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Well… That was different…

My nightmares usually consist of post apocalyptic times always with a lot of running and fighting. Sometimes hostage situations of just myself, sometimes loved ones or a combination. Last night, I was surrounded by people who care about me. No matter what I said or did no one could hear me and though it felt all too normal yet, it was different and even more infuriating. All around me people I knew and some I didn’t dressed in dark clothes with red skin around their tired eyes and that was when I saw myself laying in an ugly wooden box. At least I saw my shell or vessel anyway. Dressed in something I would not want to wear for eternity if there was a here after. My best friend and sole god parent to my child walked in with my son in her arms, anger and sadness swarmed her face while he looked confused and seemed to be searching for me.

I listened to people say things such as, ” I didn’t know it was that bad.” “Why didn’t she ask for help?” “How could she do this to me?” With each sentence I grew more angry with their consistent oblivious selfishness until the last question where I only cried. “How could she leave her son?” Once again being overwhelmed by feelings I never could or did good enough for him.

I walked around attempting to poke people or trip them, annoyed I had to attend my own funeral and hear the same stories over and over again. Listening to how great I was or how selfish depending on the private conversation I was listening in on. I sat on my casket looking at my shell thinking, I hope I’m better at this than whoever this mortician was. Picking flower petals and throwing them in the box hoping to freak someone out, mostly out of boredom and on the ground where my son picked them up smiling and naturally chewed on them.

I woke up at the same time as I do every night no matter the context of the nightmares. The first feeling I had was disappointment. I was madly disappointed I had to not only be present in such a nightmare but recall it completely as anything would have been better. Fighting battles, chasing monsters, running from evil entity’s, surviving apocalyptic time and post. The second was a feeling of being filled with an ocean of sadness for my son in. Last, I was angry my brain would have me experience such a thing.

I went back to sleep quickly, no dreaming or nightmares. Shortly after awaking for the next days list of “to do’s” I needed to complete. Still unsure which was worse.

 

 

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Suffocating and Surviving

Maybe I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing but I am trying to figure it all out.  I lost a part of myself I was told I wasn’t allowed to be, leaving me hollow chasing a feeling I couldn’t imagine to be real. A life I never felt I deserved. I fantasized of a life more than this and far worse too. It wasn’t about an unwillingness to risk, more so it has always been the willingness to sacrifice my wants and needs for others to only find it was never enough. It always takes pieces of me and I’m not sure who it is that is left.
On no more than two to three hours of sleep a night for weeks now (or longer honestly) I find it difficult to raise to the standards some are used to. It’s much harder to pretend I am alright with little sleep, being awoken by horrific nightmares that continue to haunt me for days. My gypsy soul wants to wander, explore and feel alive but these things are selfish so I push them far from me.  So I work toward a better life for the one who needs me most regardless if that is the life that would make me happy. I’m not sure if my happiness has ever been a primary focus in my life though sometimes I’m sure it seems this way to others. I have been trapped in survival mode, enduring so much for such a very long time now. I’ve fooled so many into this strong version of myself unable to rely on anyone the way I truly need I’m not sure who I am anymore or if this is me. If a version of myself free exists some where or if that version is lost forever.
All I can think now at 1 am is, have I stayed up late enough to avoid these traumatizing nightmares? Will there every be a reprieve for me?

self portrait ©Andrea DiGiglio 2017

I soar out of bed grasping onto hope that what I endured was not real. It wasn’t but it feels so real my body and mind in fact believe it was and so I carry it with me always. The nightly nightmares I bare increasingly more traumatizing and horrific the worse my waking state seems to be. The more fighting or arguing, the more lack of support and help, my dreams feed on it and love to rub my nose in it. It’s strange to me how some people think because the words of support pour out of them without action that is sufficient. Claiming interest in the things you care most deeply about with little to no investment if it is not a shared interest with the expectation of a return on their own passions. Putting in ten percent while lying to themselves they are one hundred percent invested and expecting undivided attention and when its not given turning harsh and cruel. For someone with PTSD (and those without), it adds to the stress and when that person has spent more than half of their life enduring this suffocating existence trapped in survival mode continuously made promises however true at the time that cannot be and never are fulfilled it makes the enduring of this existence much more difficult to bare. This isn’t a blame game, regardless if my bipolar diagnosis is warping the chemicals in my brain to make me two different people shoved in this one broken shell, this shell everyone speaks so kindly about, that isn’t really me is it? With a constant fluctuation of moods and personality traits how am I to know who I am anyway? I was told the darkness within me was evil but it’s the only constant and safe part of my life. It takes a hold and comforts me when I need it most when I am at the point of quitting it all, washing away my tears and sometimes my pain if only for a short while. It never judges me and I wonder if denying it’s existence is the part of me missing that makes me feel whole. I am beyond damaged and more alone than I ever could have imagined trying to pretend I’m something I’m not for the sake to not cause discomfort to those I care most about. At some point they all claim I do not have to do that with them but if time proves anything at all, it proves the fallacy of what they can endure and the fact I can endure almost anything, but with great cost. 
How could I possibly trust or rely on another being when time and time again it is proven I must be the strong one? I am so very tired of asking for what I need only to be let down and challenged with the notion I should be grateful for what I have. Unwanted assistance in nearly an opposite fashion to what my mind is screaming for. I so wish that I was loved because those want to love me and not because they need to love me or need my love. I’m tired of being needed. In the beginning of all things I am wanted, chased and at some point I become some burden who is no longer giving them all the things they want. Eventually never enough all while draining the life within me while striving to be what they want me to be with no return.

Here’s the hardest part of all of this, I need help. So do many of you. I have a psychiatrist, therapist, trauma therapist, neurologist etc. Helping me fight for my right to not only endure or survive this life but perhaps live it. This isn’t the help I mean but clearly the help I do need will never come. I wish others would do the same, fight for themselves rather than live in a different sort of darkness they refuse to climb out of, playing the blame game attached to an idea that life or people owe them something when they don’t.  If only they took care of themselves rather than adding their baggage onto my back and wonder why I’m breaking and unable to help them, they may heal and maybe I could too. We are here to love, to live. “…All I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…” To live… what a beautiful fantasy like three moons shinning over a clear blue sea, and sand between my toes. I am suffocating and trapped and every step forward I fight through the chains and weight of a thousand worlds attached at my ankles and yanked yards backward. I need my own space, I need more time than most to myself by myself, uninterrupted and not to be treated that what I need and want is not valid because it hurts someones feelings or offends them because fuck that bullshit. Learn to love yourself, be alone with yourself, survive on your own as I have done. To many being alone is a curse or the worst punishment of all but to me as a survivor I can always rely on my self to endure, to survive to fight through every god damn thing thrown at me. It’s people who break me. With intention to do so, without intention to do so. Does that part even matter? Being alone is where I can find peace in a world so horrible and filled with chaos and selfishness. I haven’t been alone with myself in so many years, taken from me just as the control over the chemicals in my brain has taken my control over my emotional and mental state. Taught wanting such a thing is wrong and cruel to those who surround me, smothering the light inside of me wondering why I feel so vacant. I have a gypsy soul and that was snuffed out too. So we are left with this shell, the shell everyone seems to love and I despise. Somewhere in the darkness I am screaming and clawing my way out, if only I had help. If only it mattered more than…

 

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I’m Tired

I don’t remember the last time when I spoke the words “I’m tired,” and that was all I meant. Whether it was to someone or to myself. I’m tired has replaced I’m okay, I’m all right, I’m fine which often was retorted with, “Are you sure?” Sometimes followed with unsolicited advice which honestly was never much help in climbing out of that headspace. I’m just tired has replaced I’m exhausted. It’s replaced I’m sad, I’m depressed, I feel broken. It’s replaced I feel hopeless. I’m not sure at what point I am tired became so much more in those two words. It creeps in the darkness of the night stealing sleep or causing nothing but sleep. It has no shame on a warm sunny day and still keeps coming at you with clenched fists. Frankly, most times talking about how I feel traps me there and I want to escape it and I have therapists for that sort of thing anyway.

I suppose I may not just be tired and after so many years like this it feels as if this is who I am now. It’s not all days but it’s closer to that being true than not. Sometimes saying I’m tired, is to not burden those you care about with something you can’t help feeling. And after so much time has passed and those feelings are still there the compassion dissipates from the ones you need it from the most. It is not intentional to hurt but the truth is, sometimes it does.

