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How many times can we try and try again, hoping things will be different? Sometimes, the people we think are ports in a storm turn out to be the rips in our sail.
The truth is, most of us have precarious relationships with others where we find ourselves setting or accepting boundaries to maintain that connection. Maybe it’s an intolerable behavior issue or substantial differences of opinion. There are situations, too, where people grow up with devastating trauma. Family members have different outlooks about what happened, maybe even different experiences. One may still feel the agony of the hurt they or someone else caused in doing what they felt was right. Things said may remind you of the pain they caused you or the pain you caused them.
These situations are loaded for the simple reason that you care about these people. If you didn’t, you could easily blow them off and never have anything further to do with them.
And sure, it’s painful. You wish things were different. It saddens us that there was so much good, and we cherish the memories to the point of tears. We may wonder, Can we ever get it back? If we did, would it ever be the same?
What I’ve found is, when considering forgiveness in any situation, a critical thing to decipher is, What really happened? Sorting out what’s true and what’s not is more important than appeasing others who need to deal with their own wounds. Their place in the healing process is different from ours. Denial has consequences for both parties, so did we play a part in the conflict? If so, what was it? We can take responsibility only for what we contributed to the falling out.
Maybe the falling out stemmed from an argument, someone else’s meddling, or someone’s denial. Perhaps it was because of lies and fragile egos, smear campaigns, and the rush to judgment.
Whatever it was, for any kind of resolution, both parties have to come to the table with an open mind. There must be a willingness to walk hand in hand through that minefield together. It’s hard because, quite often, the trust isn’t there any longer. And you have to be willing to trust someone to do that.
There’s a difference, too, between reaching out and setting a trap. We can’t be condescending or aim to “win.” We have to be genuine and sincere, let go of any bitterness or resentment, and respond only from a place of caring and love. You can have so much love for someone and still have to handle your interaction with them like you’re holding a piece of glass.
There are no-fly zones in these situations. Believe me, there was a time I’d have flown my plane right into that restricted zone and not for a moment realize the potential damage I’d cause to the relationship. I’d gotten used to a cycle of being hurt and fighting back. Sometimes, we are blinded by rage, and we keep hurling it at someone, but we don’t realize they’re bleeding, too.
These days, I think of what I might say in these circumstances and recognize how it could go wrong. Often, I decide I can say nothing. Or I wonder how to rectify a situation or resolve a conflict, and every way I might think to approach it, I see a flashing red light, and it’s just no. Don’t. You can’t. There’s a need to tread gently, take care.
Plenty of people out there can discern these situations, I’m sure, but many of us had to learn.
No doubt, it’s wonderful when the resolution of a conflict results in mutual forgiveness and a starting point for healing the relationship. At the same time, we can’t allow people to deny the reality of what we experienced, and we can’t accept their spin on it if it has no basis in truth. We don’t want to hear the justification for what cannot be justified, or for the other party to minimize the damage. We can’t let them guilt or shame us into keeping quiet or making concessions.
Sometimes, however, their message is clear. Maybe it’s always been clear, but it takes a while for us to accept. Their words and actions have repeatedly shown us they are not in our corner. They may not be against us, exactly, but they’re not for us either. They don’t respect us or our boundaries. They’re not concerned about our feelings. Nothing’s ever truly resolved in a relationship like that, and nothing changes.
We lost this person long ago, and it has already broken our hearts a thousand times. Is this someone we ever really had or truly knew? We lost the chance to dysfunction, and not even obligatory love and commitment could save it. It’s reached a point where suiting up and showing up simply hurt too much.
It hurts to admit when we’ve chosen someone or something that isn’t right for us, and when we’re trying to fit where we don’t belong.
And, for various reasons, not everyone is in a position where they can simply walk away. There may not even be a lot they can do to protect themselves or limit interaction. They may not be able to avoid participating in the drama.
Those of us who do walk away will often mourn what we couldn’t have. Some holes remain unfilled for us. Some stories will never be heard or told, and some scars won’t ever heal. We say goodbye with so much weight and with a burden too hard to hold. It’s more than sorrow. It’s grief. And you miss what you wanted that to be.
We can feel this profound grief even in walking away from people who weren’t that close to us because we feel like they should have been. Those ties were supposed to bind but didn’t. Instead, they turned out to be so weak that they broke a little more at every difference of opinion, each instance where we stood up for ourselves, or any time people looked at us and didn’t see themselves.
We certainly do a lot of grieving in life, and grieving does have its beauty. We can experience joy, happiness, sadness, and hurt; none are permanent states. These are moments that awaken us.
I’ve learned that the pain that follows in walking away is worth getting that toxicity out of your life. Even if they create a false narrative about you and make you out to be the devil incarnate, it’s still worth it. It will hurt less over time, or maybe it will always hurt a little, but you’ll be okay. You were brave enough to show up to this shitshow again and again. You tried to fit in. You tried to make it work. If it didn’t, well, love and acceptance await you elsewhere. In AA, I heard the slogan: You can’t heal in the same environment that made you sick. I believe that.
