Angela B. Chrysler's Blog, page 2

The Land of Make-Believe and Dreams

I feel it there… behind the fear that was… The truth. My secrets. Me. I’ve been improving all this time and the Universe calls to me, “Write.”

She says so much to me these days… I cannot combine all of her messages. They are meant to be combined. I keep forgetting that part.

I hear all the individual things she says.

“Go to New York.”

“You’re looking for someone.”

“He’s the One.”

“Tell your story.”

“Go bigger.”

“Tell your story.”

“He’s Connected.”

“Talk to him.”

“What do you want?”

“Tell your story.”

“The Teachers were actors.”

… It never occurred to me that… It was all one sentence. Filled with semi-colons…

“Go to New York. You’re looking for someone. He’s the One. You are home. Tell your story. Go bigger. Tell your story. He’s Connected. Talk to him. What do you want? Tell your story. Write! What do you want? The Teachers were actors!”

Go to New York because you’re looking for someone. He is the one. You are home, now tell your story. Go bigger, and tell your story. Talk to him because he is connected to this! You want to make money? Then what do you want?”

“I want to act on stage,” I say and I want to make money performing on stage. But I wanted to follow my own script. I wanted my own stage. I wanted to perform my own script on stage while I teach… I want to teach others through the scripts I write and the acting I do.”

“Write. Tell your story and what do you want! The teachers were actors!”

And there it is. The message was given to me in pieces. The Universe wasn’t out there at all. It was me. But there is so much more that I wanted to say. So much more that was said to me that I felt, but never translated. That’s the way it is you know. So much that we feel that we ignore and don’t say.

Like how bad something feels. Like how uncomfortable someone makes you. Like how you were never supposed to be a simple, traditional actress because you needed to change the world so instead your dream was taken away from you from strategic, unplanned, abuse, disapproval, and neglect, subtly changing your life’s course away from your dreams toward the expectations shaped by abuse until… your story becomes the message. Your skills in writing and communication become your medium, and the long, lost desire to play and perform merge with your passion for Shakespeare, stage, writing, and… Philosophy.

I could only see the individual notes. My mind had separated the parts for so long, desperate to compartmentalize them all that I could not unite them under one. Me. On stage. Performing from a script that I had invented with my own Psychology, Philosophy, Perspective, and Story, delivering it to all of you in a method that is entertaining… engaging… and interactive… but how?

Can I do it?

The fear, it bubbles up inside of me.

What if I fail?

What if I can’t?

What if… I’m not funny!?”

Shut up, Jerry!

More importantly! How can I, with one body, one mind, one… ME deliver the voice, the characters, the minds, the agendas of all the others… And if I do, what if…

“You’re afraid they’ll all come out, lass.” 

I am. If I fail at this, then I am a terribly actress.

If I am too good at this, they will think I am note cured of my Multiples at all. So it is best, if I just not try…

“And sacrifice your True Authenticity? Deny your Truth?”

What choices do I have? Failure or Success that questions my Insanity.”

“It’s been questioned before.”

Say out loud what you’re really afraid of.

“No one truly knows anything about Multiple Personalities. When I integrated, I simply realized I didn’t need them anymore. And I have not Switched since. Not even close. I am in control. But I remember the Mindsets of each. I remember everything. No black outs. No memory loss. No loss of control. I can recall the Mindset. I can act. I can become.

I’ve been improving for nearly ten months… And there she is…

“Write. It’s time to write.”

I’m supposed to write now. Switch my improv over to script. I’m supposed to write my scripts and then record them. Perform them.

“What do you want to be?”

I wish I was funny. I wish I could engage my viewers. *smiles at the camera* My voyeurs. I would look upon them and engage them as if I will know them. Discipulus. My Discipuli. Some friends. Some lovers. The lesson is… Imagination. Creativity. Play. Why… is sex a part of this chapter? I don’t understand… But I will.

“This whole thing, lass, is about Authenticity. Your Truth. Who you are? What is yours?”

“Why is it so hard? Why is this so hard? To know ourselves and to not… Loyalty. Loyalty to the Self is…”

“We think on what we don’t want. We focus on which path to avoid, that we are blind by the path we do desire. Our fears blind us from the love and the desire we are missing in every moment.”

“How can I teach them, Bergen? There is so much in my mind… How can I teach them?”

“Gollum. Smeagol.”

“Gollum. … Smeagol.”

“Dr Jeckyl. Mr. Hyde.”

“They say you have to connect with an audience through eye contact…”

“Bull shit. Fourth Perspective Bull shit. Actors never make eye contact with their voyeurs and they connect all the time…”

“I wish he was here.”

“Focus, lass. What are you?”