Maybe I don’t have anything positive to say and I am a jaded, cynical pessimist. And life experiences and jacked chemicals in my brain created the monster I feel I am now. So no, I won’t complain about my day, the physical pain I’m in I try to ignore and fight through or for the mental warfare inside of my head just to be told to chin up or buck up or to play the one up game with people I’m not trying to compete with, especially a game where every one is the loser. To be asked how I am and for the response to my reply to feel like nothing more than a brush off, an obligation to ask but no substance behind it. And yes, I already know that someone else has it worse than me but I still have to live this life in this body, in this mind.

I miss truly enjoying things, things I used to or even new experiences or even something so simple as chasing after dreams. To be trapped in survival mode only because the chemistry in my brain is faulty. Some days, not all days, I go through the motions only to get to the next day and only to do it all over again like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day or Sammy in the “Mystery Spot” episode of Supernatural. But I haven’t given up yet and that should count for something shouldn’t it?

So yes, I’m tired.

 

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When nightmares feel all to real

Most of my nightmares consist of me running, forever it seems. Being chased or chasing someone or something. Thankfully in my dreams I have stamina and the endurance to keep running. I often wake up with my legs feeling sore at times. I also tend to get into these grand battles, always fighting. Winning some, losing others.

Last night this was not the case at all, there was no running or fighting. Just panic and blood. It felt so incredibly real it took several minutes this morning to come to terms with the fact it was not real at all.

 

*Warning: Not suitable for all ages*

THE NIGHTMARE
I did not feel well and I couldn’t really explain how but it was different than my everyday pain and mental & emotional struggles caused by the 8 x 11 page list of disorders I bare. My heart was racing, my stomach turning. I stared into the mirror in the bathroom attempting to rid the awful taste of something horrible about to happen, out of my mouth. I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash and as I spit five teeth coated in thick blood mixed with Listerine, fell from my mouth into the sink with a clank which seemed to echo. I covered my mouth with a shaky hand, attempting to bare my weight on the counter with the other. I coughed, choking on the blood and in reflex spit more blood into the sink. Followed by more teeth. My eyes widened. I gathered the pieces of myself I had just lost and I ran out into the house barely audible saying, “ER, watch him.” Referring to my six-year-old son. An argument or barter system would have played out if the blood had not been all over the outside of my mouth, leaking out into my hands as I spoke.

I drove myself to the ER as I always did in such situations. Salt stinging my eyes, begging a being I don’t believe in and even hate not to let this be it. My son needs me. My mind screamed, pulling into the ER, nearly colliding with a parked car parked over the line as people who drive SUV’s and other large vehicles always seem to do. I stumbled out of the car and into the emergency room doors nearly collapsing on the security guard. He caught me and partially carried me to the check in desk. I attempted to check in but when I spoke my words were colluded with blood and more teeth flew into my hands. I could only painfully stare into the woman’s eyes with trembling lips. Begging for help through my glossy eyes.

They took me back steadfast and most of the doctors in the ER came to see my strange condition. A specialist of sorts with sleek blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail, tugged at her white coat while examining me. Her demeanor was cold and she made no effort to ease my discomfort or mental turmoil. She walked away to speak with the attending claiming my “infection” of sorts was due to a drug I most likely injected. So much judgment leaked out of her skin. Injecting myself was something I had never done and as I attempted to explain no words fell from my lips, only red and white. Unfortunately the only way to treat this insatiable infection was to know the specific strain and I had taken no such injectable drugs. For a moment death would be imminent. I began to thrash unwilling to accept this carved out fate. They attempted to hold me down and as ordered searched my body for needle marks anyway. I tried to tell them but was unable to speak clearly and so while they searched my skin I wrote in my own blood on the white bed sheet, “no injections, only medical pot.” Something I use to treat my disorders.

At this point my family and friends had begun to start showing up at the ER demanding answers on my condition. It seemed to always take something extreme for a response of care by action and not only empty words. I am not sure who it was who was actually able to speak with the doctors and chose to race back to house I live in to find my “stash,” as the doctor called it. Maybe my lack of faith to believe someone would think to do so. By some wave of luck the medical team was able to test the contents to find one of the glass mason jars of marijuana was in fact laced with a deadly substance causing rapid decay in my body. They began inserting the treatment into my IV and I felt it burning inside of my skin. Now I needed major surgery to remove the infection in my mouth and replacing all of my now missing teeth. They claimed they were optimistic in which the infection hadn’t spread anything further. At this point, I was not.

Assuming the treatment was working, a elderly woman with a limp wheeled a computer on a cart slowly and a stack of paperwork since I could not speak, into my room as naturally I had to apply for a medical credit card to pay for the expenses before they would start anything as they already screened that my insurance would not cover the “cosmetic” tooth replacement.  I filled out the paperwork. Twice, because I kept dripping blood accidentally onto it.

I handed the paperwork to the woman, suddenly dropping on the edge of the bed clenching my stomach as a sharp pain followed by cramping erupted through me causing me to vomit. I puked up some strange large mass of sorts that I honestly thought was an organ I might need. Finally, the doctor decided to start the surgery regardless of the status of my potential medical credit line. She up’d the dose of the treatment as they rushed me down the hall.

It was a strange feeling watching them as I felt myself leaving myself in a way as they put some sort of mask on me to help knock me out while someone else injected me with something but from my point of view it just felt like the ice queen specialist was putting a pillow over my face to smother me and I wondered if that would be so bad? I choked trying to talk through that mess, trying to say my sons name. I tried to smack the bed to draw anyone’s attention to it but I’m sure it only looked as if I was tapping at what I had already written as they were wheeling me down the hall toward the OR. It read, “single mom, autistic son. All he has. Please.”

I woke up in the dream alive, in a panic after the surgery. Wanting to see my son, to hold him.

Immediately I shot out of my own bed, actually awake. Not sure if I was in reality or not. Not realizing for a while that I had been dreaming all of those horrible moments.

Unsure which was worse.

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Cinderella isn’t Dressed in Yellow, She’s Dressed in Black and She’s Depressed

© RussTurnerphotography
Cinderella isn’t dressed in yellow. She’s dressed in black. And she’s depressed, in pain, ill and exhausted but still getting the damn job done. She’s on mood stabilizers that don’t help nearly as much now that she quit smoking cigarettes. She doesn’t live with step relatives but blood and her dad isn’t dead but he’s not there. Her time doesn’t belong to her and if she attempts to steal any of it she is punished for being selfish. When she asks for help there’s always a price to be paid. Prince Charming brings her home (back to the house) at midnight when she can get a sitter. She sleeps a lot or not at all. She forgets to eat. She’s dying and she doesn’t even care anymore. All they think is, how selfish what about me?

© Andrea DiGiglio
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This is what depression looks like

This is what depression looks like:

© Andrea DiGiglio
© Drea DiGiglio
This is what depression feels like (to me anyway.)
It’s more than the really bad days of not being able to get out of bed. The idea of getting out of bed is exhausting. Not showering for days on end and not giving a rat’s ass about it. Not eating for days or perhaps the opposite and shoveling food mindlessly and probably guilt tripping yourself for it every step of the way. Its not just the days where you cannot muster the strength to get out of bed. It’s the days where you feel like that but you do get out of bed, too.
If you have kids, you still have to get them ready for school and take them to their appointments. Sure, maybe your in sweats instead of actual clothes but who cares. You clearly don’t. If you work, you work. You don’t socialize, you don’t count the minutes. You just work and you’re not entirely sure if you’re grateful it’s over because you hate working but now what the fuck are you going do with your time? Every activity takes effort. Every activity. The world looks as if it is tinted in a lower temperature color. Food doesn’t taste as good. You drink, whether it’s to be numb or shut the noise in your head up or just to feel, settled. Or perhaps some other alternative to cope.
Your body and you argue. You’re sore for no reason or just tired all of the time. Or both.
At first you say how you feel. Then you feel like a burden. Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t. You take care of everyone except yourself because all you are trying to do at this point is survive. This is usually the point when people bring up the things you do (or don’t do) because you’re depressed, because you seem to always be depressed and yes you’re already aware of them. When people bring them up a feeling erupts, a cross between; feeling guilty and angry. Guilty for your behavior or lack there of and that they noticed and want you to know they noticed. Anger because you now feel as if your feelings are no longer valid and only their feelings are and why not just do it instead of making me feel bad about it because obviously on this day I am struggling?
People who love you try to understand and maybe they really do. But let’s be honest it’s annoying when a family member isn’t contributing or is grumpy, sad or angry all of the time.
So you stop saying how you feel. It’s too hard to continuously repeat yourself and it’s not going away, it just keeps coming back. So you smile. You laugh. You try to, fake it till you make it.
Then people like us see these smiling photos stream across social media. Smiling, happy. All the while suffering. Enduring. Fighting. They don’t know they aren’t alone.

