Angela B. Chrysler's Blog, page 12

Unbroken

“I’m sorry. I have to end our commitment.”

I run these words over and over in my head lately. I can’t stop replaying them.

“It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

I looked at William at my kitchen table. The afternoon Irish sun blazed through the open window. From here I could see the gardens now flourishing. The morning glories were in full bloom. The shamrocks swayed in the breeze. I closed my eyes and inhaled deep, drawing in all the good. Slowly I exhaled, pushing away and releasing all the hate and hurt.

“It’s fitting that we’re here again.”

“It is,” I said.

“So what,” William asked. “Why me? Why here? Why again? Why now?”

“Ever the questions with you,” I said smiling.

He smiled back. “Always.”

With a glass of water, I settled down in a chair. The same chair where I had sat ages ago it seemed, spilling out everything as I had once lived it.

“So?” he asked.

“So?” I answered.

“You have something to say,” he said. His look said, ‘out with it.’

I breathed deep, closed my eyes, and focused.

“Focus,” I said. “It has been a long while since last we spoke.

“How is the therapy?”

“The therapy is…” I sighed taking in the frustration, welcoming it. I let it ebb and flow and waited for it to wash over me. “It isn’t what I need right now.”

“And what do you need?”

“What indeed?”

“They diagnosed.”

“They did. What was the diagnosis?”

“I don’t think it really matters anymore. Clearly I had PTSD—”

“Had?”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t think I have it anymore.” I felt the angst slip into the air around me. “They said I had bipolar and Borderline Personality Dis…”  My voice trailed off and I shook my head.

“It just doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Why doesn’t it?”

“Because a diagnosis is only a tool to help the therapist guide a patient onto the right path for healing.”

“And are you?”

“Am I?”

“Healing?”

“Have I?”

“Healed. Yes.”

I smiled and nodded. “Yes,” I said. “So very much.”

“They put me on meds. Something for the nightmares, anxiety, mood stabilizers, and depression.”

“Did it help?”

“Very much. It allowed me to tackle the big stuff without slipping back into suicide.”

It was a long 18 months, but I did it. I can feel anger and hate. Sad, joy, fear… I can feel it all and I can let it. That was the hardest part of all. Awakening the anger. Releasing each emotion in turn from its box. There was a lot of catching up to do.  There was  a lot to say. A lot to cover.

I reviewed so much. I was raped in public. Nearly every part of me was raped and in almost every circumstance imaginable. I’m not “okay” with it nor should I be. But I am okay. I still feel angry and hurt. But I’m allowed to. I deserve those emotions. He raped my mouth. But that isn’t who I am.

“Who are you?”

“That’s why you’re here. That is what I’m trying to figure out.”

In all my therapy, only one image kept coming back. The frog. With its little legs glued to the hot porch. It trying to crawl away…I didn’t understand. And the affairs. Why I slept with Dan back in 2000 whatever. And why I turned so desperately to Raven. Why? I just…I didn’t know why.

My parenting has changed. I’m more firm, more strict, more engaged, more loving, more affectionate. The children are flourishing. I thought everything was done. I thought the therapy was nearing its end.

“Then why am I here?”

“Why indeed.”

“I still had no answers. I still had questions. I saw a magazine. “Mindfulness.” It talked about mediation and finding an inner calm.” I chuckled at the irony. “Now that was something I knew I needed. Inner peace. I thought, “I owe this to myself.” So I picked up that magazine and I read…and I changed my life. It talked about “going to fast” and “not slowing down.” I still had PTSD. I still startled often at any and all unexpected sounds.

“What did you do?”

“It talked about a program for meditation and so, I began. Through meditation, it talked about not judging and not expecting silence…not demanding silence. Thinking only in silence was there peace. It talked about observing without judgement. It talked about clearing my head of thoughts. Giving myself permission to let go and just not think. And so…I did.”

“It was the undoing of dissociation.”