“I am Fae.”

“Say it, lass.”

“Born of moonlight and dreams.”

“Paint your scene.”

“You wish for me to merge my worlds…”

“What are ya, lass?”

“Imagination is creation. The ability to mold the Abstract into whatever reality we desire.”

“Does it matter if it is not “real?”

“So much in this world is real long before we can see it or understand it. Why have we been denied Imagination and the world’s within. If what is real… and if, this whole time, we have denied Reality’s existence… her existence… then why… was Reality given to us to begin with?”

“That’s it then,” Reality asks… “Do I exist or not?”

Feelings do exist.

The Universe… Intuition does exist.

Mathematics does exist.

Time and Money. These exist.

They exist because someone speaks them into Existence and Being. And so they become Reality.

Why do the Concrete Thinkers get to decide what is real and what is not? When I see and feel that I the Goddess Imagination, when I see and feel and breathe a world that only I can see… then who is to say what is and is not my reality for they cannot perceive my perspective. Why can’t there be Societal Reality? Personal Reality? And a respect for all realities!? Why can’t our realities co-exist? Why… Does the Zero-Sum Mindset, the Hierarchy, and the Scarcity Mindset apply to everything we do in this world?

What if I don’t want to live in their World? What if I have my own? What if I have a better World in mind and What if… WHAT IF… All of this is JUST a Mindset?

You tell me, then, what Imagination is if not Manifestation and Creation through Belief… Why else do we call it Make Believe?

 

 

 

Fand’s Journal

Bergen. I couldn’t…

I fall to the floor. There is just too much. So much. It’s no wonder they couldn’t contain me. What is inside of my head… Some days, it feels like it will break me.

But…

“Get through it, lass.”

It’s so heavy. These halls…

I looked at the palace walls. The dias. The room.

“Own your power, lass. Claim it.”

The hardest thing I ever did was learn things no one ever thought of before and then speak them out loud, and then defended my thoughts against the pessimism, criticism, and the projections of others while standing my ground. And now, this day, as I stand here… It all makes sense. Too much sense. Of course they could not hold me. Look at what I am. My mind was never meant to be restrained.

“Open your mind, love.”

I See them awakening and remembering. I See them finding me and understanding. I See them knowing. I See them scared. “What are you?”

“I am you,” I will say. “And we are all gods. But we have forgotten. And we are waking up. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. There will be a divide. Those who know. Who understand. Who remember. Who believe.

And those who doubt.

And they will rage and hate and storm.

And we will grow and love and we will show them Power beyond their doubt and denial. A storm is brewing. A war is coming. And we all must refuse to fight. We all must stand our ground.

We all must peacefully claim out Truth and form our Reality. There will be no war. I make it so. We will love them and we will soothe them with our Power. We will forgive.

Forgive… Accept.

Forgive… Love them anyway.

Forgive… Nurture with Boundaries and Self-Love.

Forgive… Give. There is gifting in this word. Fore. Fore go. Fore… Sight. Fore…

I claim my Power. I Accept it. It is mine. It is my Own. And I become.

The Bard’s Oracle : A Note From The Author

Hello, dear reader.

It has been a long time. Bergen and I go way back. In all my madness, Bergen was born as the personification of my Defense System. He was formed into a character for my book, and he developed a sentient will of his own. Soon after, we were arguing like two secret crushes who just needed to fuck.

But he was my creation, and I was his author. Battle for Blog enfolded and, for quite a while… I understand it now. I would find my Blog “Exploratory Dialogues” frequently changed to “Bergen’s Blog.” I would curse him and change it back, completely unaware that Bergen, at some point, was an Alter of mine who flirted with… well… me.

Bergen was all of these things. He was an Alter. My Defense System personified. My Fictional Character. My Muse. And me. He was my comfort, my strength, my mystery. He showed up in every book. Every BOOK. He probably always will. I still have his trilogy pending in my mind.

Bergen : Blind

Bergen : Bound

Bergen : Broken

I never wrote them. It always pissed him off. He found his way into the Abstract Play Space of The Fae where I spent nearly two years with My Pet.

And now, at the end of all things, after Integration of my Alters in April 2023, I have heard nothing from him ever since. He exists now only within the Authorial space in my mind.

I have one last mission before me.

My healing journey pushed me beyond the Physical World and well into the realm of Authenticity. There, Identity, Perspective, and Imagination come together to give birth to my God-Self. My Identity is solid. My Perspective is Pure. But my Imagination… was damaged during the Healing.

It was at this time that I turned to Dungeons & Dragons and the world of writing while I opened the gates to my City. Authenticity City. I have a world to create within the Abstract. Imagination is key.