So, apparently. This is what depression looks like. We put makeup on so we can feel normal, look normal and maybe to fake it. Maybe it’s so the people in our lives will stop asking if we are okay because no, we are not okay. Maybe we don’t wan’t the shame and guilt of feeling how we feel. Maybe we are just too damn depressed to have another conversation about it. Today I am not okay and that is okay. Just maybe, tomorrow I will be and that smile might be real. If it’s not? I suppose you might not really be able to tell because we live in a world where those who carry the burden of a mental illness feel like a burden. It’s not just the words people say it’s their actions time and time again. Actions which do not say, “I understand you are suffering.” Rather say, “When will this end this time so the ‘real you’ will be back” (For them.) The longer someones struggle is with their disorder, the longer they suffer. The less patient I find people to be. It’s a sad world I find us to be in. Where those who always have the kindest of hearts are often the most broken.

Much love to you all, be kind to one another. Keep fighting through the darkness and know you are worth fighting for, your life is worth fighting for. The good days are worth it. Don’t give up.

XO
-Andrea

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From my personal journal during a bipolar episode

I’m sharing this again because for me, it’s important to share my struggles. In hopes that other’s will see there is still reason for hope. I still have bad days. Hard days. Now, my good days are filled with so much love and joy and kindness, it truly makes these bad days easier to survive. I’m still that girl and I always will be. That’s the nature of my disorder, but I am so much more than that and now I can see that.

Here is an entry from my private journal. Honestly it’s on the lighter side, not sure what that says about my inner struggles.

October 2013:

I feel as if I’m floating through a sea of shadows. My mind is as tired as my body. I try to find the lighter side of things but the irritation of doing so is nauseating. I dream sometimes of a little house with an ocean view on a private beach where my mind can finally relax and I can enjoy my time here in this world. I dream of a body I feel comfortable in with no self loathing. Sadly, all of these things aren’t real and they leave me longing until I break down from the loss of something I never even had. As I cycle through waves of yet another bipolar episode I reach acceptance if only for a short period of time. Acceptance for who I am, baggage and all. For who I’m not and never will be. Allowing myself to dream even if it will never come to pass. I float between angry, depressed and a calmness I refer as the calm before the next storm. I wonder if I have the right to want more for myself. I try to be thankful for those moments of eerie calmness and quiet contemplation. It’s always so difficult to do so as I know if I wait a few hours, a day, days even I’ll be back to singing the blues and crying myself to sleep. My wonderland is a wasteland for broken souls. Once again the calmness before the storm settles on my skin like an itch I just can’t scratch. I will always continue to fight this nearing episode with what little strength I have. The air is crisp and inviting me to soak up the sun. As if the darkness wasn’t calling out to me. It’s moments like this I crave to be alone, yet a piece of me reaches out to those I love for comfort, for acceptance. The things I love to do hold less meaning in times like this. A hollowness erupts inside of me, taunting my rage and sadness. There’s no real rhyme or reason to feel this way. I know my life is far from horrible. Like a warm blanket the darkness comforts me as it usually does, inviting me to let go and cry about everything and nothing at all. The sad truth for me is, this battle is everlasting. Light may win today but as a new day dawns the fight starts over. I sit in shambles of a former version of myself. Oddly with hope that it will all be over soon and I will yet again bask in the light and enjoy a fragment of this life. How have I become such a jaded and cynical creature? I sigh deeply and prepare for another drop into sadness and utter grief. As if each time a piece of me dies I must mourn the loss. With shock plastered across me I can admit I am far better now with these modern poisons than many moons ago when I laid adrift in my depressing solitude. I accept this fate as much as I fight it. Always hiding this enormous side of myself from everyone. Knowing they couldn’t take it, knowing I couldn’t take that look upon their face or their response as heartfelt as they meant it to be. It feels as if I am living two lives all of the time. Except once in a while, like a full moon, where both sides of me collide and the true version of what I’ve become comes into full view. I don’t always hate her, the girl looking back at me. Though her voice is like poison in my mind. I would never wish this inner struggle on a single soul, it is far to cruel. Yet the calmness washes over me carrying a wicked grin. Even it sees what comes next. It feels pleasure with a nearing episode and yet it feels sorry for me too. I stare into the dark night’s sky wishing this episode would pass me by for once. So hopeful in my suffering. Now that is blind faith. Ridiculous as any other. I am but a shadow dancing through my life. And to be whole is but a dream.

Andrea
XO

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You are not alone. I am not alone.

The truth. Something we all seek yet sometimes it’s more than we can bare. Here’s my truth, or I should say, truths. I am 31 years old. I’m a single mother of an amazing little boy. I have a strong support system so that I can go out into the world and do the things I love to do. Wether it be; writing novels, acting, cooking or whatever else my fingers outstretch to grab onto. When I was a teenager my dentist told me he suspected I had TMJ. Around the same time my doctor told me my gallbladder was bad, but if I ate healthy and stayed away from fatty foods I would be able to manage it well without surgery. My “female zone” doctor aka the gyno, told me she believed I had endometriosis. All the while I found myself in a dark place in my mind wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I went on for many years before my most difficult diagnosis was reached. Bipolar type 1. Here I am staring at those words on my screen and for the first time in God knows how long, it doesn’t make me angry. Over the years many more diagnoses appeared. Bipolar disorder type 1-rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, psoriasis, eczema, ADHD, severe acid reflux, abnormal mens. cycle, PCOS, IBS and hypothyroidism. (I honestly could have missed something here.) I was also told I could never have children. You can imagine my surprise when an ER doctor told me I was pregnant. Every single thing a doctor has told me I have, comes with its own list of symptoms. Every medication I take to rectify these things comes with their own side effects. Such as my mood stabilizer (lithium) caused my hypothyroidism and it is a permanent condition. I once had a doctor tell me if she didn’t see my age on the chart she would have assumed I was 40-50 years old. I was in my mid 20’s at the time. That was not a good sign. After searching high and low and trying things that didn’t work, with help I’ve found supplements that help with a huge amount of my issues and I am grateful I found them.

Why am I talking about all of the things “wrong” with me? Truth. My truth. The truth that no matter how many disorders they slap on my chart, they do not define me. They do not own me. I can only take care of myself the best I can and hope for a little compassion on days it’s hard to get out of bed. Having these issues has in part shaped me into who I am. I know from my mental disorders aka invisible illnesses, that you never know what someone else is going through. It’s possible that day at the grocery store where a stranger was rude in passing, it was just their “hard day” and who am I to judge? As if I haven’t experienced such a day. Sadly, for a very long time those were all of my days for weeks at a time. On the other side of that I do get very frustrated with the human race. Why is it I have all these things pulling me down and I can still offer a smile in passing, or a hello? Just be kind. You don’t have to agree with another’s POV and sometimes they are wrong but you can still treat them with respect.

Depression with or without the bipolar component is no joke. Seriously. It sucks. It drags you down by your ankle’s and holds you under water. You may feel like you’re drowning but it just won’t seem to end and you want it to desperately. I will tell you from experience, “Why can’t you just be happy” is the biggest asshole move you can make when talking to someone who suffers from it. We do suffer. That’s why all the books I write are very dark. To me, it has its own identity living inside of me. I call it the darkness. Similar to Dexter’s dark passenger I suppose, except I’m not a murderer! I don’t know if labeling it is healthy or not I just know it works for me. I know as quickly as it arrived and as short or long as it stays it will eventually go away. Truth. people who suffer from bipolar disorder will relapse. Period. With proper treatment (medication and therapy usually) it can become less often and not as severe. I’m proud to say that after 4 years of treatment that is true. I also know a lot of my creative talents are strongly linked to me being bipolar, so I suppose I wouldn’t want it gone completely. Getting used to it being less frequent was actually difficult. I know what you’re thinking, why on earth would she want to be depressed? That is not what I’m saying. Since I don’t have any other option, I’m glad I can use it for good. To help like-minded people. To use it and what I’ve gone through having it, in my work and be able to share how strongly I feel emotion. Rage, sadness, love. Everything is intensified during a swing in the cycle. Those who suffer from bipolar disorder know the one plus side to it is mania (at least for us.) It’s dangerous and can cause major issues but it’s almost like a high and once you’ve tasted it it’s hard to let it go. I could go on for days about being bipolar but I won’t. If you want an insider view, I did write a book of quotes that I published in May 2015 called, Ramblings From an Unusual Mind. All of the interior images were taken by me and all of the quotes are original by me from my personal journal I write in when I’m suffering from depression. It’s raw and honest and I decided to share it for two reasons. One, so that other’s like me may find comfort that they are not alone. Two, so that those who know someone who suffers from depression can see from an inside perspective what that truly feels like. There no longer is a reason for me to feel ashamed about how I feel. Especially when it is caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain.

