Hi, my name is Frances and I’m a new author. I want to hire a professional editor. Here’s my story:
I’m a struggling author on disability. When the pandemic started, we were forced to wear masks. I promptly lost 30 pounds and got shingles due to the stress on my body from having panic attacks while wearing the masks. I have major PTSD and schizoaffective disorder. I was seeing people with masks in the corner of the rooms. I was afraid they were stalking me. Under my bed or waiting for me in my closet. They were in the back seat of my car, screaming my name. Telling me what to do. They were suffocating me. They were chasing me with guns. My body couldn’t communicate with my mind and I completely lost it.
I went on disability in November 2020. I live on close to nothing and come out negative every month due to inflation. Since going on disability I’ve written my book. My book is a true story based on childhood trauma and what it’s like living with PTSD and schizoaffective disorder. What it’s like to have flashbacks and nightmares on a daily basis. I don’t wholly ask for money. I mostly want people to read my story on Kindle Vella (https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B093CGP525) or the Apple store (https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-color-of-resiliency/id1599174140). My book is titled “The Color of Resiliency.” A fair warning: it contains child sexual abuse.
I lived in a room with a cut-off door for six years with my three siblings. (We are all 11 months apart). We lived in a trailer. The AC vent was removed and that’s where we defecated if we made it in time. In the hole, in the floor. We were essentially swimming in our own remains all over the floor. Drugs were in and out of the house. Other people came over with their own children. We were tied up, dressed in lingerie, and ordered to participate in sexual acts on one another. HRS (now DCF) intervened when I showed up to school in the same clothes every day, smelling like shit, and basically shitting my pants on a daily basis. I was put in foster care. I slept in the closet at one of the homes. I was beaten to a pulp when I needed glasses because my foster mother thought I was lying when I couldn’t see the board in second grade. It was bad. I went to 9 different elementary schools.
Since age 13 I’ve been diagnosed with severe PTSD and have been the socially awkward one all throughout middle and high school. I was picked on, beat up, and never made any friends. In 2018 I stood on the highway and waited for a semi to take my life away. Instead, I was picked up by the police and institutionalized for two weeks. Since then, I’ve participated in a partial hospitalization program (six-week) and two intensive outpatient programs (one six-week, one eight-week.) Now that I’m on disability and I’m in remission on my medication I’m looking to change the view on mental disease and illness and to let those people know they are NOT ALONE. For those that want to learn–here’s a story. Learn the signs of mental illness and intervene if you can before it’s too late.
We are living in a world of pronouns, sex changes, looting, inflation, extremist political views, and mental illness and it’s so crazy to me. Here I can hopefully help understand the latter. Hopefully, I can change the stigma associated with schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder. I see gofundme (https://gofund.me/93746be4) pages for the craziest things. I figure I’d try it. I do not feel entitled. I just want people to read my book. I’ve gotten amazing feedback from those who have. I have a voice. I want to make my voice bigger.
I want to hire an editor and have my manuscript professionally looked over. I’m just trying to get my book out there. I admit, I’m a little scared, but I knew the consequences when I published it and when I made this gofundme (https://gofund.me/93746be4) page. I just want people to please read it. I put my entire soul into this book. And I’m working on a second one.
It is $10 on Kindle Vella and $6 in the Apple store.
Here’s my jacket copy:
Franny’s mind is made of supernatural wonder. She ventures in and out of the ordinary world, burdened with a diagnosis that betrays her communal character. Medication is her only ‘coping mechanism.’ But in February 2018, tolerance takes its toll, and she’s hearing things, seeing things, that aren’t there. Sensory overload marbles her consciousness, and it has her MAD. Compulsion rears its ugly head, and she’s unstoppable. Rather than providing the support she needed, her tiny network of family and friends… well, became tinier.
What does she do when she’s hit with one thousand challenges all at once? She asks for a divorce, quits her job, and then collapses helplessly onto the pavement awaiting a Mack truck, expecting to gate the thrills of Hell. Despite her efforts, a cruiser picks her up, and instead, she is compelled to a psychiatric center.
From just about six feet under, she crawls deranged and hostile into another hole. And then another. And then another without a soul to stop her.
At her ‘rock bottom,’ you wouldn’t think she’d fall any longer, but she falls farther again, into love with a simple man, Paul. His presence draws Franny in with tangible safety. He has the drawl of a respectable cowboy, and he’s endearing to a fault. Slowly but surely, she climbs gingerly up and out of the holes, and with the support of Paul, she buries them with an affinity for life again
#thecolorofresiliency #mentalhealth #ptsd #childsexualabuse #CSA #ACEs #childneglect #physicalabuse #emotionalabuse #scizoaffective disorder #survivor