Afterwards by Alex Jones – A True Story of Abuse Addiction and Survival 2019 Paperback-image
Afterwards by Alex Jones – A True Story of Abuse Addiction and Survival 2019 Paperback-image

Afterwards by Alex Jones – A True Story of Abuse Addiction and Survival 2019 Paperback

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Book Title: Afterwards : A Gut-Wrenching True Story of Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism and Liberation Item Weight: 18.3 Oz Number of Pages: 347 Pages Item Width: 5.5 in Language: English Publisher: Independently Published Synopsis: The world tells us that it is one big cubicle and that there is a box for each one of us. For people like us, survivors of abuse, there is a box that we must fit into, if we don't want to be chewed up and ruthlessly spat out. These people are psychologists, psychiatrists, courts, welfare officials, the law, and most importantly, people we are the closest to. They claim to know how we must act, how we must feel. They are the professionals, and how we are supposed to cope after a traumatic event, or years of distress at the hands of our abusers. And, when we don't feel what they assume we do or expect us to, we feel like failures. We feel that there is something wrong with us. We feel removed. It's almost as though we have almost screwed up our own brokenness. "Could I not even get that right?" As I watched all the broken around me; the tears, the pity, the hurt, the anger and after listening to all the what-if's running around in my head, I realized that it was okay to stand up, and deal with it my way. It was okay to dream of making the rest of my life, the very best of my life. I didn't have to linger in it. I didn't have to have the rest of my life dictated to living with what happened to me. It happened to me, it was not me and it was not going to define me. It happened to my sisters, it wasn't who they were and it should never have defined who they became. It shouldn't have. It did. Like me, they didn't have to carry the scars around with them, for the rest of their lives. They did. The world didn't understand that. They learnt from text books and adopted a kind of a uniformity for how to counsel a survivor, because they assume they know our state of mind and what we went through. They follow guidelines, but they aren't flexible in the way of each story is different, and each survivor is different and each one of us deals with our stories differently. They have placed rules on how we should have felt, and what we should have done. Then they tried to teach us how to attempt to survive normally. They didn't really know how we felt or what we had been through. They could never begin to imagine what we've had to endure. They were convinced to follow what they had been taught, so they followed the rules of their textbooks and we followed the idea that we were failing because our plan to survive might not have been theirs. Our plan was not in their books or behind their degrees and in the end, we were left feeling worse than we did when our journey to healing began. Still, my plan might have failed my sisters, but it got me to a place where 'the thing' is no longer what haunts me even though The Afterwards was not so kind. It has brought me through some of the very worst of times, and it has pulled me out of what would probably have been the darkest period of my life. My plan hasn't failed me yet, so, I won't be changing something that's already brought me this far. They tell us that their way is just safer for us, and that there is no room for finding our own path after our traumatic event. They want us to fit into the exact dimensions or designs of how they think we should act, feel, behave and integrate into society afterwards. So, we end up spending our entire lives suppressing the fact that we just cannot fit into any sort of box. And then, as we begin to convince ourselves that something might be wide off the mark with us, we begin changing and adapting bit by bit so that we can fit in, because we must, just like everyone else. Just like the books say. Just like their classes taught them. Exactly as they were lectured. But as hard as we may try to conform to what we are supposed to be feeling, we end up feeling worse. Just like every other person we meet, we realize how desperate they too are, to fit into a box that was once given to them. When we finally realize that we just cannot fit in properly, we surrender and make new boxes for ourselves, in the hopes that nobody knows, and nobody sees., In this book, I write about the incredible journey my soul undertook to find the answers that were plaguing my every thought as a child, and later, overwhelmed me as an adult. I talk about my desperate search for answers during an anger phase that was untaught to me from the circumstances I reluctantly found myself in. My torment and agony as a child led me to question all that I thought I knew and believed to be true as I began to pay attention to 'the fight inside, ' and ignore how people thought I should cope. It may be that they too, were asking these haunting questions. They too, might have been searching for a way out of an ambush. But, they never found it. I told her about the door handle that turned at night, and that no matter where I hid, be it under the bed, in the closet, or in my sisters' bedroom, he still found me. I told her that sometimes, he'd bring others with him and that it scared me. I told her not to cry because we were still okay, but that I worried about my Lily. I told her that I thought the monster was what was making her sick, and what had brought the seizures to her. I told her that Lisa was crying, but that she couldn't see her tears. They were bouncing around inside of her. I told her that we knew he was beating