When my son was only 1 month old he had to have emergency surgery for pyloric stenosis. I was a new mom, single and at the time not in therapy or medicated. It was brutal. He had surgery on Thanksgiving Day. To any parent having to watch your child go through something like that and feeling helpless is absolute torture. When my son was diagnosed with autism between 1 or 2 years old, my world came down hard. I was not taking very good care of myself, being I was 100% focused on my son and my well being was the last thing on my mind. I don’t regret that now but I am glad I’ve found balance to take care of both of us. I wouldn’t say I was shocked when they told me but I was definitely in denial for a little while. I now find it to be a blessing. He is the happiest kid I have ever seen and as we learn new ways to communicate the more excited and happy we both become. Truth. My bipolar swings were ruthless during that first year after his diagnosis. I finally broke down to the point that I said I needed help. How was I strong enough to do that for myself after living with it all of these years? There’s only one answer, my son. I wanted to be a stable force in his life. Not the bat shit crazy mom everyone wondered why she was aloud to have a kid in the first place. Any parents to a child knows it’s not all rainbows and butterfly’s when raising a kid. Parent’s of autistic children know that a meltdown from their child is like a major war being waged as opposed to a battle. There are days my darkness comes back and I fight it as long as I can while it tries to consume me. Reminding myself that I can get through this for myself and for my son. My loved ones stay strong for me which is a huge reason I am doing so well. Having a strong support system of family or friends or a combination of the both is vital in my opinion. Then there are those moments where I think I can’t pull myself out and then my son laughs this belly laugh and then I’m laughing and sometimes that’s all it takes to pull me up out of that damn water. I had no idea when I was pregnant that my son would be the one to save me.

I guess my point to this entire thing is this, just because it feels like a curse it doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of silver lining or gift from it. Anyone could look at me at the corner coffee shop I like to write at and never know I have suffered, I do suffer, from a long list of things. Just because you can’t see it or feel it does not mean it isn’t there hiding under the skin. Treat each other kindly. Treat each other in a way that makes you proud of yourself. Actually, treat other kindly because your own child is watching you. You show them what is right and wrong and what you can get away with when no one is looking. Let’s raise our kids the right way. Take care of yourself, you deserve it. Also, you’d be amazed at how much a friendly hello, a smile, or a honest compliment to a stranger can change their attitude for the entire rest of the day. Hell, it does for me.

Remember, Simba… just kidding. Remember, you are not alone. I am not alone. Say it with me.

-Andrea

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Ramblings from an Unusual Mind

Ramblings from an Unusual Mind,
Is my new book, it releases for kindle on May 7th, 2015. It is now available for pre-order. Can’t wait that long? The paperback is currently available via amazon.com and if you can swing, I recommend the paperback as the images in color are much more pleasing to the eye. The price is higher than I would have preferred for print but the cost of printing the images in color ended up a lot higher than original quoted. The images and all of the quotes and poetry in the interior of the book are all original works by me. The cover was done by Russ Turner Photography. He is amazing and has done all of my covers from the Alice Clark Series, including this one and I am beyond grateful!

What you can expect:
All of the quotes and poetry are from my personal journal I only write in during a depressive episode caused by my bipolar disorder. They are dark and above all honest to what it feels like for me during these trying times of my life. The images I took myself and paired them with what I felt was the appropriate piece. I chose to do this project for many reasons. Having any of my work out their to be loved or criticized, is scary but I wanted those out there who feel as I do to know they are not alone. For those who don’t feel as I do, I hope they may find some insight as to what it is people like me go through. Everything can be going great in my life and these episodes will still happen. So, to those who are like me, always keep fighting. As Jared Padalecki (Sam Winchester) says. And FYI, he is running a great campaign for awareness and support
 for those who suffer from depression, etc. https://represent.com/jaredjensen is the current campaign.

So a big thank you for taking the time to check out my blog and any of my work. Live. Love. Read.
XO

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Endure. Survive. Endure.

I looked at the ground, my heart broke. It took a deep breath in and tried to retain all the pieces it seemed to be in now. It didn’t. It couldn’t but be damned it still tried. Sometimes in life you are sitting still as the world rushes by you. Others, you don’t have enough time for all the things you need and want to do. Sometimes you are in motion at a steady speed until something hits you like a boulder knocking your ass back to the start line. Similarly, I had been struck with a still force across my entire being. I mourn the loss of something dear to me and feel as though I always have and will again. So many times I have roared back to life and tried again and again to reach a goal I fear I will never achieve. In this, my illness wreck’s havoc on me as it is the only constant in my life. It is cruel and meticulous. The noise in my skull is chaotic most of the time, especially this moon phase. You fear the darkness but its deep within me and all around me and feels like, home.  Many don’t get it and I didn’t expect you too. Yet, I was hopeful. Something that has never, not one time, ever paid off. Time and time again, the girl who thought Westley and Buttercup’s story was what true love really was or could be, reminds who I am today of the possibility, it could. So incredibly cruel. Another cycle burns through the night and I play a game within myself of Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. No matter who wins, this sliver of my heart in my hand cuts me, deeply. A reminder of what happened here as to never forget, as if I could. Another toke, another drink, another pill. Numb. Wanting numbness to take hold, to give ample time to heal before I feel. My will laid at the waste side, unable to help me now. Endure. Survive. Endure. Repeat. As I reach up and feel my wet cheeks I know what I feared all along was true. My soul is in love with the idea of true love and I am far too jaded to play along anymore. As I am now as alone as some days I feel, I have the ability to do as one does when this sort of thing happens. For now I will recoil to the darkness that stalks me as it is always the same, always safe no matter how bad it is for me. Never lost I glide through the darkness until I catch the corner of a dresser. I open the top drawer and slide the shard into it, gently. I close the door and let the darkness absorb me until I am no longer present in this moment.  Silence. Endure. Survive. Repeat.

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A dream: Conversation with a small group of youthful ears. “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.”

I was standing in front of a small group of youthful ears answering questions about how and why I chose to write. I said, “I didn’t choose to write, it’s something I just have to do.” The teacher smiled and asked if there were any techniques I could share with her students or words of wisdom and I looked around at the room and said this,

“I want you all to think about the worst day you have ever had. Some might say, you’re worst day…” I pointed at a student, “Was worse than say yours.” I pointed at another student. “This though technically on someone’s scale may be true, it is not. No one has the right to tell you your worst day or any moment is not worth as much as or worth more than someone else’s. When you write a sad scene in story you don’t write careless emotionless words on a page and hope it hits. You pour your soul out and pluck your sorrow and bleed on the pages you create. That moment is directly tied to your worse day. What you felt that day twists and turns and erupts in the sad moment you create. Experiences in life impact your work as they often do to your own lives. Let’s say the main character is a young man or a young lady and her best friend or his mother has died and the funeral has just begun. You’re not going to say, oh mom died, damn. Perhaps he is being strong for his sister and father, trying with all his might to hold them up. Begging himself not to cry as he watches the box that holds his mother’s shell lowering into the ground. His palms sweat and he tries to force a smile as people in her life pay their respects, numbing him to the core with each empty hug. He waits behind after everyone has left while he curses at the sun to himself, that the world has no right to look happy and joyous when he felt as if something was ripping out his insides. Long after the dirt and sod had been thrown onto the casket he stood, silently. All day he stood there, late into the nightfall. Staring in such disbelief that this all was real. A middle-aged man with scraggily gray hair approached him. The man said, “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.” The young man felt his throat closing up on him, threatening of a possible breakdown. He sighed shakily before leaving on unsteady limbs to his car. He climbed in and as the door slammed shut, he faltered. His eyes rained despite his protest and as he let the loss consume him rage began to boil in his blood. Soon guilt of all the things he never had the chance to say or do attacked him relentlessly. His mind was at war with his heart and soul and he was weak from the battle. If you listened quietly, you could actually hear the sound of his heart breaking into tiny pieces, slipping through his hands. A bang on the glass jogged him back to his numb state he had prior to this, grown accustomed to.”

Each student connected with a different aspect of the short story and had a million questions. I smiled as one asked, “Who was at the window?”

“Well,” I said, “Whoever you want it to be. It could be his father or sister or perhaps a high school sweet heart or new love interest. Someone who may break his heart far worse or may heal it. Each of us would write the next scene completely different and none of them would be wrong. When you tell a story a piece of you, however small, leaks into your book and that is not a bad thing. Your reader wants to feel something and to be taken on a journey. The point here is this, every moment in your life matters. As does every moment in a book. What you have felt, enjoyed, suffered through, its shapes you as a writer and as a human being. Live your life and don’t be afraid to allow your past experiences to linger in your work. The story you have to tell matters and your life is an asset to storytelling. And your life experiences are a part of what makes your own writing style unique. Good luck, keep writing.”