“Exactly. I learned that mediation is the undoing of trauma. And I had a lot to undo. I had started swimming every day. It made me aware more than ever of this body. My body. Through the mediation and the swimming, I learned to listen.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Over the last twenty years, I had sustained a broken femur, a dislocated thumb, fractured finger, and chronic back pain that resulted in sciatic pain. I listened. And realized I needed to see a doctor. She checked my hip and sent me to physical therapy.”

“And?”

“And…I learned just how much I had harmed myself. I thought I hadn’t done anything to hurt myself…until then. The ballet. The twenty years of ballet had taken its toll on me. It had shredded my body. Ripped me apart. With the physical therapy, we learned that I had stood for twenty years in fist position ballet. That I had walked toe to heel for those twenty years. For twenty years, I provided incorrect back support. In so doing, my hip muscles weakened and fell apart. I shredded my hip muscle and left it vulnerable. But that’s when I realized…” I shook my head, struggling with the next words. “I wanted to.”

I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to punish me. That was the point, wasn’t it? Every time I danced. Every time my body failed me, I remember thinking, “You’re weak! You will do this! You will obey!” I shredded my body. I abused it. I used ballet to punish it.”

“Why punish?”

“Because it was weak. Because it allowed me to get her. I wasn’t strong enough! It was my body’s fault. So I lashed out, I punished it, I maimed it to make it stronger. And ballet was my whip.”

“And all this you just learned?”

I nodded.

“All this, in the last four weeks. I decided just then, that it was time I made it up to myself. My body was just one more victim. My body was just as hurt as I. I had a lot of making up to do. That morning after my revelation, I woke and decided it was time to love my body. I started Yoga.”

I looked for other ways to award my body. I went on a diet and started to loose weight. I continued the swimming. I painted my nails. I continued the mindfulness and cleared my head. I felt the impact immediately. Somewhere in all my travels I found a single phrase: “Change your attitude about exercise. It isn’t exercise. It’s “me” time.” I loved that! I used it. I applied it. It became my new therapy. It very much has become my “me” time. I count calories. I start every morning with Yoga. I mediate every afternoon. My daughters now do yoga and meditation with me. It’s too cold to swim, but I’ve continued with the physical therapy. I’m finding new ways to pamper myself. Pamper and treat my body. I began Tai Chi.

“Tai Chi.”

“Tai Chi.”

“You’re not biting off more than you should?”

“I wondered the same thing. Hosea and I had started talking about couple’s therapy with our therapists. Neither his nor my therapist could recommend anyone in our area. His therapist proposed we guide ourselves for a while. We’re both intellects. We’re smart enough. I had done this before in my previous marriage. I knew what to do. Make rules and stick by them. Rule number #1: Do not break the rules. It’s not as silly as it sounds. You will break the rules. The purpose of this rule is to compose a plan when you do, because you will.”

“And the solution?”

“The conversation ends. We do not talk unless the rules are followed.”

Do not break the rules
No character assassination
No discussing a topic unless both parties are okay with the topic. All topics are optional.
No blame
No “You” topics.
No hijacking the conversation.
“I feel like”

After these rules, we tried our first discussion. It worked. We settled. We were okay. But something was still not sitting right with me. I was better wasn’t I?

“Weren’t you?”

“It was then that I reached out to a friend. She had read Broken. And she was a psychologist.

* * *

“Help me.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know why I did this? I don’t know why I hurt him.”

“Well it’s a power struggle.”

“What?”

“Every affair is all about a power struggle.”

“But why September? He insists it is always September. Why September?”

“Well that’s when you started your sex games with him. That’s when you started the power struggle.”

I froze and everything clicked.

“My brother was beating me. I couldn’t get away. I was helpless and weak. I wanted to be strong. My body was letting me down.”

“Isaac’s too.”

“I needed to know I was strong.”

“And you were with Isaac. You started a power struggle. You were both looking for ways to be empowered. And you found that strength in each other. But you could not loose.”