her, and we would hear her cry in the night. I asked her to stop him, we are afraid he might kill her. I told her about the firearm he kept hidden in his closet, and how often he brought it into my bedroom to remind me to keep our secret. I told her I had learned how to use it. I told her that the next time he drove us at full speed, aiming for a solid brick wall, that he might not want to stop and that we would ultimately hit the wall. I told her that I didn't want my sisters to die. I told her that when she left for the stores, to please let us go with her because when she left us behind, he did things to us. I told her that when she went to Church and left me at home to keep an eye on him, he did things. I told her that sometimes, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that I hoped she could hear. I told her that I wanted my father back, and that I wanted my sisters to live. I told her that I could remember the day it all began, and that it was the precise instant he left. I told her that most nights, it was pitch black around me and that my eyes often struggled to penetrate the darkness, no matter which way I would turn. As the boogeyman would come closer, it would be as a diffused glow ahead of me. I told her how heavily it weighed on my shoulders and how the darkness would brood and rotate around us all. Listening to the boogeyman's threats made me feel isolated and secluded, and scared me like I had never known fear before. I told her that as much as I wanted to run away from it all, I couldn't move. I was frozen. I couldn't fight. I was paralyzed. It was as though I was being slammed into invisible barriers all around me and that the piercing moaning of the boogeyman made it hard to breathe. I told her that hell was our home and that the devil was living amongst us. It was waging a battle against us, trapping us in fear and striking out at us with each ounce of aggression he could muster up. I told her of the lies he has convinced himself would turn into the truth, desperate to erase his brutality. I told her that I hated him and living one more moment with him would only guarantee more hatred, betrayal, hostility and pain. I told her that I knew she didn't know, and that I knew she didn't hear our screams. They were silent, bouncing around inside of us. I asked her to help us stop it, because I couldn't stand one more night in the darkness. I told her my sisters wouldn't survive. And then, I told her how truly sorry I was, and how I wished we could go back to before., I learned to pray for me . The journey began after a lifetime of doubt that led to one single moment of faith where hope was born and messages from above were sent to a hesitant soul amidst extraordinary fears. I hate the term child sexual abuse. I hate that it was given a name, and therefore, given an existence. Giving it a label gives it power. It gave it a home and it gave it someone to pounce on. By naming what had come into our lives, I had given into the fears it came in with. It was strong. Powerful. Monstrous. It was everything nightmares were made of. But, without minimizing the damage and destruction it set out to do, I took the first steps in conquering the demon and named it nothing. The thing was nothing. It didn't have an existence that could win the war it was waging against my family and me. It was only a thing. Something that was nothing. I had a name and that made me so much more valuable than something that didn't deserve an existence. When I unnamed my own personal monster, did I begin to strengthen against it. The Afterwards is a story recounting true events around surviving a series of traumatic incidents, only to discover that what happens afterwards is so much more unforgiving and crueler that the actual thing. The promise that the thing is over and that nothing could harm me from that moment on was so far from the reality of what takes place afterwards. The Afterwards lingers and never goes away. It never leaves and it never heals. It can never be anything else and will never evolve into something else. There is nothing after The Afterwards. It is where the end begins. It was always the beginning of the end. But The Afterwards can be different. Better. Don't coddle her or pity her, just tell her that she did the right thing and that the guilt or shame was never hers to carry. Help her unload her armor. Her war is over. Her injuries will heal and her scars will fade. Let her unpack the load she's carrying, it's too heavy. It should never have been piled onto her. Give her the confirmation she needs to pick up all her broken pieces, and help her glue them back together. Be her mother. Her grandmother. Her aunt. Her sister. Her friend. Don't be there for the thing, but rather for The Afterwards. Book Series: The Afterwards Ser. brand: Independently Published Author: Alex Jones Publication Year: 2019 Item Height: 0.9 in Item Length: 8.5 in Topic: Abuse / Child Abuse ISBN-13: 9781701143180 Format: Trade Paperback TitleLeading: The ISBN-10: 1701143186 Series Volume Number: Vol. 1 gtin13: 9781701143180 Intended Audience: Trade Genre: Family & Relationships

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The Afterwards: A Gut-Wrenching True Story of Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism and Liberation by Jones, Alex, ISBN 1701143186, ISBN-13 9781701143180, Brand New, Free shipping in the US

  1. This powerful memoir is a raw, unflinching journey through pain and resilience. Alex Jones bravely shares their harrowing experiences with abuse and addiction, ultimately finding strength and freedom. The honesty and emotion in every page make it impossible to put down—a heartbreaking yet inspiring read about survival and hope.

    ka whosyourd

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