A

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Cover reveal of Keren Hughes debut novel, Stolen


I’m super excited to be apart of the cover real of Keren Hughes’s book Stolen. She is an amazing woman who I met when I was searching for someone to review my first book Finding Alice. She is a breath of fresh air and I know from speaking to her on many occasions that her book will be outstanding and breathtaking. Yes I do have that much faith as I was able to read a small fraction of the book while she was still writing it! So check out the beautiful cover that I know will make you want to read it as much as I do!

— 

Keren Hughes

Author of Stolen, book one in the Freedom of Souls series.
Owner of ‘Gothic Angel Book Reviews’ book blog.

— 

Keren Hughes

Author of Stolen, book one in the Freedom of Souls series.
Owner of ‘Gothic Angel Book Reviews’ book blog.
There it is folks! Make sure to check out her links and tell her I sent you! 
XO
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Personal journal entry

Here is an entry from my private journal. Honestly it’s on the lighter side, not sure what that says about my inner struggles.

October 2013:

I feel as if I’m floating through a sea of shadows. My mind is as tired as my body. I try to find the lighter side of things but the irritation of doing so is nauseating. I dream sometimes of a little house with an ocean view on a private beach where my mind can finally relax and I can enjoy my time here in this world. I dream of a body I feel comfortable in with no self loathing. Sadly, all of these things aren’t real and they leave me longing until I break down from the loss of something I never even had. As I cycle through waves of yet another bipolar episode I reach acceptance if only for a short period of time. Acceptance for who I am, baggage and all. For who I’m not and never will be. Allowing myself to dream even if it will never come to pass. I float between angry, depressed and a calmness I refer as the calm before the next storm. I wonder if I have the right to want more for myself. I try to be thankful for those moments of eerie calmness and quiet contemplation. It’s always so difficult to do so as I know if I wait a few hours, a day, days even I’ll be back to singing the blues and crying myself to sleep. My wonderland is a wasteland for broken souls. Once again the calmness before the storm settles on my skin like an itch I just can’t scratch. I will always continue to fight this nearing episode with what little strength I have. The air is crisp and inviting me to soak up the sun. As if the darkness wasn’t calling out to me. It’s moments like this I crave to be alone, yet a piece of me reaches out to those I love for comfort, for acceptance. The things I love to do hold less meaning in times like this. A hollowness erupts inside of me, taunting my rage and sadness. There’s no real rhyme or reason to feel this way. I know my life is far from horrible. Like a warm blanket the darkness comforts me as it usually does, inviting me to let go and cry about everything and nothing at all. The sad truth for me is, this battle is everlasting. Light may win today but as a new day dawns the fight starts over. I sit in shambles of a former version of myself. Oddly with hope that it will all be over soon and I will yet again bask in the light and enjoy a fragment of this life. How have I become such a jaded and cynical creature? I sigh deeply and prepare for another drop into sadness and utter grief. As if each time a piece of me dies I must mourn the loss. With shock plastered across me I can admit I am far better now with these modern poisons than many moons ago when I laid adrift in my depressing solitude. I accept this fate as much as I fight it. Always hiding this enormous side of myself from everyone. Knowing they couldn’t take it, knowing I couldn’t take that look upon their face or their response as heartfelt as they meant it to be. It feels as if I am living two lives all of the time. Except once in a while, like a full moon, where both sides of me collide and the true version of what I’ve become comes into full view. I don’t always hate her, the girl looking back at me. Though her voice is like poison in my mind. I would never wish this inner struggle on a single soul, it is far to cruel. Yet the calmness washes over me carrying a wicked grin. Even it sees what comes next. It feels pleasure with a nearing episode and yet it feels sorry for me too. I stare into the dark night’s sky wishing this episode would pass me by for once. So hopeful in my suffering. Now that is blind faith. Ridiculous as any other. I am but a shadow dancing through my life. And to be whole is but a dream.

Andrea
XO

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Stolen by Keren Kiesslinger

Keren is such a doll and I adore her, I cannot wait to read her debut novel Stolen! I am so proud!  
Roshanna O’Dare had the perfect life. Everything was as it should be until the day she wakes to finds her parents murdered in their own home.
Roshanna doesn’t have any other family in Cypress Hill so she has to leave her best friend Marissa behind to move in with her last living relative, Uncle Joe, who lives in Texas, Austin. It’s where she meets Bodhi, her uncle’s chauffeur and a kind loving man who understands her and helps her through her parents deaths.
Before moving away, Roshanna is confronted with a shocking secret that Marissa has kept from her—a secret that changes how Shanna sees life and the people in it. A secret about Roshanna’s parent that makes her take a journey to free them from the fate they’re in.
Will she succeed? And will she find love along the way?




My gift to you all an excerpt! Enjoy!


Excerpt 1
“Bodhi, what we have is special to me. We have a sort of connection that for the life of me I cannot explain. I’ve told you before how your touch feels like a sort of gravity. As for your kisses, they give me butterflies in my tummy like you wouldn’t believe. When we’re alone together, I don’t think about anything except for us. I… care about you.” I faltered those last 3 words. It had come to feel like more than just caring about him, but I wasn’t willing to admit that yet.
“Wow. You really do care about me? I had hoped you did and what we had wasn’t just a bit of fun while you were figuring out where your head was at. I feel the same, you know?! When you kiss me, it sends shivers down my spine and when you touch me, it’s electric. I feel alive. Not just living but truly alive.” he confessed.
I looked at him and saw the smile on his face as he spoke. We had time to figure out exactly what we had, but for now, I knew he cared for me as much as I cared for him. That thought made me smile inside and out.
We got home and as we stepped out of the car, Bodhi took my hand and led me to the pergoda where we lay on the floor with the blanket underneath us. We lay encircled in each other’s arms and Bodhi kept trailing light kisses from my lips, to my jaw, to my arm.
As he came back up to my lips, I kissed him with such fervour. He drew me closer to him and the kiss deepened into something I had never felt before.
I couldn’t admit it to Bodhi but if I was falling in love with him, if this was what love felt like, I was happy to be feeling something so special for such a great guy. Not only was he hot as all Hell to look at, he was an amazing person underneath the surface too. If this really was love, then so be it.  



Author Bio
Keren lives in the UK and is an avid bookworm; she has been since she read things like Black Beauty, What Katy Did and The Hobbit as a child. Her first real memories of reading are the summers she used to lie on her bed and re-read What Katy Did and What Katy Did Next.
Over the years she has come to realise that she is a bit OCD about books. They have to be in perfect condition without the slightest bit of damage.
She is a book reviewer and has been for the past 18 months or so.
The idea for Stolen came to her one day but she never thought she’d actually write it let alone publish it. If it wasn’t for her author friend Kira Saito, the idea would still be stuck in her head not on paper. But constant love and support from Kira is why you are now able to read Stolen.
Stolen is her first novel but now that she’s written one, she knows she needs to write more. There will be one sequel, called Freed which will be from Bodhi’s POV. This will be set a couple of years on.
Then, the plan is for her to write either NA or Adult Contemporary Romances. She has a big crush on Lady Antebellum’s music at the moment and their songs have inspired a few book ideas.
Keren loves hearing from her readers and if you want to contact her, you can do so at any of the following places:
Twitter: @Gothic_Angel28


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Release Alice’s Sacrifice, #2 Alice Clark Series