“I could not loose. I could not be weak.”

“Weak meant…”

“Weak meant death. It meant pain. I wasn’t strong enough to save me. I wasn’t strong enough to save the animals. My cats. The frog! That poor little frog. Why won’t my therapists let me talk about the frog?”

“Because the frog is you. It’s a mirror. You see your own weakness in that frog.”

“I do.”

“How old were you?”

“Five.”

“And when did the trauma begin?”

“That day. It was the first day something was hurt. It was the first day my cries were ignored. It was the first day I was too weak to save it. ‘Boys will be boys.’ It all started that day.”

And all at once…just like that I could see everything.

Through the abuse, I saw only weakness. I was starved for the strength that would save me. My body failed me and I loathed it for that. I punished it through ballet. You can’t kick high? I will make you kick high! Too bad! Kick! So what if it shreds your muscles. Kick, damn you! Kick! Bend. Break. Move. Faster. Harder. Longer. Stronger.

“But the ballet…it was all a reminder how weak you were.”

“It was. So I pushed harder. I shredded my body.”

“And then you found Isaac.”

“He empowered me. Against him, with him, I felt strong. I felt power. I was beaten less in the school months. When Isaac was with me. I was beaten most in the summers when Isaac was gone. And when he was near, you battled each other in  sex games and power trips. Thriving off the adrenaline rush and dopamine. You made each other feel strong.”

“He gave me the strength to stand up and try again.”

“But you needed it then.”

“I did.”

“And when you lost him—”

“I lost my strength.”

“You ran to the rapists because that was all you had learned.”

“All I had learned. I knew nothing else.”

“And you lacked the strength to stand up—”

“I’m not strong enough—”

The words hit me.

“I’m not strong enough,” I whispered and tears filled my eyes and remembered my Raven. “It was the song,” I said. “I found that song shortly after finding him.”

“But it wasn’t him.”

“Never him,” I said. “It was the song. I wasn’t strong enough. Not to stand, not to fight, not to stay away. And I can’t break free.”

“That song subliminally kept you in check.”

“It did.”

“I will not loose,” I said.

“Win at all costs?”

“At all costs.”

“Mind. Body. Spirit.”

“Mediation. Yoga. Tai Chi.”

“The trinity.”

“Balance.”

“Inner strength.”

“End the power trips.”

“End the power trips.”

I stood from the table.

“Elizabeth.”

I looked at sweet William seated at the table.

“Did you love Raven?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. He made me feel like…it was okay to be weak. I wanted to be weak. I wanted to drop my guard and just rest. I think…” I sighed and smiled softly. “I think that is what I loved.”

“You don’t need him anymore.”

“No. I don’t.”

“You don’t need Isaac anymore.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t need strength.”

“I don’t.” I smiled and laughed warm and long and whole.

“What’s so funny?”

“The moment I accepted that I don’t need strength, only then did I realize, I have it. At last. Tonight, I can sleep.”

“William. Thank you.”

 

Strength only comes to those who accept that they no longer need it. This…This is what my life has taught me. Smile and let go.

Help! What Genre Do I Write?!

I know. I broke my own rules. I’m posting an article about writing on a reader’s website. Forgive me, dear reader.

Humans are obsessed with labeling things. It’s part of our psychological makeup. Choke berry? Fatal. Blue berry? Safe. Fuzzy little rabbit? Safe. Saber tooth tiger with ferocious growl? Fatal. Sadly, this primitive need to label things as a means to protect ourselves and survive has found its way into every aspect of life. Don’t believe me? Just ask a biologist. The moment an author puts pen to paper, they prove to be no exception. But this means of labeling is more than just knowing where you fit in. For the writer, knowing what genre they write determines their whole marketing angle. Is it YA? Should I sprinkle my website and ads targeted for 12-year-old girls? Is my book historical war fiction? Should I design my website for the 50+ year old retired vet? Clearly, genre is far more than just knowing where you fit in. It’s about marketing. But how do you determine what you write?