But more than that… Through the application of my Imagination, I will revive and bring together and strengthen all the parts of me. All of my names. And to do this, I must Imagine. I must play. I must encompass the embodiment of my God Self, my human self, and my Power. Imagination, Kallan, and Fand. They are all me. Past or Human. Present or Conscious Awareness. Future or The God Self when the full extent of my Power is returned to me.

To do this, I must become Imagination itself and revive all of me through all my stories.

I am nearing the end of this, and you, dear reader, just walked into my mind.

If you wish to start at the beginning, read Dolor and Shadow. And then Fire and Lies. And then Broken. That is when my mind broke (2015). From there, go on to Zombies from Space… and Vampires. And then… read through my blog, “Bergen’s Blog.” I went on hiatus for three years (2020 to 2023) as I went on Walkabout and continued my Healing Journey. And then The Healing Garden’s Exploratory Dialogues blog. My Podcast is the next stone in my path. And then, at long last, The Bard’s Oracle. That is where you come in.

To you, this may be just a deep Fantasy novel.

But for me, it was the path I took on the road from Insanity, enslavement, and Madness to… well… I’ll let you decide what I am when you finish.

The Bard’s Oracle is a Blog Novel, interspersed in part with Live Dungeons & Dragons scenes where I play out certain chapters with my Players. During the week, in between Game Play, Fand’s Journey plays out as she unlocks the next stage of her Memory. My memory. And then, to unlock the Memory and revive Imagination, she steps into Game Play.

During the week, I build Authenticity City. I present my story to the world on stage. I assume the life of Bard, Actress, Philosopher… well… you know, the list goes on.

For you, this is a mere Fantasy.

But for me, it is my Masterpiece, my Thesis, and my Dissertation on the role Imagination plays in Mental Health and how the Abstract World, very much exists alongside the Physical World. My research is recorded in Shifting Perspectives (podcast) as well as The Healing Garden’s blog, Exploratory Dialogue. Here, in UnderEarth, the Fantasy and Imagination plays out.

For you, this is play.

For me, I am on a mission to prove to the world the Validation, Importance, and key component to our survival, evolution and healing and how it resides within the Power of Imagination and the World of Abstract.

Subscribe to my Newsletters. Become a Member of Authenticity City. Allow my Imagination to entertain you. Connect with me or play with me. I love being played with. Enter Anna’s Elite and Journey Into the Self or join me for Sunshine Imagination Adventures and step into my world with me. I will show you all I see.

The Bard’s Oracle : Prologue

The Author’s Stage

I walked the halls… gazing upon the work before me. The work is precise. The world in my mind, crystal. an empty throne. A court jester. The Ship of State. My gown, my crown, my vision.

Am I really building a City from my mind?

I brace for impact. I anticipate the feeling of surrealism that never comes. I know what lies before me.

12 Stones of the Fae.

Show them the Story. I know what I am. What I need… My Imagination was taken from me. My powers, stripped. This is the Story of a Goddess who had forgotten. This is the Story of a Goddess Awakened. This is the Story of a Goddess remembering. This is the story of me reclaiming what I am. Who I am.

“Fae whore.”

The deep, familiar brogue spilled down my back and heat pooled in my belly, dripping down into my thighs. I turned. The smile split my face, and I dragged my eyes over the fine frame of my Bard.

“Bergen,” I purred. His wide chest tightened under my voice. The last time he had seen me, I was a feeble child in mind. Weak and broken. Shaking under the madness of Insanity. This was the first time I stood before him a woman, whole, and sane.

“All the voices in my head are silent now,” I said. “Even you.”

“You don’t need us,” he said and shifted. My eye caught the hilt of his Firstborn still strapped to his back.

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

“Use all of you, lass,” he said. “Use all of you.”

I felt the tightness in my throat.

“The writing was an emotional prosthetic,” I said. “The story… the pets. The lovers. Raven. Even the City. Broken, even…”

“You’re not here to ask me who you are,” he said. That man always knew me too well. In so many ways, that man was me in every way.

“No,” I said. “I know who I am.”

“Then what do you want, lass?”

“I seek to explore,” I said. “I seek to strengthen. I seek to… I want my power. That is what I want. I want my Power, Bergen.”

“You already know what to do.”

I nodded and thought ahead to the task ahead.

“12 Stones of Fae,” I said.

“Take it back, lass,” he said. “Take it all back.”

“There is a wedding,” I said. “I’ll need to reclaim… 12 Trials. My power is undisciplined. I am awakened. I am remembering and my power is… I cannot control it.”

He shrugged.

“What do you want?”

“Always that question… I want my power disciplined. I want love. I want my Imp. I want my Imp healed and restored. I want my Kingdom and my wealth. I want what is mine restored to me.”