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born and raised in Michigan, Andrea has always been a writer at heart. Over the last decade she has written, starred and directed in many screenplays. A few years ago she decided to venture back into writing novels. “I haven’t looked back since,” giving her work her full attention. “I am very excited to share the worlds I create, with all of you dreamers.”
Book Title – Alice’s Sacrifice
Genre – Urban Fantasy
Formats – Ebook and Print
Publisher – CreateSpace
Release Date – March 29th, 2013
Book Trailer for book 2, Alice’s Sacrifice http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uQuVGXyEXJs
Trailer Link – for book 1, finding alice  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1x_DvGx4CA&feature=youtu.be)
After the fight of a lifetime, Alice and Cole return home to live a life they were never meant to live. Fallen Angel fathers choose to stay, protect and get to know their nephilim children. Now that everyone knows where to find Alice, the real question is who is that information pertinent to? One single traumatic event sets Alice’s true destiny into motion. How each of those she cares for reacts to this event; has enormous consequences for her.
What will Alice have to sacrifice and for whom?
Excerpts:
EXCERPT # 1 ALICE’S SACRIFICE
The breeze caressed Alice’s face from the open window as they flew through the winding roads that led them back to their home. She felt Cole’s hand clutch hers, loosening only to brush his fingers gently along her arm. They had won this unfathomable fight against God’s Angels for now, but for how long, only time would tell. She felt him lift her hand to his mouth, giving it a tender kiss before returning it to her lap.
“How is your back?” Cole asked.
“Sore. I knew it would be painful, but this is more than I could ever have imagined.” She flinched slightly from the memory of her new-found wings collapsing into her back. “I’m sure it’s worse than child birth.”
He chuckled, “Well, that is something I will never be able to know.” His laugh faded as they made eye contact.
Alice twisted uncomfortably, having never really considered having children herself. She sat torturing herself, conflicted between comparing whether she even wanted to have kids and how much worse she’d feel if he did.
“I think that is something we can talk about down the road. We’ve had quite a night,” he said.
He was right. The last few months had changed her life in every way possible. She now knew what real love was every time she looked into his beautiful amber eyes as they reached deep into her soul. She had finally known the truth of why such bizarre things had happened to her in her life when she met her biological Fallen Angel father, Penemue, or Paul, as she liked to call him. It was then she was brought face to face with her destiny. The topic of children was not something she was even remotely up for talking about, though a part of her couldn’t help imagining what their children would be like. She leaned over to rest her head on Cole’s shoulder. As she did, he lifted his arm, holding her tightly to his chest. We really did make it, she thought. He kissed the top of her head, Yes we did,he said. She would never tire of hearing his voice in her head or knowing he could hear her voice in his.
After arriving home she looked back at the flood of cars that trailed behind them, letting a smile crawl up her face. Everyone was camped outside around a victorious campfire except Cole and Alice, who had excused themselves and ventured back to their home to shower and relax. The overwhelming emotions that had run through her were gone and all that was left was adrenaline and passion. Cole barely shut the door behind them when she jumped into his arms and pressed her lips to his, slamming his back into the door. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, returning her kiss with the same raw passion. She needed this, and she knew he did too.
EXCERPT #2 FINDING ALICE
“This should be easier,” Alice said glaring.
“It will be, at least between the two of you. Try again.” Sariel directed.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Alice aimed her thoughts at Cole alone. Cole, of course, laughed so loud it echoed.
“Coffee, really, Alice?” Sariel asked. “Maybe you should try something more – intimate. It might give you the motivation to keep it between the two of you.”
“You might regret that Sariel,” Cole said.
I hate this. Okay, I want you to… Sariel flinched in preparation for something he did not want to hear. She paused, took a deep breath, and the world ceased for a moment as she focused in on Cole’s heartbeat. She exhaled and tried again. I want you to kiss me and carry me to our room and make love to me. She watched the look on Cole’s face change from amusement to hunger. Sariel cringed slightly. “Damn it, it didn’t work.” She rubbed her temples in frustration.
“Alice, it did in fact work. I did not hear what you said, and I can assume by the lust in Cole’s eyes that you took my advice.” He laughed at Cole’s awkwardness. “Cole, dare I test you?”
I’m going to kiss every inch of your body until you can no longer stand. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She watched him grin triumphantly when he saw from the corner of his eyes that Sariel had not heard him. He stared deeply into her eyes. She almost blushed from the intensity of the entire thing; he had never spoken to her like that.
“Alright you two, keep practicing. I think we are done for now,” Sariel said.
Without another word, Cole lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the house. She laughed and fought to get down, Cole! He joined her laughter and set her down. Arm in arm they entered the house and ran up the stairs into their bedroom.
Barely through the door, Cole pounced on her, and they nearly missed landing on the bed. A normal girl might be frightened by his aggressiveness, but she was far from normal, and she was enjoying every second of it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them until his back hit the floor with a thud and she was straddling him. She was enjoying her strength, and so was he. She pulled away from him to remove her shirt. He reached up and pulled her ferociously back into him. Hunger for him was taking over all of her senses and she let it, willingly.

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Cover reveal for Firewall by C. G. Powell

Cover reveal for Firewall by C. G. Powell

That’s right folks I am privileged enough to bring you the beautiful cover of Firewall by C.G. Powell. Isn’t it stunning!?

Here’s a wonderful excerpt for you to enjoy:
Firewall (book 2 No Uncertain Logic Series) by C.G. Powell
“I hate to cut things short, but the sooner we get down to business the better.  I’ve made arrangements for a transport to take us to the Atlantis which is sitting in the Meranna Sea.”
Before Sarik could finish, Jael interrupted, “When did you move the ship?”
“Shortly after you left for Ibis Prime.  Orion felt he needed to keep an eye on me once Aphrodite arrived, so he sent a team to assist the move closer to the capital city.”  He looked to Neria and Aphrodite.  “Ladies, if you will follow me.  I will take you to the transport.”
They walked to a smaller docking area where a transporter ship was awaiting them.  Neria’s bags were already on board, as was Captain Ross.
Sarik raised one brow.  “How did you get here so quick?”
Captain Ross cleared his throat and rolled his eyes towards the cockpit where Tal sat.
“I thought you didn’t trust mist traveling?”  Sarik laughed.
“It took a while to get used to, but it has its benefits if you can get past the nausea and the whole cellular disintegration reassembly thing.”
Sarik nudged the captain with his elbow.  “Are you sure it has nothing to do with quantum entanglement with a certain Jinn?”
Speechless, Captain Ross’ reddened face spoke volumes.  He excused himself and joined Tal in the cockpit.
Looping her arm in Sarik’s, Jael frowned and continued towards the passenger area of the transport.  “Why do you tease the poor Captain?  I think it quaint that he has taken a liking to Tal even if she doesn’t return his affections.”
“What kind of friend would I be, if I didn’t acknowledge his obvious fondness?”
“Do you really want me entertain your question with an answer?”
“No, not really.”
Over the intercom the captain’s voice boomed, “Good morning, this is your captain.  Today’s flight should be a clear shot to the Meranna Sea area.  We have favorable atmospheric conditions and low level winds upon approach.  Our estimated arrival is 14:80 standard atomic time, that’s half-past lunch for those of you who still struggle with the local atomic conversion.”
Jael, Salima, and Aphrodite all turned and looked at Sarik.
Pursed lipped, Sarik stood and yelled toward the cockpit.  “Okay, you win.  Now get us the hell out of here.”
Coming Summer 2013

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Cover release for Endless by Tawdra Kandle!

ENDLESS, The King Series Book 4, will be released at the end of this month! Just to get you ready, here’s the official cover release!

This beautiful design is courtesy of the incredibly talented Christine Powell Gomez.

Enjoy. . .and get ready for the final chapter in Tasmyn and Michael’s story!

After the tumult of her high school senior year, all is right in Tasmyn Vaughan’s world. She’s attending college with her boyfriend, and she’s learning to control her powers. Everything is finally perfect, until it isn’t.
When her new part-time job leads to more than she bargained for, she is thrown into a deadly fight against forces of evil that she didn’t even know existed. Mastering her extraordinary gifts—along with the strength of an endless love—may be the only weapon that can guarantee her a happily ever after.

Don’t miss the first three books of The King Series:

Read FEARLESS (only 99 cents right now!)

BREATHLESS

RESTLESS

Follow Tawdra on Facebook and Twitter

Check out all the blogs featuring the cover reveal today!

http://takingtimeformommy.com

http://mommyreadstoomuch.com

http://ereadingonthecheap.com/

http://time4mommy.com

http://beautybrite.com

SavingFor6.Blogspot.com

http://livingatthewhiteheadszoo.blogspot.com

reviewinginchaos.blogspot.com

http://www.craftymomof3.com

nikita-mattes.blogspot.com

identitydiscovery.net

themochamonsterrants.wordpress.com

http://andisyoungadult.blogspot.com

http://jennypennysbookreviews.blogspot.com/

coziecorner.blogspot.com

http://bibliophilesthoughtsonbooks.blogspot.com/

tawdrakandle.com

www.LizSchulte.com

www.thestuffofsuccess.com

www.christinegpowell.com

www.ginaslibrary.info

www.mnmrheinlander.com

www.bookonthebrightside.blogspot.com

http://museunleashed.com

www.mrpolishauthor.com

www.Stephanie-Nelson.com

http://emleighwalsh.tumblr.com

www.prettyopinionated.com

http://andrea-digiglio.blogspot.com

www.delphinareadstoomuch.com

www.jamericanspice.com

www.oliviahardinwriter.com

mommylessonplans.org

snifferwalk.org

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Cover reveal, Leigh Fallon’s Shadow of the Mark

Well I am super excited to be in on the cover reveal for Leigh Fallon’s sequel to Carrier of the Mark, Shadow of the Mark! Before we jump in on that I wanted to share a bit about Leigh, who in my personal interactions with I have learned is a sweet quirky woman and amazingly talented author. Here’s Leigh’s bio below.

