound of me telling you that I love you the moment you came into the world. I was surprised when you were an ugly, blood covered, wrinkly little thing on the kitchen floor, it was nothing like what was in the magazine about babies I had. I decided I would love the ugly pink thing anyway. But then you got cleaned up, and then you got cute, and Nastya, none of the highs, not even the first, compared to that love.

You don't remember Dad. He didn't like us much, I don't think, but that was just because he didn't like the world. He was world weary from the events of 91 and 92, and nothing could fix it. I reckon they'd call it depression now. You did bring a smile to his face, when he sat in his rocking chair, held his cigar, and held the little bean of your swaddled sleeping body. He died when you were 9 months old though, and we moved not long after that.

I hated moving. Coming home to see you made me happy. It didn't matter that I couldn't speak English when I was playing with you, because you couldn't speak at all. We were closest then.

You were only 10 when I started smack. I'm sorry about who I became in those years. When I wasn't ignoring you, I was mean to you. I hate myself for that, Nasty. I really do. Because even then I loved you so much it hurt me. then again, I was only 17, so I guess we were both kids, eh?

It got better though. I cleaned up when you were 13, and it's nice that I didn't miss your teenage years.

You graduate so soon. You're killing sixth form, and I know you're scared about what to do in the future, but because Mama and teachers and everyone else is going to tell you about universities and careers and responsible decisions and money, I'll tell you this much - Have fun. Get rich if you can. Get happy. Do whatever you want, even if that means you want to be an Etsy artist with two sales who lives with Mama until you're 57.

I love you, Sia. I... Yeah. Nothing else to say. That sums up everything I think and feel about you. Just that. I love you.

[ivansitnikov]

Andrew.

Hi. Me. Hello. I need to sober up, Christ on a bike...

Anyway. I decided to get you out of the way first because I threw up on your couch 20 minutes ago, and now I'm on the floor in your bedroom watching you sleep.

You've been my best mate for a while. Even when I didn't speak English. Everyone thinks I'm posh now because I learned it with your stupid RP accent, but I guess that's just a testament to our friendship and how much time we spend together, eh?

When I came to the UK, I didn't speak English and my dad had just died, so I cried in most of my classes. This was in '03 too, so being Russian was no help to my social status. You sat by me every lunchtime, gave me a spare raincoat and pair of wellies when I didn't have any, and played football with me until I knew enough English to talk to you. Thanks, Andy. Really, thanks.

We're still mates now. Took all the same GSCEs and A Levels, and now we're in the same degree. You even went to rehab with me, though you didn't need to get clean as much as I did.

I never say this, but I love you. I really fuckin love you, man. I don't know what I would have done without you. Thanks for everything. I hope you can move on. Maybe we were a little too co-dependent. Good luck. Find a nice girl, okay? A Russian one. Our women are the best. You love my mum. Have some kids. Name your dog after me. Other than that, leave me in the past. I love you, man. Don't forget it.

[ivansitnikov]

About me

Hi. My name is Ivan Sitnikov. I live in Manchester with my Mama. I work putting the reduced stickers on at Tesco, but I'm a student at Manchester University. I'm getting my undergrad in law. It's a lot of work, but I'm passionate about it.

I don't really know why I made this blog. I'm drunk and tired, at my mate's house (shoutout Andrew), but I know what's going to happen. I need something for people like Andrew to look at. To know who I actually was. So I guess my tumblr isn't for mindless scrolling that's less toxic than Twitter anymore, I'm actually putting it to use.

(ooc: this is a character blog for a class)

(ooc (out of character): for mr bannerman: The letters in this blog are intended to show Ivan's perception of the people around him, and it should be noted that all observations and memories about the characters are just that, there's no extra depth to it, because he, as per the excerpt, is only able to perceive the opacity, not the transparency, of his peers. Also on Tumblr, other than this pinned post, oldest posts are at the bottom.)