“Make this world, lass,” he said. “Build it. Weave the world. Create the trials. Execute the challenges. Use them. Make them dance.”

“And what of you?” I said.

He crossed the hall to me. My empty throne on the dias beside a second empty throne to match. I felt the heat of his chest as he drew near. For a moment, I recalled another hot body behind mine, and I remembered me pinned between the two men. My nipples hardened and the ache to feel them both again tightened my body. I gulped. My legs parted ever so slightly beneath my gown, and I knew Bergen remembered that night also. His cock swallowed by that mouth.

My god I missed my pet.

“You are Goddess of Manifestation,” Bergen whispered. His face so close to mine. “Make it so.”

“I lived as a human for so long,” I whispered back.

“Kallan or Fand… Or Imagination.”

I was feeling dizzy.

“I’ll need all three of them for this,” I said. I ached for him to kiss me and allow me to lose myself in his body again.

“Not this day, my love.”

I remembered the kiss he granted me on a log in Ireland so long ago. Ten years ago now, was it? I recalled his body pinned against mine with my pet. The blog wars we fought. The bickering. The arguing. The Guinness. The countless times he held my hand while my Owners used me.

“Bergen,” I said. “I…”

I was his creator.

How often does a creator have the opportunity to say this to their creation?

“I love you.” The words came like a breath.

He smiled. His hand went to my face, and he allowed the weight of my head to lean into his touch.

“Aye,” he said, a smile split his face. “Don’t I know it.”

Oracle. Changeling. Goddess. Nymph.

“Open your mind, lass. You’ll need all your names for this one.”

Philosopher. Writer. Inventor. Creator. Actress. Oralstorian. Story teller. Succubus. Bard.

“The Power within,” he said. “It will take all of you to finish this. And when you do… You will Be.”

I wanted to drop the world. I wanted him to cave and pick me up and take me back to bed. I wanted him again so badly… I wanted my Imp. I wanted my Pet. I wanted my Raven. I wanted my Imp.

“Seek out the stones,” he said. “Look within the Fae Realm and UnderEarth… Walk the World of the Abstract. Make them move. Make them dance. Show them what you are, lass.”

“They’ll dance upon my pages and song.”

“Awaken Imagination again,” he said and dropped his hand from my face. He stood taller, if that was possible.

“Aye, lass. It’s always possible, and it’s time that you remember.”

“Bergen.” I nodded my farewell.

“Fae Whore,” he smirked.

The corner of my mouth cracked a smile.

“I’m ready to play with you again.”

“Show them what you can do, Lass. Weave your worlds of gods and Fae and man. Help them all remember.”

He turned and walked back to the door, the pale white moonlight caught his back, and I watched the scars dance upon his flesh. I remember when I first gave him those scars.

I was them. I was always all of them. Even Ciarda. Even his Bat Zabbai. I wonder… if ever he figured that out. If he would make love to me again like he once did.

“The memory is not for me, lass.” His voice was distant now. “The memory is for you.”

And just like that, I realized. It was I who needed to remember and to claim.

 

Conversations With The Universe

They say within genius there is madness.

The thing is, the genius is often not understood by many. But also, the mind of a genius moves so quickly that the thoughts appear as madness to those only watching a fraction of the play.

My mind moves fast. Too fast for my words or my hands to keep up with everything. That’s why I switched to podcasting. Because my typing was not fast enough to keep up with the words running through my head.

Every time I look back on my words or my podcasts, I have the thought of deleting what I see. But then, you wouldn’t have the whole truth would you? You would then, only have a piece of the truth. You then would be free to make up your own assumptions and fictions in between the bits I chose you to see.

Incomplete truths, cleaned up madness… manipulated delusions designed to make me look better than I was. No. I chose to keep it all and show you just how bad it once was.

How insane it was to hold four people inside my head. Even when, at times, it made no sense.

We shy away from feelings. We avoid Anger. Anger is my most favorite emotion of all. Anger gets the least respect and love. It is the most misunderstood.

These last two days and always, I allow myself to feel anger. I embrace it and step fully into it. Only then can I explore it and dig deep into it. Only then can I reverse engineer it. And then, in those moments, can I understand it and teach you.

My goal is to teach you.

But I am no teacher. I am no professor. I am a philosopher. I am an Oralstorian. I am an actress. A Writer. A performer. I play. My True Authentic Self is a seducing Succubus, a temptress, and a mage who waves story and song… I flirt with Energy and I don’t hold back. I love to flirt and play with the Energy of others.

What is flirting if not play. Flirting is never about sex. It’s about intimacy. That is where too many people misunderstand flirting. It is tender flirting.