Here are some basic rules to help you decide just where you and your book belong.

1 – Think about the readers.

Really. Your readers are key. Have a romance reader, a science fiction reader, a fantasy reader all sit down and read your book. Which one hated it? Which one loved it? No one knows genre better than readers. No one can look at your book with more of an unbiased eye than a reader.

2 – Think broad. 

Stop with all the sub-genres. There is nothing I hate more than  sub-genres. They distract from the genre and the focus. Most stories have romance in them, but that hardly makes them a romance. Sub genres are designed for online retailers only. Unless you are an online retailer, drop the sub-genres. If you walk into a brick and mortar store and you ask for Self Help > Psychological > Pathology > Personality Disorders  they will  point you to the self help section. The end. Go back to the mentality of a brick and mortar store. Stop stressing over the options.

Simple rule to follow: Subgenres are for readers of the genres. Primary genres are for non-readers of the genre. I don’t read romance. Sorry romance readers, but historical, contemporary, sweetheart, erotica? For me, it’s all the same. It’s about person “A” hooking up with person “B” and how their love trumped all their mental issues…or didn’t. Maybe its all about the sex. I don’t care. It’s still about person “A” hooking up with person “B.” 50 Shades of Grey? Twilight? The second Star Wars movie, Attack of the Clones? It’s all the same. Icky kissy crap.

3 – Know the primary genres.

I am amazed at how many authors truly can not sit down and name the top genres. Romance, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Memoir, Non-Fiction, Historical Fiction, YA, Horror/Thriller, Mystery/Suspense, General Fiction. The end. A graphic novel, a poem, a manga will still fall under one of these categories. Classic Literature will still fall under any one of these categories. Literary Fiction is not a genre. Not one that an author should bestow upon their own book. A poem, an anthology, a short story, it doesn’t matter. Each one of these will still fall under these categories.

Atlas Shrugged: General Fiction
Jane Eyre: Romance
Tom Sawyer: YA
Harry Potter: Fantasy
Romeo and Juliet: Romance
War of the Worlds: Science Fiction
Heart of Darkness: Horror/Thriller

4 – Commit.

The moment you pass your book on to beta readers, the first thing you should ask them is, what genre is this? You should have selected your beta readers based on genre. I was there once. I wasn’t sure if my epic fantasy was a romance (fantasy) or a fantasy (romance). Strip the sub-genre. I didn’t know if I had written a romance or a fantasy. I handed the book to a science fiction reader, a fantasy reader, a romance reader…Fantasy won. When selling my book, it is fantasy. If they ask for more detail, okay, well it is an epic fantasy with romance, adventure, history, it doesn’t matter. It is a fantasy. Save the sub genres for conversation. Settle on a genre and don’t stray from that decision. You’ll come off as indecisive. “What? You don’t know your own book? You wrote it!” If you truly don’t know your own genre, look at your reviews, call up your beta readers. Decide what it is with their help and commit to that decision.

5 – Find a book that matches yours.

The pros know best. They mastered this business long before you thought to write. What book reminds you of yours? Don’t be afraid to say Tolkien or Harry Potter. That doesn’t mean you should sell your book the same as Tolkien or HP, and certainly don’t go around telling people “it’s like Harry Potter” unless it truly is. Matching your book to one that is already published is a great place to start with finding your book’s genre.

6 – Stop labeling your book as what you meant it to be. Label the book as it is.

I will be blunt. I wrote my book for 40+ year old male readers, but female romance readers who often cross into Urban Fantasy are loving my book. Clearly, they are not the same demographic. The hardest thing I had to do was accept the fact that my book was pleasing far more women than middle-aged men. I started pulling on the reviews. I started accepting what the readers claim the book is and not what I want it to be. When I first wrote Dolor and Shadow, it was a romance meant for romance readers. I stripped a lot of the romance and turned the attention to the magic. Boom! Fantasy.

7 – Pick one.

