Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?
We were stopped at a red light. The police station was across the street. We were almost there; to safety. Before the light could turn green he found us. He pulled up behind us and jumped out of his van. We didn't see him until it was too late, until he was already at the driver side window. Before either of us could react, the fist came through the window.

So, how did we end up here? Well, that story starts over thirty years ago, when I was a young girl.


Everyday for 30 years, I thought about this moment. The moment where I would sit down and tell my story. Very few have heard the cliff-notes version. Only one person has ever heard in detail, in it's entirety. The whole truth has been been spoken out loud to anyone but one person and even then there were things left unspoken; and while my voice is only words on a computer screen, I am finally screaming out the words as I type. Finally, my story will be told. Our stories will be told. I do not have to be silent anymore. I do not have to hide. Or be ashamed. Or scared. I was a silenced victim for so long, and I refuse to let the past have a hold on me any longer.


I told my husband what I was thinking, what I was planning. I told him these words on my screen started as a blog. A way for me to get the horrors out of my head and hopefully be able to heal, even quietly. An unspoken goal between my finger on the keyboard, the words on my screen and what I needed to do for me. Then these words became something bigger than a blog, bigger than anything I had ever planned. This was not only my story, my life; it was his. It was our kid's life and story as well. I was blown away by the support. Our daughter designed the cover for my story, and the other stories I plan to tell. Not only did I have their blessing and support, but they also took an active role in bringing my thought to a reality, that hopefully can help someone else. So thank you to my family and to you, the reader, for being a part of my healing journey.



I only had one stipulation, one condition if I were to write these words and publish them for the world to see, to read, to know. My husband was not allowed to read it. Ever. He knew the facts, he's heard it all before. But I did not want him to have these words in his head. Have these visuals in his head. To be able to read these words, over and over and over. It was bad enough they were in my head, that they haunted me, I did not want them in his head too. He agreed. And now for the first time in my life, I am going to make sure these images are no longer holding me a prisoner. I am letting go of the words, the memories, the pain. I am ready to let myself heal. I deserve that. As women, we deserve it.
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Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?
We were stopped at a red light. The police station was across the street. We were almost there; to safety. Before the light could turn green he found us. He pulled up behind us and jumped out of his van. We didn't see him until it was too late, until he was already at the driver side window. Before either of us could react, the fist came through the window.

So, how did we end up here? Well, that story starts over thirty years ago, when I was a young girl.


Everyday for 30 years, I thought about this moment. The moment where I would sit down and tell my story. Very few have heard the cliff-notes version. Only one person has ever heard in detail, in it's entirety. The whole truth has been been spoken out loud to anyone but one person and even then there were things left unspoken; and while my voice is only words on a computer screen, I am finally screaming out the words as I type. Finally, my story will be told. Our stories will be told. I do not have to be silent anymore. I do not have to hide. Or be ashamed. Or scared. I was a silenced victim for so long, and I refuse to let the past have a hold on me any longer.


I told my husband what I was thinking, what I was planning. I told him these words on my screen started as a blog. A way for me to get the horrors out of my head and hopefully be able to heal, even quietly. An unspoken goal between my finger on the keyboard, the words on my screen and what I needed to do for me. Then these words became something bigger than a blog, bigger than anything I had ever planned. This was not only my story, my life; it was his. It was our kid's life and story as well. I was blown away by the support. Our daughter designed the cover for my story, and the other stories I plan to tell. Not only did I have their blessing and support, but they also took an active role in bringing my thought to a reality, that hopefully can help someone else. So thank you to my family and to you, the reader, for being a part of my healing journey.



I only had one stipulation, one condition if I were to write these words and publish them for the world to see, to read, to know. My husband was not allowed to read it. Ever. He knew the facts, he's heard it all before. But I did not want him to have these words in his head. Have these visuals in his head. To be able to read these words, over and over and over. It was bad enough they were in my head, that they haunted me, I did not want them in his head too. He agreed. And now for the first time in my life, I am going to make sure these images are no longer holding me a prisoner. I am letting go of the words, the memories, the pain. I am ready to let myself heal. I deserve that. As women, we deserve it.
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Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?

Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?

by Amlo Blankenship
Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?

Welcome To the Shit Show That Is My Life: Who Has the Toilet Paper?

by Amlo Blankenship

eBook

$2.99 

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Overview

We were stopped at a red light. The police station was across the street. We were almost there; to safety. Before the light could turn green he found us. He pulled up behind us and jumped out of his van. We didn't see him until it was too late, until he was already at the driver side window. Before either of us could react, the fist came through the window.

So, how did we end up here? Well, that story starts over thirty years ago, when I was a young girl.


Everyday for 30 years, I thought about this moment. The moment where I would sit down and tell my story. Very few have heard the cliff-notes version. Only one person has ever heard in detail, in it's entirety. The whole truth has been been spoken out loud to anyone but one person and even then there were things left unspoken; and while my voice is only words on a computer screen, I am finally screaming out the words as I type. Finally, my story will be told. Our stories will be told. I do not have to be silent anymore. I do not have to hide. Or be ashamed. Or scared. I was a silenced victim for so long, and I refuse to let the past have a hold on me any longer.


I told my husband what I was thinking, what I was planning. I told him these words on my screen started as a blog. A way for me to get the horrors out of my head and hopefully be able to heal, even quietly. An unspoken goal between my finger on the keyboard, the words on my screen and what I needed to do for me. Then these words became something bigger than a blog, bigger than anything I had ever planned. This was not only my story, my life; it was his. It was our kid's life and story as well. I was blown away by the support. Our daughter designed the cover for my story, and the other stories I plan to tell. Not only did I have their blessing and support, but they also took an active role in bringing my thought to a reality, that hopefully can help someone else. So thank you to my family and to you, the reader, for being a part of my healing journey.



I only had one stipulation, one condition if I were to write these words and publish them for the world to see, to read, to know. My husband was not allowed to read it. Ever. He knew the facts, he's heard it all before. But I did not want him to have these words in his head. Have these visuals in his head. To be able to read these words, over and over and over. It was bad enough they were in my head, that they haunted me, I did not want them in his head too. He agreed. And now for the first time in my life, I am going to make sure these images are no longer holding me a prisoner. I am letting go of the words, the memories, the pain. I am ready to let myself heal. I deserve that. As women, we deserve it.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940160887098
Publisher: Amlo Blankenship
Publication date: 03/16/2022
Series: Shit Show , #1
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
File size: 185 KB

About the Author

Amanda grew up in a small town in Northwest Ohio.

She got her degree in International Relations with a minor in Latin American Studies.

Amanda and her husband have three adult kids and no grandchildren yet,
but Amanda hopes for one soon.

Amanda has been a photographer for over 20 years.

She has won multiple awards and has had her photographs published in
multiple magazines, newspapers, local works, including coloring books for adults.

Aside from photography, Amanda enjoys true crime shows, reading horror novels,
doing genealogy, and annoying her family with her tiktoks.

In the winter of 2011, Amanda was diagnosed with RRMS
(A form of multiple scleroris). She is very open about her battle with the disease <3


She is currently working on her next literary work, “I said what I said. You heard me.”
that will be out in the Summer of 2022.
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