Excerpt from Preface

Trauma can create an agonizing story that sits inside you and generates turmoil, not just in your mind, but in a way that is felt to the core. It twists at your organs, sits heavy in your stomach and weighs on your heart. The best thing a person can do is to get their story out so that it no longer haunts their every action, every dream. And if you are one of the lucky ones, you’ll get it out on your terms and not your trauma’s terms, so that you have the chance to heal with some grace.

I have been struggling with getting my own story on paper and out of my body for years. The memories inside of me, the details of that horrible night and all the horrible nights before it, the sometimes uncontrollable, heaving sobs, the unending sadness and desperation casting a gray haze over my every waking moment, it all spun circles of anxiety in my mind… My anguish comes from the race to tell my story, so that when that third voice is finally found, when he becomes old enough to start questioning his memories, he will know that there was more than one side of things.

This story is my memoir. It is my first memoir—I will have many more; my life is only just beginning. The recollections in these pages are just that—recollections based on my memories. Many of those memories have been damaged by the trauma and have only resurfaced from years of intensive therapy and meditation, but they are as I remember them. The story is told as my recovery has unfolded; time may be compressed or not flow chronologically in some instances. Trauma is a spiral that moves both up and down, sometimes coming full circle only to break again and continue falling back into its original pattern. The chapters ahead reflect that journey.

 

Excerpt from Chapter One: A Letter to Myself

                                                                                                                                                                                      February 16, 2019

Hey Pretty Girl,

To be real, though, you’re probably not looking very pretty right now if you’re reading this letter. You don’t have to wash your face yet, but in a few minutes you will, and you’ll be happy that you bought dozens of face masks to help with the puffiness. But right now, just cry. Because you miss him and that’s okay. He was your pillar for many years; you wouldn’t be who you are today if it had not been for the ten years that you had with Clay. And you know what? He loved you too, he just didn’t know how to show you, but he loved you so much.

So, cry. Grieving is normal, and mourning has to happen if you are ever going to heal from this. It is the price you pay to have loved so hard. Be sad, be angry. But then, when you’re done, I need you to be grateful for the life you still have. Because as much as he loved you when he was sober, he still hurt you when he drank. And Abby, he tried to kill you. He put a gun to your head, and if you hadn’t been such an over-confident badass and fought for this life that you have now, he would have pulled that trigger. Clay would have killed you if you would have let him. But you didn’t. And the life you have now is hard, but it is blessed. You are going to save lives and inspire millions with your story. In this moment, it sucks so bad but close your eyes for just one minute and envision the difference you will make in all those young lives. And breathe. Just breathe. Write it down. Breathe some more. You’re going to be just fine. Now, go wash your face.

                                                                                                                                                               A letter to you, from you.

                                                                                                                                                         Because I love you the most,

                                                                                                                                                                                             Abby

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