I know this sounds weird, but at the core, emotion is how we create a genre. Are we evoking joy, sadness, and love? Are we evoking thought and pushing the boundaries of science? Are we evoking fear and anxiety from our readers? An easy rule to remember. Look at the emotions. Look at your options. Focus. Force yourself to pick one.

BREAKING IT DOWN

If you still don’t know, here are some basic guidelines to follow:

Love vs. Hate

Romance: Is the primary focus revolving around a hook up? Is the primary story all about the hook up? Stop splitting hairs between erotica, contemporary, historical…Save those sub-genres for Amazon. If it’s about two people hooking up, whether it’s long term, short term, homosexual, heterosexual, clean, dirty, healthy or destructive, it doesn’t matter. If its all about a hook up, it’s a romance.

The Laws of Physics

Fantasy and Science Fiction are all about the laws of physics. Either you’ve made up your own laws, or you’ve followed the laws of this realm. Perhaps you’ve advanced those laws far into the future. Perhaps you have defied the laws of physics and your characters can not explain the happenings around them. Maybe they have an explanation, but it is unlike anything scientists of our day can measure. If the heart of your book  revolves around the laws of physics, fictional or non, you’re looking at fantasy or science fiction.

Science Fiction: Does it take place in the future or in space? Is there advanced tech of any kind? Don’t confuse unexplained advance science with magic. If you are providing the science behind the “magic,” it’s Science Fiction. (Notice how romance never came into question despite the love between Han and Leia? You want to know what went wrong with Star Wars Episodes 1, 2, and 3 (aside from Jar Jar Binx)? They took our epicly awesome science fiction saga and made it a romance. Blech!)
Fantasy: Magic. Nothing else matters. Is there magic? It’s fantasy. Can you explain your magic with science? No? It’s Fantasy. So here’s the question: is The Force in Star Wars magic? No matter your opinion, we’re still only toggling between two genres.

Anxiety vs. Fear

There is clearly a difference between anxiety and fear. I do not watch horror or thriller movies. I adore suspense films. I love watching suspense movies. I detest horror/thriller films. I do not read suspense or mystery (I hate feeling anxious when I read).

I don’t care if you’re scaring me through blood and gore (It by Stephen King) or through an idea left to my imagination (Destination or The Blare Witch Project). Fear is fear. I’ve had enough in my life to last five lifetimes. I hate feeling afraid. Suspense is so not the same thing as Fear. Alfred Hitchcock. What that man could do with a set of stairs…No one mastered suspense better. His movies get my heart pumping with tension and anxiety, but he never crosses that line into fear. He never once made me afraid. He did horrify me once—ONCE—with that last minute of Psycho. More like a sickening psychological horror at a thought. He horrified me. Horrify. Still not a horror. He still didn’t cross into fear. While Norman Bates freaked me out, I wasn’t afraid of him. Shock. Not fear. Stunned disbelief. Not fear. It. The Stand. Now those films scared the CRAP out of me! I couldn’t walk to the bathroom after dark for a month. I made my husband carry me because of the “rats in the toilet.” Hitchcock never evoked fear from me. Steven King? Holy Hell! The Man Who Knew Too Much is so not Cujo. (Oh my god! I just Googled “Cujo” to confirm spelling and saw a picture of Cujo for the first time. Instant fear! See? Horror!)

Horror/Thriller: If your book makes people afraid, it’s horror or thriller. Stop splitting hairs over which kind of fear you evoke. Horror and Thriller are the same for a non-reader.
Mystery/Suspense: Mystery and Suspense evoke the same emotion: anxiety. One with more intensity than the other. For a non-reader suspense and mystery are the same thing. Crime? I would place Crime here. CSI? Bones? Law and Order? Monk…and I love Monk, mind you. I would place them here under Mystery. Mystery? Crime?  Broadly speaking, they’re the same thing. Crime requires mystery. Now Silence of the Lambs? Crime? Yes. But now we’re back to fear so it’s Horror/Thriller.