Bio

I started out life in South Africa. A year later
my parents moved home to Dublin, Ireland. When I was older and realized my
parents had moved me from exotic Durban, to sedate Rathfarnham, Dublin 16, I
was rightly ticked off.

Giving up lions for sheep, I grew up in the foothills of
the Dublin Mountains where I went to a convent school and had to contend with
uniforms, gabardines, and nuns. When not dodging the beady glare of  the Sisters
of Mercy, I was devouring every book I could get my hands on.

I traveled all over Europe while working in banking and
treasury, but I gave up my calculator in favor of a keyboard and haven?t
stopped writing since. My first book, Carrier of the Mark, was published by
HarperTeen in 2011.

Our home is in Cork in the south of Ireland, but we?re currently on loan
to Massachusetts in the US where I continue to write books about  magic, ghosts,
and romance, with a bit of Irish flavor.

About the cover

I know, there’s no mistaking it. This is definitely a Carrier Series  cover, but that was the intention. After the amazing reception to the  cover of Carrier of the Mark, HarperCollins wanted Shadow’s cover to  be instantly recognizable. And it is, but the new darker color palette  reflects the darker tone that this installment brings, and the pink  and purple really make it pop. I love it and think HarperCollins have  done another amazing job. I hope you like it too.

Shadow of the Mark

Life for Megan Rosenberg just got a lot more complicated.

While she evoked the air element, and her feelings for Adam
intensified, a web of lies, deceit, and betrayal has been spun around  her.  With the Order tightening its hold, and the
reinstatement of the Mark Knights, Megan has more questions than  answers as the
Marked Ones grow in strength.

New people arouse suspicion, the DeRises start behaving
strangely, and Megan begins to unravel a destiny shrouded in mystery.   It?s a destiny the Order has struggled to hide,
and a destiny someone from the past?far in the past, has already laid claim to.

Alliances will be made, and friends will be lost, as the
Order?s dark secrets are revealed by the very thing they sought to destroy.

Links
Pre-order on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Mark-Leigh-Fallon/dp/0062128000/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1350828346&sr=1-1&keywords=shadow+of+the+mark+by+leigh+fallon

My website
http://www.leighfallon.com

Giveaway

Here’s the embed code to the giveaway that I’m running along side the reveal.

<a id=”rc-388e392″ class=”rafl”  href=”http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/388e392/”  rel=”nofollow”>a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src=”//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js”></script>



Here it is!!!! So beautiful! 


THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!


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Random Interview

I was asked to do an interview over on Facebook and thought I would share it will my blog followers, so here you go!

Jenny- So you are pretty much obsessed with Fallen Angels and black feathers right?

Andrea- You could say that. I’ve always had this pull, this need to know more and drown myself in a world where they exist on level much different than most people paint them to be.

Jenny- I heard that you often have feathers appear out of no where on your clothes or in your car, is that how the idea about Alice’s feathers came to you?

Andrea- Yes, it’s weird that it happens and I often blame it on my down comforter. It’s funny now friends will get in my car pick off a feather and stare at me saying, “Here you dropped this Alice.” With narrow eyes. It’s hysterical.

Jenny- How is book two coming along? I feel like I am waiting forever to read it!

Andrea- *smiles* Alice’s Sacrifice is coming along rather well. It will be much longer than Finding Alice was, which is what is taking me so long. In good news the cover will be released in early July to at least give you something to drool over.

Jenny- Is Cole going to be on it!?

Andrea- Oh yes.

Jenny- One last question, are you currently working on any other novels not related to the Alice Clark Series?

Andrea- Yes I am, myself and the talent Jessica Gibson (author of Mark of the Witch, #1 Boston Witches Series) are co writing a Paranormal fiction. It’s still in the early stretch due to us both putting are efforts into our own series. Though we do not know if this will be the title of the book we are currently calling it, Demon Apocalypse. The treatment of this book is defiantly not traditional and as soon as we get pumping on it I will give you all a taste as well as to what exactly we are doing with this novel.

Thanks!

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Blog about me

It’s been awhile since I just wrote in my blog about the nonsense that is my life. About a week ago a self-portrait photo shoot turned rogue and my mom did the shoot for me, majority excited. I sent the images to my fav photographer Russ Turner and he edited one of the images for me, so far that is. I thought I would share. I know you all will not be surprised at my dark concept, especially if you have read Finding Alice.

Came out pretty badass huh? It was super fun to shoot and I love doing my hair and makeup creative and crazy. This shoot spun my creative mind like no other and I wrote another 2k in Alice’s Sacrifice!! I just got mono too so I’m pretty impressed with my ability to not back down to any cold. Though it is kicking my ass a bit this week. So that is my deal these days, fighting an evil cold, raising a toddler, working on book two and doing random crazy photo shoots. Just an average day in the life of this author.

Till next time.
XO

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Demon Vampire by Virgil A. Moore

Virgil A. Moore


Virgil:
Virgil Allen Moore has been writing for seventeen years. He began as a poet and eventually turned to long fiction. In his words “My pen wields visceral morality as I write. I use my poetic knowledge to woo and satiate the minds of the world.” His books are written for their vivid imagery and well defined storytelling. He blends old world refinement with a modern feel in a way that gives strength to the core of his novels. With his books, you are left not just with a sense of accomplishment, but a moral choice. The reader has choice over how they feel through the story. The ordeals of the characters are transmuted to the reader, lending a direct sensation of emotion that only the best novels can evoke. When you read his words, you will be rewarded. As he says, “If you enjoy vampires, you will be enthralled by mine.”
Publisher
Erudite Small Press
511 Redground Dr
Ruther Glen, VA 22546
http://eruditesmallpress.com/

Genre
Epic Paranormal Dark Mystery

Release Date
October 30th, 2011

Purchase links for Demon Vampire
USA Kindle  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0062F60O2
USA Print  http://www.amazon.com/dp/1937438066
UK Kindle  http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0062F60O2/276-7960540-8806063

Links for Demon Vampire: Special Science Report 1192
USA Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00615IRCG
UK Kindle http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00615IRCG/276-7960540-8806063

Websites
http://demonvampire.com/ 
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12717966-demon-vampire


Demon Vampire asks the question, if given the choice to have power, grace, and immortality at the cost of your soul, what would you do? What if the choice was easier than you think? Small incremental segments of you childhood for a boost in strength? The ability to protect your loved ones for the corners of your mind that you don’t often use? Regeneration for the traits that make you who you are? If faced with a grave decision of morality, what would you choose?
Excerpts from the book:
_____________

Excerpt one

_____________

  His eyes closed. The red apparition somehow soothed and calmed him. It was speaking directly now. It was murder. He could hear it above the raging storm coursing through him. It forced upon him glimpses of her dead body, a sight of torment.  “The vast ocean of power I can grant you. The encompassing absolution of being I offer, to walk without equal as an abomination among monsters. To be feared as no other.” The voice sighed inside him. It’s breath warm on the back of his thoughts. “Am I truly so disgusting? Is this not what you asked for? Do I not tempt you? Offer you what you need? Do I not wet your tongue with my invitation?”
 Fear swept him, his choices were not sovereign. His gut knotted in indecision. The hot blanket of seduction that had cloaked him was convincing. It was generously welcoming. He hesitated, not knowing the demon’s destination or his own. He could feel his soul slipping, a grip once tight, now failing him.
 “Let it happen, give yourself to me. All you ever have to do, is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements.” The voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued. “Rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk.” The demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.
 He was unsure, the deal was tempting, even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing, he was not a murderer. He knew as much, as he doubted his own integrity. It was tempting, wet in his mouth, keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise. It was seductive.
 The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence was unrelenting. “Is my simple price so steep, so dire, costly, that you would die a fool’s death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?”
_____________