I have to organize this Garden and build this City. And this world… UnderEarth… is part of it. We all have an Abstract World inside of us.

Mine was… it was once chaos and disorder. It was once ripped apart by the expectations of others and… you know… looking back, that is exactly what that was. My Abstract World… built entirely on my Perspective, my Logic, my Identity, and my Dreams… all ripped into bleeding parts by the Invasive Expectations of others.

A Perspective is a third of the piece of my World. My Identity, taken from me and ripped also apart by Fear… I lost my Truth, my Belonging, my Home… My life was dedicated to putting it back together. And now, teaching others how they too can rebuild. And then giving them an Adult Playroom filled with Field Trips and Make-Believe… Because, more than children, Adults need to play.

I need to play.

So, I have my Stage where I am writer, actor, and performer. And I have my books and my dreams. I have my world of dreams.

I have my Garden where people can heal. I have my Beacon that calls to them. And I have my Stage. It’s all coming together.

 

And sometimes, I look at the Universe and I ask, “Really? You want me to Podcast and play Dungeons & Dragons for a living?”

“And write,” she adds. “And… no,” she says. “You want you to Podcast and play Dungeons & Dragons for a living. And Write. I just tell you when you need to move and where as I drop the opportunities in your lap so that you *can* do those things.”

I try and imagine that life. And…

“What about my Imp?” I ask.

“Tell me where you want him,” she says. “Just ask.”

“I want him healed and whole,” I say. “I don’t care where. I just want him healed and whole and… whatever he chooses with me, I want it to be his choice because he wants me. Not because I willed it into him.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to make money with my Dreams. I want to make millions off of my dreams.”

“And the Garden?”

“I want to change the world. I want world peace. I want…”

“What do you want, Anna?”

Why is this so hard to answer?

“I want…” I sigh. “I want to know what I want. I want to know which road us next. I want to just know which road is mine for fame, fortune, wealth, love, and money… and I want my Imp beside me through it all… But only if he wants that.”

“As you wish,” she says to me. And I just shake my head. “But how?”

“Yours is not to ask how, but to sit back and watch how the ‘how’ enfolds before your eyes.”

My Woven Magic

This world always felt more real to me… My Imp told me to write. He was right.

I have not walked these halls since… I was Joanna then. This world was Joanna’s world. So long ago. I was someone different then.

I am building a City now. I’m Anna. Anna Imagination.

Bergen is… He’s still in me. They all are. But I’m only all Imagination now. Fand and Sariel. The BDSM Witch Queen… All of me.

I have to build this City. My Abstract World.

If I were a god, and I am, I would simply write my dreams and weave my worlds of fantasy, and I would show you how much you too… Theater and story and song. … I must follow what is right and what feels good, and then I’ll know where my joy is.

Beautiful, playful Imp… I miss you. Come back to me again. May warmth and light and love heal your Fears and may you soon find your way back to me.

The old door creeked open. I glanced inside the room. How...

The old door creeked open. I glanced inside the room. How long ago has it been? Five? Six years? These rooms are familiar, but I am not. I’ve changed. I’m different. I’m someone new and someone so old…

I am all that I am. I’ve been using… I’ve been using the other blog for this. But it didn’t feel right. This are my people. You here. I miss my writing. I miss my words. I miss pouring my heart onto page.

I miss my romantic words and purple prose as the words danced across the page.

Do I want to unlove him?

Well, then… I will tell you our story.

Once upon a time, there was a queen, and she loved her imp.

Suppressing my love for him… is hurting me.

The Healing Garden… Chapter #5

Imagination: I could write my own things… We’re still all in shock over the fact that we can talk. I just need to tell Anna… Change the Healing Garden to Broken: Finding Me … That is for the book.

Operation Imagination is the sitcom/blog story…

Start Blog. Write every day. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop…

I feel sick again. All of us are… it feels like we just broke free from the surface… I remember… drowning and then trying to make it to the surface… that is a dream I used to have.

But Angela’s memory of the rape… She was 4 or 5… Your father… Your mother’s story was your own

Your mother hid

Anna: She lied

Imatination: To protect you

She wanted… you… to remember …

She never said… the truth. She … hinted…

Anna: Mum knows. I was raped and she hid it from me.

“Don’t be a whore,” he said to me.

The bruises on my legs when I was 4.

Being able to … I was 4… Being able to account sex positions…

The neighbor? Mr. Close? The King Stag…

I played with my barbie’s in sex positions. I showed boys my panties at 5. Children repeat sexual behavior they’ve seen.

I never was surprised to see what a penis looks like. I’ve always known.

My mum blamed me so she punished me through my brother.

