There was a bit of bullying, but then they saw me in combat, at work

I joined the army in the spring of last year. My friends constantly tried to talk me out of it: “Why do you need the army? There’s hazing there, they’ll beat you.” I’m the kind of person — if someone forbids me from something or says it’s bad, I want to see it for myself, check it out. I went to the military recruitment office. I have a condition, a chronic nervous tic — they shouldn’t have taken me. But I wanted to go. Right at the recruitment office, I said straight away: “No need to examine me. Just write down that I want to serve.” I was very lucky — my unit is really good. Hazing has been completely eradicated here.

Before the war, I felt like a free person. I wanted to promote myself in terms of LGBTQ, because it’s important to me that people recognize that we also exist. And in the war, we’re here too. I don’t want to walk down the street and be afraid to hug my boyfriend, to kiss him. I don’t want any labels or boundaries.

In the army, I approached it cautiously. I first tested the waters to understand how to properly present it to people. There are all kinds of people, all kinds of opinions — there are aggressive, crazy people. Then it all happened on its own, accidentally. There was a little incident that forced me to speed things up.

I was texting my boyfriend in the barracks, and my commander called me over. I think everyone knows that when the commander calls, you have to run immediately. And I forgot that I’d set my phone to “keep screen on,” and secondly, I hadn’t exited Telegram and left the phone on my bunk. And there was some rather risqué content on the screen.

I come back from the commander, and I see all the guys holding my phone and they start yelling at me. I immediately understood what had happened. The questions came right away: “How is this possible?” “How do you do it?” “How can a guy shove a guy in that place?”

I said: “Yes. That’s who I am — whether you like it or not. Whoever wants to interact with me, whoever doesn’t — I don’t care. It’s your problem that this surprises you; for me, there’s nothing strange about it. It’s the same as a photo of some girl. Only it’s a boy. That’s it.” I started explaining it to them so they’d understand there’s nothing wrong with it: “I sleep with you in the same barracks. I eat with you in the same mess hall. I talk to you. I’ve never shown any inclination to come onto any of you — that’s never been in me.”

There was a bit of mini-bullying, like: “Oh, look. There goes our queer.” Or I’d walk into the shower where naked guys were, and everyone would go: “Hey guys, don’t drop the soap — our Pashka is here.” I tried to ignore it, because I’m a cultured person — that’s how I was raised.

I understood that sooner or later it would end — they’d have to accept it, because they’d be serving with me for a very long time.

And that’s exactly what happened. People realized that everything was normal — I wasn’t hitting on anyone, wasn’t touching anyone, wasn’t bothering anyone. By about the 7th month of service, it had completely died out. The jokes became more friendly — people were joking not to needle me, but just joking among friends. Everyone laughed, everything was fine.

My commander calls me “Bunny.” Among the officers, there were jokes at first too: “Oh, our Pashenka is here. Hold onto your pants, guys.” Over time, they saw me in war, in action. The commander started to understand that I’m a normal person. I won’t deny that we have conflicts too — we can have serious arguments, but purely about work, never about that topic.

There’s a war going on here, and regardless of your orientation, everyone has a job to do, and we have to do it 100%. If I do something poorly, I’ll be yelled at regardless of whether I’m gay or not. Same with my buddies. Everyone’s equal.

I have a friend here who’s also gay, but closeted. There’s a social network for gay men — Hornet. I stumbled upon him there and wrote: “Ha! Busted.” He had to tell me everything. Among our fellow soldiers, I haven’t met anyone else. Everyone’s closeted — nobody wants to be outed or come out. I constantly let this person know that he can open up to me, that I’ll support him.

I’m subscribed to lots of Telegram channels where gay servicemen participate, and I chat there. It helps me feel like I’m among my own people — it’s important to me that we share common views, that everyone understands me. There are many generals, majors there who can help, offer advice.

My boyfriend lives in Kyiv. We call each other every day: he tells me about his day, I tell him about mine. He’s a chef by profession. Once he asked if we needed cooks — he wanted to get a job at the unit where I’m stationed. I forbade it, because I don’t want to worry about him and myself at the same time. I have enough stress as it is.

It’s still very hard emotionally and psychologically. When the shelling started and I heard the whistle of the first shell, I understood that something terrible was beginning. I was very scared — I’d fall into the trench, start crying and praying to God for it all to end. Over time, a person gets used to everything. I realized that everything would be okay — my mom is waiting for me at home, my boyfriend is waiting for me in Kyiv, my grandmother, my family. For their sake, I have to hold on, I have to be strong. I kept calming myself with that, prayed often, found my faith in God again.

Before the army, I experienced a tragedy — a couple of years ago, my father was killed, hit by a car. Before that, I’d been deeply religious. It was a terrible shock for me — I started asking myself how God could allow my father to die, he was the only person dear to me. I started doubting that anything was up there and became an atheist.

When the combat started, I began to realize there was some force protecting me — believe me, I should have died 3 times. I started thinking: damn, how could I have turned away from God?

I don’t regret a single bit that I’m here. I’m defending my homeland, my country, and my family. What happened was meant to happen. I’m always joking with my mom: “Somewhere in a bunker sits that scumbag Putin, thinking: 'Damn, Pashka joined the army — I’d better start a war.'”.