Fact vs. Imagination

Memoir: Did you write a book about yourself reflecting on a single event or topic in your life? This is not the same thing as “inspired by” or “writing what you know.” Is the focus of the book solely on a topic that did happen, best to your knowledge? Or did you fictionalize your telling into a whole new story? I would base this decision on how the author would market their book. Here is why. I wrote a memoir. Heidi Angell wrote a memoir. While mine was written like a psychological thriller, to call it fiction would be to offend me deeply and devalue my traumas and emotions. It is real. Every last bit of it. And we’re now confronting my mental disorders to call it anything but non-fiction. It did happen. It is real. And it happened exactly as I remember it happening. Even the parts when I spoke to my other personalities.

Now Ms. Angell’s book is very much a memoir. It very much did happen. But she markets her memoir as fiction. For whatever reason, while Ms. Angell knows her story is true and very real, it’s fiction because she is content marketing it as such. She defaulted to the ten primary genres.

You have not written an auto-biography. A biography or auto-biography is only a memoir written by or about a celebrity. Unless you’re a celebrity, you wrote a memoir.

Non-Fiction: Zero fiction. None. If the book isn’t a documentary, a cook book, a nature book, or a self-help book, it does not belong here.
Historical Fiction: This one is straight forward. It’s fiction, but it focuses on historical events. Oh, and it can not contain any primary focus from any other genre. No magic. No tech or future dates. No revolving around a hook-up. Think of the movies. Titanic? Romance. Pompeii? Romance. Pearl Harbor? Romance. Tora! Tora! Tora!? Historical Fiction. Gone With the Wind? Romance. Dances With Wolves? Romance. Gettysburg? Historical Fiction. See the difference?

Straight up

YA: If your book is written for anyone 16 and under, it’s YA. Stop with the MG/NA. Mark those as a sub-genres and save it for your conversations. If any primary genre has rights to a sub-genre its YA. I have three children all with different reading preferences. Clearly, YA Fantasy (My daughters, 9 and 13) is not the same as YA Science Fiction (My 12 year old son). We’ve been through the Children’s section. Magic Tree House? YA. Roald Dahl? YA. Junie B. Jones? YA. Picture Books? Children’s. The Hungry Caterpillar? Children’s. Doctor Seuss? Children’s. Series of Unfortunate Events? YA. Warriors? YA. Mind you. Keep those sub-genres limited to the ten primary genres.
General Fiction: If your book is NOT a romance, science fiction, fantasy, memoir, non-fiction, historical, horror/thriller, mystery/suspense, then it belongs here.

What about Literary Fiction?

Now hold on just a moment! Literary Fiction? Really?

Definition!

Literary fiction comprises fictional works that hold literary merit; that is, they involve social commentary, or political criticism, or focus on the human condition. – Wikipedia

Unless you have the Pulitzer Award slapped on that book, refrain from calling it literary fiction. Its General Fiction unless Columbia University tells you otherwise.

What about Christian Lit?

Granted. Christian Literature is pretty straight forward. Would an atheist enjoy a book that sings the praises and influences of a 1st century deity still worshiped today? No? It’s Christian/spiritual no matter the primary genre. Christian Fantasy, Christian Romance, Christian YA…It’s Christian.

What about Woman’s Fiction?

Woman’s Fiction is a bit harder to place. While it is a primary genre, in the undiscovered author world, it is a minority. If given no other option, I recommend placing this in General Fiction. Be sure it is not a romance.

What about Children’s?

Yes! Clearly Children’s is not YA. If you don’t know the difference, Harry Potter is YA (Fantasy) vs. Guess How Much I Love You (Children’s Board Book). Children’s books are downright difficult— borderline impossible—to digitally market. Children young enough to enjoy Children’s books require the tactile sensation of books to aid their development and seed their passion for books. If you are selling a digital version of a children’s book, seriously reconsider your marketing plan. As a mother, I would never buy a digital book for my two year old. Turning pages is an excellent tool for developing motor skills.