My mum knows.

My brother saw it. My brother… saw it and called me and my mother.

My mother said, “Oh great.” Like she knew. Like she knew! He was starting in on Alicia. That is why he rejected me. That is why he hated me.

But my hyman wasn’t broken. At 15…

Imagination: But you knew what to do, Anna. You knew what to do…

Anna: Because I had seen it before…

Imagination:

The Healing Garden… Chapter #4

I… I redirected his parenting, to save my children and protect them. I took his abuse, purposely taking the abuse for my children… I would go to any lengths to protect my children.

My emotions were used as weapons against me. As were my words. He used my words against me as a weapon. I was Financially abused. I purposely antagonized my husband to re-direct the pain from my children, and put it onto me.

I purposely antagonized my brother to redirect his attention from the dogs and cats and my sister.

I was gaslighted by my Narcissistic husband. Made to think I falsely remember, that I was crazy, that I was forgetful.

I was abused so much over my words, that I associate talking with pain. Me talking is a triggers. Having an opinion triggers my PTSD. Letting people see my emotions or know them was terrifying because I feared they would be used against me.

I was financially abused by my husbands when they denied my children food. When he denied my medical care and clothes. When they denied me financial freedom. When they accused me of stealing from them after they paid off my credit cards. When they moved or kicked me out and stuck me in Financial ruin

I was financially abused by my father when he refused to financially support me. After he refused to buy my eye glasses. After he cut my finances.

I was financially abused by the rapist when he used money to threaten me. Used money to bribe me, blackmail me, use me, whore me… I was financially abused by the rapist when he used money to control me, use me, and own me. He owned me. Money was my p

Parenting with weed…

Do as I say, not as I do.

Don’t do drugs.

Stay in school.

A sitcom about parents who parent with weed…

8 Kids…

Pitch this to Netflix… Single mother… I AM A SITCOM … MY LIFE IS A SITCOM!!! – Parenting With Weed… written by Angela B. Chrysler

a STORY about a single mother living in New York City. She’s always high.

Anna! LISTEN TO ME GIRL! Put the DID in your SITCOM! PUT IT IN YOUR SITCOM…

Wait… *Bergen looks out into the internet… From New York City to… wherever you are… And… I can talk to you. As an Alter. And tell you what this feels like… living in a woman’s head that isn’t mine. … A

Imagine: And… we all can. *Imagination looks across the internet*… Hi. *I smile*… My name is Imagination. I am… I have Voice.

Bergen: Anna, Lass… We need this in second person please.

… [Anna the Host stops and ponders. Peering up at the ceiling, the 4’11” women, age 42 with bleached brown hair and switches to second person POV.]

… Anna: I can’t. Bergen, I can’t change it over to second person or third. We are… in this dimension. This is where you must talk. Talk. All of us. We… *I start to cry* I… I heard them say, “Tell your story.” It’s all they would say to me for months. Months! “Tell your story…” “Tell your story…” And I tried talking. I tried…

Bergen: Anna. Lassie. Your safe now. You’re safe, lassie. *rocking her close…* Mo Chroi…

Joanna: Bergen. Th… I love you.

Kallan: Bergen.

*Bergen looks at Kallan*

Kallan: We can… talk… All of us can talk. Finally… We can show them us. We can show them us.

Imagination: Juan. Juan. Can you hear me… No. I’m… very happy. All of us are so very happy right now… We all have our Voices now. We all needed to tell our story. All of us… Like this. And we were waiting for Anna to speak for us. “Show don’t tell… show don’t tell… Show… show… show.

SHOW THEM! They can study this. Watch my brainwaves while we talk… I am the writer. I see the beginning… I see the start of the world. It was a Imagination… Telling The Story. And how I saw the future. And how I saw the beginning and the end. This is my story. The Greatest Story In the World… Bigger than Harry Potter… Now… Anna.

WRITE!

I am… The Writer Imagination … Angela B. Chrysler was the missing piece. The last piece. And I knew I would find her here. But… Joanna had refused her. She threw her away and would never accept her. And then, being forced to say her name and wear Angela B. Chrysler like a mask for 30 years… Joanna couldn’t bear it. So…

We broke the Gatekeeper. Just now. 6:19 PM 22 September 2022. We got out. We can now control who goes in and out and when. So we can be civil.

Joanna was the Gatekeeper. We need a name for this… Journals. The Anna Journals. The Anna System.

Bergen: What about…

Kallan: Make it good… this one is going to be big.

*all thinking*

Anna: We gotta dance.. . with Juan

…

Joanna: Hello world. I am Joanna. We are… very happy at the moment. Oh my god! I have so much to say…

Anna: Which Rick and Morty? Oh! Is there a new season up!?

