Russia: it’s beyond the feeling of shame.

It’s a mix of hate, shame, disgrace, and cognitive dissonance.

Am I hateful? Absolutely.

That story about Brothers Karamazov being my favorite book, that mention of how my beloved Russian rock icon died in a car crash in the distant 1990, that occasional sense of pride of belonging to a nation with a supposedly rich cultural heritage.

All destroyed. I don’t care about any of this anymore. There’s only shame, all-consuming. There is disbelief.