What about Paranormal?

Paranormal is definitely on the rise and partnering beautifully with Urban Fantasy. Here’s one for you. Place Twilight. Werewolves, vampires, romance, special skills that push the laws of physics? It’s a romance. It’s all about that hook-up. Oh, but wait! It’s written for YA. The main characters are in high school for three of the four books. Yes, technically it’s NA, but that is a sub-genre, remember? Let’s call it YA (Romance) or YA (Paranormal). No. YA (Paranormal) just does not sit well with me where Twilight is concerned. YA (Romance) or Romance (Paranormal). Remember. I don’t read romance. I hate the majority of romance novels. For me, Twilight was disgustingly all about the romance. I think she should have cut books 1, 2, and 3 and skipped to 4. Book 4 was good…almost no romance an it stopped being about the hook-up—thank god!—until she flubbed the ending. But notice in both cases, the word “romance” makes an appearance. Ergo, Twilight is a romance (sorry). Not paranormal.

Here is a simple rule to follow with Paranormal, if you are crossing into ghosts, werewolves, and vampires, take great notice that you haven’t crossed into either Urban Fantasy or Low Fantasy. Chances are, you have. Either way, Urban Fantasy or Low Fantasy are still fantasy. Harry Potter had werewolves and ghosts. Voldemort drank blood in The Sorcerer’s Stone. Technically he’s a vampire. Anne Rice. Now those are books I enjoyed. I would call them Urban Fantasy (Fantasy). Especially The Body Thief.

Now, I write Fantasy. I’ll be the first to puff up my chest and get angry if you dare compare Tolkien’s Frodo to Ann Rice’s Lestat. “The Hobbit is sooooo not Interview With A Vampire! They are NOT the same thing!” I would scream. Yeah? Ask any non-reader of fantasy *whispers* They’re the same thing.

Did I miss a genre? Ask. I’d love to hear what you think!

Breathe. Let go. Smile.

Mediation is the undoing of trauma. Yoga is mediation for your body. – Angela B. Chrysler

I feel it. The end of my journey. The end. Something you never quite recognize until you can look back and see just how far you’ve come. Something you never quite recognize until you can look ahead and smile. Not a facial smile that results from being happy in the moment. A deep smile filled with more than just hope. Excitement. An eagerness to move on, with a contentment for being where you are. But most importantly, being able to look back and say, “Yes. I survived that. And I’m okay.” I dream often now. Calm dreams. No rapes. No villains. When I do confront a villain, it is just that. A confrontation. I am no longer the victim filled with fear. I am a fighter. I dump all my thoughts and rage onto the villain through dream. I hold nothing back. I can feel Angel—my subconscious—talking me through it in the subconscious mind of my subconscious, “Keep talking. You’re safe. He won’t harm you. Keep talking. Don’t stop.” Those are the words Angel says now. No more screams.

I can see my change penetrate the family, my children, my husband. They laugh more, play calmly, are more polite. They care about their grades and school. They do chores now. The home is comfortable and clean. My children are no longer filled with uncertainty and fear. My son often thanks me for protecting him. Mostly, I see the change penetrate me. I am not shy about standing up for my beliefs. I have courage now. I can not begin to explain how good the courage feels. I can talk to strangers in a store. The anxiety is gone. I can talk to men and not fear rape. I can confront my family, my brothers, my sister. And I can do all of this without worry of fear or rejection.

There are no right or wrong paths anymore. There is only healthy paths and unhealthy ones. Health. It’s amazing how much trauma takes away from health, both mental and physical.

My biggest change is my attitude toward my body. It’s been through so much. It’s funny, I parented my cats to compensate for all the abuse they suffered. “You lived a horrible past. You will now know nothing but joy to compensate for that past.” Why couldn’t I extend that same thought to my body? Instead, I punished my body. I danced to rip it apart. I danced to punish my body. I starved it then shredded it through exercise. I neglected it then deprived it of nutrition and sleep then pushed it always past the point of pain.