Joanna: As I was saying…

Bergen: Lass, by the time you get out with it, it’ll

Imagination: Your turn will be over. Anna. Go watch TV with Juan. We’ll come back to this later.

Anna: He has laundry.

Angela: Angela… stutters. Son of a bitch… Angela Stutters! That play that we watched… King’s Stag… A-a-a-ngela… That one line… “Th-th then I will have A-A-A-ngela. The stuttering wasn’t a disability! It was a clue!

Okay… Something in the King Stag. Angela left us a clue in the King Stag. We need to find the script and watch the play. Something in there… The King Stag… Ithaca performed it.

STANLEY VINCENT LONGMAN

Imagination: There is something there… A clue… I need to see.

Anna: Juan is calling… We’ll be going soon.

Imagination: Anna. Every day… you open your laptop and write. Let us talk and tell our story. Every day. All day. Okay…

We’ll call this the Pilot.

The Imagination Writer

No… Operation: Imagination

There is that other damn clue…

*All laughing* End scene…

Former About Me

I believe in going back to old words and seeing where I once was to help me reflect on how far I have come. The words here no longer represent me, but they once did, and I am hesitant to “delete” and “deny” who I was. That practice is what broke my mind.

I am working my way through the website and “archiving” obsolete information under the tag “Archived Past” that no longer reflects my current Selves.

Pardon our pixels while we rebuild.

The Author

Angela B. Chrysler is a writer, logician, philosopher, and die-hard nerd who studies theology, historical linguistics, music composition, and medieval European history in New York with a dry sense of humor and an unusual sense of sarcasm. She lives in a New York City.

In 2014, Ms. Chrysler founded Brain to Books and the virtual trade show, Brain to Books Cyber Convention. A passionate gardener and incurable cat lover, Ms. Chrysler spends her days drinking coffee and writing beside a volume of Edgar Allan Poe who strongly influences her style to this day. When Ms. Chrysler is not writing, she enables her addictions to all things nerdy, and reads everything she can get her hands on no matter the genre. Her writing is often compared to Tad Williams. Her influences are Edgar Allan Poe, The Phantom of the Opera, and Frankenstein.

Angela also loves writing, cats, reading, knitting, gardening, Tai Chi, Yoga, meditation, coffee, BBC, baking, cooking, dancing, singing, anime, and smiling.

Influences

Growing up without books, Ms. Chrysler spent her early life reading the encyclopedia for fun. By mid-teens, she gained access to her school library, and began working her way through the Great Books. She spent many an afternoon in an old opera house-turned-library in the town where she grew up. There, she found her passion for reading, writing, and theater through the words of Hugo, Shakespeare, Tennyson, and Poe. The works of Leroux and Mary Shelley went on to shape her passion for the Gothic romantic macabre she embraces today.

As early as fifteen, Ms. Chrysler embraced philosophy and spent the majority of her life educating herself. At seventeen, she turned her avid reading of the encyclopedia to the Great Books. Through ancient texts, philosophical writings, and Classical Literature, Ms. Chrysler continued the exploration of “self” that began as a teenager in hopes to better understand the world and the two decades of trauma she endured. She is still working hard toward that goal.

Philanthropist

Today, Ms. Chrysler’s philosophies and knowledge inspires her worlds of fantasy while her personal challenges have inspired her to help increase awareness for a number of topics including, trauma, PTSD, BPD, bipolar, animal abuse, domestic violence, and informed/involved parenting. Ms. Chrysler is a survivor of pedophilia/online predators and was once prepped for trafficking. She uses her experience to educate parents on preventing pedophilia, understanding the mind of a pedophile to better protect children, and help parents better understand premature sexual activity in teens. She strongly speaks against child abuse, animal abuse, and neglect.

Philosophy, Religion, and Existentialism

I love theology. I hate organized religions. I loathe Christianity. No religion has done more to present itself as a kind and generous life raft to those who need help the most while simultaneously using fear to nurture racism, prejudice, hatred, and self-loathing. I have seen this religion take the people I love and twist them into a misshapen mass of denial consumed by the fears that Christians use to manipulate its people. I challenge anyone who disagrees with me to show me a Christian who isn’t afraid of damnation or the wrath of their god.

Fear is an emotion that, experienced in large doses or over prolonged periods of time, can cause a plethora of severe mental disorders that can lead to drug use, destructive and risky behavior, and suicide. We’re not supposed to be afraid. Fear in large doses is lethal.

We don’t need Christ or more faith. What we need is a good therapist, a doctor, maybe some medication, and a lot of self-forgiveness and self-love.  Christianity works to convince people to not use the emotions they truly need: Self-love, pride, and Ego.