Excerpt two

_____________

 “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!!!” Rebekkah screamed at Fear. She was crouched over Love’s eviscerated body. She had been flayed open. Her chest cut down to her left hip. Her clothing was ripped open, she was dead. Her long blond hair was stained in her own red blood. Besides holding Love’s soaked hand, Rebekkah was unscathed. She was fine, unhurt, unharmed.
 “I don’t need to argue with you.” Fear stood proud. He increased his fear aura, forcing Rebekkah to stop talking. “I will do whatever I want with her. It was her bargain, not mine.” Fear approached Love’s rendered body. “Look, she’s already coming back.”
 Love’s hand began to twitch, she gasped for a breath. Her open wound started to close, sealing itself as her life returned.
 “She is strong. That makes 7,289 kills. She is amazing, Rebekkah. You should be thankful I made her.” Fear surveyed Love’s beaten, bloodied chest. “It’s been many years since I’ve sired anyone. I’m surprised that I can make someone this strong.” Fear smiled as she opened her eyes.
 Love said nothing. She had become laconic. Her situation had become ambivalent. She got up, Rebekkah helped her. Love’s dress was completely destroyed. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Love asked Rebekkah as she limped to one side.
 Rebekkah held Love tight, embracing her. “No. I’m fine.”
 Love’s eyes welled up with silent tears. “Good.”
 Fear walked to the window. He peered down. The town was bustling with people. It was dark out. This was his time to work. Fear smiled again. “I expect ten tonight.”
Schedule:
May 8 – Introduction at VBT Cafe’ Blog
May 10 – Guest Blogging at Beauty In Ruins
May 14 – Guest Blogging at AZ Publishing Services
May 16 – Guest Blogging at From The TBR Pile
May 18 – Guest Blogging at Wise Words
May 20 – Character Interview & Giveaway at This Author’s Life
May 22 – Review & Giveaway at Ereading on the Cheap
May 24 – Review & Interview at A Book Lover’s Library
May 26 – Guest Blogging at Natalie Nicole Bate’s Blog
May 29 – Guest Blogging & Review at Waiting On Sunday to Drown
May 31 – Guest Blogging & Giveaway at Book Reader Addicts
June 1 – Guest Post at Behind the Scenes of an Unusual Mind
June 2 – Interviewed at Brenda & Steve’s Blog
June 3 – Reviewed at Reviewers Helping Authors


 Originally I was supposed to do a review and my life went all bat shit crazy on me and I ran out of time. I have begun to read this book and I am already hooked. When I do complete it a review will follow here and I will add it to the books goodreads page. 



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Mark Of The Witch debuts June 1st 2012

Hello there! I am super excited to share some info on Jessica Gibson’s novel Mark of the Witch. It is book one in the Boston Witch’s Series that will be available for ebook and paperback on June 1st 2012 aka tomorrow. First of let me tell you I know Jessica first hand and she is the sweetest soul I have yet met. Her work is amazing and I can say that honestly as I was a beta tester for this book (that’s how we met folks!)

So let me introduce you to my dear friend, author Jessica Gibson!

So sassy right? (can’t wait till she reads this haha!) Honestly though she is feisty but in all the right ways.
And here is the gorgeous cover!

Doesn’t the beautiful Jilly look stunning and powerful! I can’t wait till my copy comes in! (*coughs*)
Jessica offered us a sneak peak excerpt and I of course snatched it up like a rabid dog for you guys! So here it is!
________________________________
Oh, and Jilly, you really shouldn’t be in the habit of meeting strange people at night. I could have been a strangler for all you knew,” he said with a hint of reproach in his voice.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about me, William; it’s the strangler who should be worried,” Jilly said with a viscous gleam in her eyes while she vigorously rubbed her palms together until they glowed brightly in the moonlight. “Care to shake my hand, Mr. Strangler?” she asked with a laugh as she stuck her hand out to him.
    “Ok, I’m game, let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve,” he said as he grabbed her hand. Almost instantly he was on the ground, writhing in pain. “Well, I will say that tonight I’m glad that I cannot die; that sure packs a punch. I think I could feel my heart stop for a second,” he said, a little winded, as he propped himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his hand.
    “Yeah, I figured I’d give you a real show tonight,” she said as she walked away.
He watched her go, still sitting on the ground, and said, “Until tomorrow then,” almost under his breath.
________________________________
You may not know this yet but William is dreamy and Jilly is fierce, two characters that will draw you in and carry you on a journey you won’t regret indulging on. Available at Amazon in paperback and for kindle. Get your copy June 1st! 
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Why do you write so dark?

I was asked by a fan, “Andrea, why do you write so dark?” To which I replied, “I forgot my sunglasses.”

Truth be told we laughed about it, loudly. I mean of course we did that was the best answer to ever roll off my tongue! When I started writing I was told to write what I know; that happened to be a dark world filled with emotional baggage. I’m always filled with sarcasm and as my girlfriend’s and I call it, “the darkness,” both of which have always been a part of not only my writing but myself. The more I plug away at Alice’s Sacrifice, the more I see how true that is. I love that my sarcasm creeps in through some characters more than others. I truly enjoy using the darkness as an advantage or an inner struggle to fuel themselves as apposed to the evil or bad side. Let’s be honest here my characters are technically on the wrong side of a large battle and you are all rooting for them (that was the plan anyway.) I don’t see them on the “wrong side” of good and evil, I see them in the gray cloud of chaos fighting for their right to exist and to love. Well I know i’ve felt as if I was on the wrong side of a battle once or twice and I always hoped someone was rooting for me to making it through.

Life is hard,  just yesterday while packing I found a poetic short journal entry I wrote after a long day of hell and it was sad. The debate between quitting and fighting is a hard choice but I hope that you find strength in what I have overcome as I share more about me as not only and author but as a human. I know you can find the strength too.

When Alice’s Sacrifice comes out I believe you will all be floored as you take the journey with Alice and Cole. Through the gray area of a world I hold so dearly close to my heart.

XO

ps. exciting news about Book 2 Cover coming soon!

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Words Matter! They can hurt and they can heal! Right?

It’s the truth isn’t it? I did a photo shoot I have wanted to do for years, a concept very dear to me. I wouldn’t normally do a shoot where I would be terrified, exposed, vulnerable to the public and use that to prove my point. Well okay maybe to an extent but not like this one. WORDS MATTER. They can heal you, the can hurt you but they never just blindly exist. So I mustered the strength to do this photo shoot in hopes that it might effect someone out there in the way the thought did to me.

I am bipolar, that is a fact and it comes with its trials but I do not let it own me. To be so in-tuned with happiness and depression almost simultaneous is, to me, a gift. I can write because I feel so much and I feel the good and the bad. My writing tends to be more dark and I personally enjoy leaving some mystery, not having all the answers mostly for the fact that we don’t have the answers so how dare I assume my characters do. But the truths I share through my words are so very important.

Hurtful words do just that, they hurt. And healing words heal but all people not just those who are bipolar remember who hurt them, how they were hurt and the scar is always there. So I hope with this you will see a small glimpse into the trials and triumphs I have endured and enjoyed in my life and how I chose to overcome it all.

My followers and fans. <3 you. You give me strength and courageous and remind me someone does care what I have to say.

XO

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What or who is your muse?

I find my muse in many forms but one main one in particular is a close friend of mine. I had recently been plagued with the worst sort of writers block and here is my muse asking me how book two is coming along and asked, “what do you mean your stuck?” I *cringed*

I saw this image the other day and it literarily had me laughing so hard I thought I might piss myself. (Maybe it’s an author thing….)

Luckily before my muse took it this far, (though I may have gotten farther than I did) I did manage to write another 6K(word count) and Alice’s Sacrifice has some major hardships coming up. Anyone who knows me knows, I don’t need no stink in’ muse to write about hardship. 🙂 So I continue to write folks and don’t worry my muse has got your back to help me finish Alice’s Sacrifice for you to read. 
XO

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Hijacking my guest post

Those who are curious, there was a blog on my blog tour that was cancelled recently so I hijacked my guest post I wrote for it and decided to share with you all anyway. XO




           This has already started off as one crazy year let me tell you. I have been diligently writing away continuing Alice’s story on top of making sure Finding Alice was ready for it’s release day. I chose to self-publish and when I chose this I did not know exactly what that entailed. Finding an editor, formatting the final piece for eBook and paperback were the obvious choices but I had no idea at the time I would be doing book tours, a book launch, contacting book reviewers to review my book, running contests so people would know about it, hire a photographer to do my cover and the list goes on and on. It was terrifying to be completely honest. All I wanted to do was write and get lost in a world that didn’t exist. My world went askew and then my first review came in from a beta tester and all of it vanished. They were sucked into the story and they excitedly told me what they thought while asking questions. It was so amazing to share that moment with someone and that is why I will continue to do it. My work means everything to me but I have found it touches and truly means something to others.

            Really what I am saying is that writing, publishing or self-publishing is hard work. If you love your work and feel it must be shared people will feel that when they read your work. I’m currently trying to go speak at my old high school and the other high school’s in the district. I know that when someone I looked up to or someone who was doing what I dreamed I could looked at me and said, “you can do this and if you want it, work for it.” That is exactly what I am doing and if I can give hope to one young writer or dreamer, well it’s all worth it then isn’t it?