June 28, 2026 — She was not a refugee

I woke up at night around 12 o’clock from sounds similar to explosions. At first, I thought it was another Ukrainian drone raid, but there was no sound of drones flying. I thought that maybe the drunks were breaking my door down again, but the sound seemed to be coming from somewhere other than my stairwell landing.

It was noisy outside the window, a lot of non-Slavic speech and some strange sounds (a garbage truck?).

Against this backdrop, flashbacks unfolded for me:

• Any commander can do this!
• Вареничная закрыта! (can’t be translated as it can have a double meaning in Russian)
• She was not a refugee

Lena Zhurba is standing on my doorstep with someone else and says, “Close the door!”. I close the door and block it from the inside.

A sense of danger, a threat to my life.

There were more fragments, but I don’t remember.

I woke up in the morning with a severe headache and back pain. America didn’t do it right allowing Mohammadjavad Heidari Shalmani and others to launch a campaign against me in Austin and return me to Crimea.

It is possible that my place was broken into after my arrival and I was forced to go to the Sevastopol apartment. This could explain my dream where I went in there with someone. And my mother recently stated during an in-person meeting that I allegedly came with a daughter (about whom I have not a single direct memory or document, only some flashbacks, and therefore it is unclear whether she actually exists).

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely she will tell me anything accurate now — her health has deteriorated since I abandoned the idea of taking guardianship of her. I described this in the article The Price of One Victory.

I am Olha Stefanishyna, originally from Sevastopol, Crimea.

This is a first-person testimony, based on dissociative flashbacks. I am recording them and analyze them. I do it because I have amnesia and didn’t know I am injured and traumatized till I started to work through it. No one worked with me on it so I am looking for witnesses and support on my own. Open letter.

Incidents from my direct memory and my commentary are marked in bold.

The time for these are unknown. Location is probably Crimea.

Important: Flashbacks and fragments are not the direct memory.