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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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.
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.
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?
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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 |
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