Today, I wake up and think, “What can I do for my body today?” I walk. I give it sunlight. I eat right. Exercise gently. I don’t dance anymore. I’m more conscious of low impact and high impact activities. I swim instead. I’m wanting to take up Tai Chi and Karate. I’ve always wanted to study karate. Ever since I was ten years old. Aikido. I’d like to do Aikido too.

Every morning now begins with mediation followed by yoga. I got myself to a doctor and am now seeing a physical therapist for my back. The 25 years of dancing abuse I placed on my body has taken its toll. I wonder often if I have become a Buddhist. Yesterday, I shook my head. I don’t know what I am. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is what I believe. Perhaps that is the problem with religion. It teaches us, encourages us to label. Through labels, we gain hate. Labels build walls between an “us” and a “them.” Stop labeling. Stop judging every moment as good or bad. Stop labeling everything that you see and hear.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other would smell as sweet.” Shakespeare’s words ring clear. Maybe this is what he really was talking about.

I decided not to call myself anything. I am simply “Angela” and I have my beliefs. It doesn’t matter where those beliefs belong. Beliefs are not classes in a biologist’s lab. Nor are our differences for that matter. Perhaps…perhaps that is where healing begins: in letting go of the labels. “I was hurt.” Does it matter what kind of hurt it is called? Does it matter the names of the mental results? I suffered and survived. It was traumatic. It hurt. Does it matter that we measure that hurt? Yes. I believe so. I believe it does matter that we acknowledge the amount of hurt. It does not matter that we call it “trauma” although maybe this label helps us reach awareness. And that alone is all that matters, awareness. Awareness is the door to healing. Awareness requires only three things: An open mind, a new perspective, and the courage to have both. Such power exists in the words, “I was wrong.” Such power. Only then are we at our strongest.

I smile and nod.

Today is going to be a good day.

About the Author

Angela B. Chrysler is a survivor of prolonged trauma including, but not limited to rape, physical abuse, domestic violence, pedophilia, sexual torture, and animal abuse. Above all else, Ms. Chrysler is a creator of music and the written word. She adores philosophy and turned to writing novels as a catharsis, as a way to cope and define her trauma. After writing Broken, Ms. Chrysler reached awareness and began her road to recovery. Today, she strongly embraces a calm life and does everything in her power to give back to the earth. She is determined to create a wave of positive and calm through those around her to counter as much trauma and pain she has endured. She lives in a garden with her husband and children.

Goodbye, Doctor (Tom Baker)

So… When last we spoke, I had just started the 4th Doctor. An era is now at an end. Here are my parting words.

 

Protected: With You Sneak Preview

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The power of “I.”

This is one post I’ve put off for a while. A number of my followers will unfollow me. Many will lash out at me. Total strangers will attack me for this. Then, just yesterday, I realized that these same people didn’t care about me when they horrified me and threatened me as a child. Nor…

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Zombies From Space…and Vampires Part #10

“Without weapons we need to lay low.”   The Captain’s orders echoed through Aria’s head as, one by one, the crew piled out of the boat onto land.   “Any sound will draw the Weeches. Any movement will draw in Caius. We have little options and high priorities.”    Balancing on Cin’s firm grip, Aria…

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18 Months Later

28 August 2016…   2 April 2015 I was checked into the ER for evaluation. I still remember the panic attack because I was standing two feet from a male who wasn’t my Isaac. The room had nearly ten people in it and I couldn’t breathe. I shook from head to toe, and it was…

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Good Things

Good things come from unexpected places… Magic and mayhem. Vampires and gods. Cops and werewolves. The binding thread of mysticism in the modern world and acts of kindness, small and large, random and focused. Join these ten authors as we travel through their worlds. All of the author proceeds from the sales of this anthology…

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Protected: Is Broken Real?

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