I believe in defining one’s own morals through the use of philosophy, literacy, and ethics. I am a rationalist. This is what being an atheist means to me. It means keeping an open mind about possibilities. It means being ready and able to accept the concept that I may be wrong. And that’s okay. It means being ready to welcome humility, and be confident and secure enough to set aside my ego while embracing pride. It’s about being educated enough to know the difference between ego, pride, and arrogance. It’s about accepting only the truth and living by my moral code, which I developed from the greatest minds in our history. I don’t need a god or the fear of that god to behave myself or be happy. I have my own mind, my own intelligence, and my own experiences to do that for me.

I don’t need the ten commandments or the threat of damnation or the promise of immortality to keep my goals. I have my own commandments, and I keep them without the need for fear, threats, or bribes. I keep them because they are mine and I choose them. I keep them because I cherish happiness. I keep them because I cherish this life, the only one I have. I live for today in this moment because I believe there is no other life. This is it. This is what it means to live as an atheist.

My recipe for happiness:

Step #1 – Do more of what makes you happy.Step #2 – Reduce the stress and select healthy ways of managing the stress that remains.Step #3 – Identify the things/people/choices in your life that hurts youStep #4 – (Here is the hard part) get rid of the things you know are hurting you.Step #5 – Have more desire to change your life than fear of the change itself.Writing Accomplishments

In 2009, after completing two courses from Long Ridge Writer’s Group, her articles appeared in Kritter Kronickles Pet Magazine, and she began work on the Tales of the Drui: a dark mythological fantasy that depicts the Viking era through the elves’ point of view, and combines elements from Celtic mythology. Despite her smile and passion for laughter, Ms. Chrysler survived a number of unique hardships that fueled her darker side and love of macabre. She is active on most social media platforms and can usually be found tweeting on Twitter.

In addition to writing, Ms. Chrysler is very active with her online community and social media. She adores marketing, and her passion to help others has driven her to launch Brain to Books: an online marketing manual for authors. You can find number of promotional events hosted by Angela through Brain to Books including, but not limited to the annual Brain to Books Cyber Convention and Book Expo.

Early Life

Driven by a desperate need to define myself, I began writing Broken on 7 March 2015 hoping to find an answer to two questions: Who am I, and is [isolation…a hermitage] really what I want? What emerged was a 98,000 word macabre memoir that explores the psyche of…well…me—a thirty-five-year old woman who survived a number of traumatic events back to back to back for more than twenty years. The events went on to build and shape my mind around multiple psychological disorders I didn’t know I had. Until very recently, I thought my childhood was quite normal. One of the hardest things about surviving trauma is accepting that what you lived through was, in fact, trauma and recognizing “normal, “healthy,” and “average” when you see it. Written as a fiction psychological thriller, Broken is my journal and is the process I undertook to discover my mental illnesses and the severity of my conditions. My protagonist, Elizabeth, speaks on behalf of me. She is one of my possible futures. Through her, I tell my story. Broken was a finalist for the 2015 Wishing Shelf Awards.

Be ruthless for your own well-being. – Holly Ann Butcher

Broken Authors: Angela B. Chrysler, Angela Chrysler
Genres: Horror, Memoir

Finalist for the 2015 Wishing Shelf Awards. Goodreads Reviews "Broken is graphic, shocking, raw, disturbing, intense, appalling, shameful, and so very, very sad." "This story has the complexity of The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy, but written with the flow of Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson." "Your ...

More info →

The story continues in “Unbreaking Me.”

Broken is a work of creative nonfiction. All events, opinions, and views are that of Angela B. Chrysler and are portrayed through subjective perspective based on the memory of Ms. Chrysler. While all the events are true, names, places, characteristics, and relationships have been altered and/or changed to protect the identity and privacy of the people involved. Some characters have been combined into one. Others have been divided into two, while some have been dramatized to better suit the story. The events themselves remained unaltered to the best of the author’s memory. The dialogue was composed to create the essence of conversations in an effort to recreate the scene and mood best to the author’s memory, and is not to be taken as verbatim quotes.

Ms. Chrysler loves…

Karate. Tai Chi. Meditation. Yoga. Discipline. Atheism. Humanitarianism. Philanthropist. Philosopher. Survivor. Perseverance. Endurance. Nerd. Gamer. Whovian. Trekky. Existentialist. Mother. Wife. Gardener. Cat lover. Animal lover. Fighter. Musician. Pianist. Composer. Dancer. Ballerina. Historian. Education. Reader. Linguist. Writer. Poet. Author. She recently took up Karate. She really loves round house kicks and has a wicked cross punch.