It’s important to realize we deserve to be happy. A few cherished loved ones are far better than dozens of people hanging on simply to make life difficult. We can’t fix or save everyone. We can’t always make things right.
To this day, there are people I’d love to drop a line to and ask how they’re doing or just to say, “I miss you.” One might ask themselves: What are safe topics we can discuss? Should we stick to a public forum in responding to one another rather than talking on the phone or by text? Can we support one another in ways that don’t involve us in their lives? I find these things helpful in dealing with others where caution may apply. It’s often the difference between reacting and responding. Realize you’re communicating with another vulnerable human being who likely has had their own trauma. They are not bulletproof.
As I’m sure everyone knows, you can love people to the moon and back even when your relationship with them is broken. You may forgive them and want the best for them while moving on without them. I’ve learned the best thing to do is keep sending them love and light, along with your inner hope for peace and the willingness for them to heal. I visualize it going to them in waves: I send you love. I wish you well. I wish you peace.
Sometimes, that’s all we can do. Even if you don’t buy into the “waves” thing, the exercise is intended to let go of any negative feelings.
Most importantly, though: We must forgive ourselves, as well. All we wanted was love.
*Excerpted from my forthcoming memoir, Grateful to Be Alive: My Road to Recovery from Addiction*
Before reading Spare by Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, I was aware of people’s complaints about it. It sounds kind of silly, but one complaint was about his retelling of the story where he got frostbite during an expedition to the Arctic. (Actually, it was “frostnip,” which is slightly better than frostbite.) Those readers thought it was too much information since it affected his penis along with his ears and fingers.
Yes, he talked about it in detail. I was almost halfway through the book before I came upon that little anecdote, and I thought it was relevant given the accompanying circumstances.
But I thought, why focus on that? The book is pretty great. The New Yorker described it as compellingly artful, and I agree. Spare is also beautifully written, engaging, informative, and even fascinating at times.
So here I was, giving myself a pat on the back for being a good sport about the TMI instead of nitpicking, and then there was yet another story about that appendage. He calls it his “todger,” by the way. And this time, he described its condition (flaccid) during a harsh training exercise where the soldiers had to strip naked.
At that point, it was like, okay, Harry, enough about your todger.
But I like Prince Harry a lot. I have a great deal of empathy for him and Meghan. I realize that many people will disagree with me, but he broke a toxic cycle and wrote this story bravely.
Sure, many people will say facetiously, “Oh, poor, Prince.” They’ll say he is spoiled. But if you read the book and believe what he says (which I do), you come away with a different perspective.
His story shows that wealth and titles mean nothing if you don’t believe you are loved, welcomed, accepted, valued, and respected in this world. It shows that you can be royalty and lack self-esteem. And that the world may have an image of you that is not who you are. It highlights how people can humiliate you and betray your trust over and over, and how there’s not enough money or esteem in the world to prevent that from happening.
So, I don’t care what the haters say. Prince Harry’s story is heartbreaking.
I fully empathize, regarding how the paparazzi and public badgered him and the women he cared most about in his life, to the point where those women ultimately had to abandon him. The world has failed Princess Di’s sweet boy, and I’m sorry for all the pain he endured. I’m sorry for the pain that Meghan endured.
So, I can forget the parts that made me cringe and attribute that to Prince Harry wanting to be a little self-deprecating. Maybe he doesn’t see any other way to come across as honest and humble, knowing that people will judge him harshly, so he allows himself to be vulnerable. I get it, and it doesn’t lessen his message to us.
What Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex, has to say is important. That other stuff is trivial by comparison.
I fully support him in exposing unjust systems and institutions.
I applaud him for calling out racism and its tragic impact.
Sharing our stories is vital these days. There’s already too much digging our heads in the sand.
And, so, yes, in terms of a star rating, that’s a five from me.
I do love an inspiring memoir, even one that is tragic and sad, as long as there is a flicker of hope! You have to have a curiosity or fascination about people, in general, to want to know about their struggles and achievements. For me, it doesn’t matter if I’m reading it or streaming it; I go all in. Like when I read Carly Simon’s Boys in the Trees, I watched YouTube videos of her and her ex, James Taylor, performing live. About half of one morning, I walked around the house singing their song Mockingbird because it was stuck in my head after replaying the video several times.
What I never expected, however, was to write a memoir of my own. Until recently, it never occurred to me. My goal was to write fiction, and I expressed my views through poetry. Eventually, I realized I had an important story to share, one that could benefit others. Some stories, I believe, can be your gift to leave behind because it’s bigger than you and has the potential to be a lifeline for someone else.
Every single one of us has something to give in that way. I learn from everyone, so I don’t go around with false modesty, thinking no one can learn from me. At the very least, I’ve written something of a cautionary tale.
Just the other day, I noted in a Facebook post that putting ourselves out there, especially in this way, exposes us to criticism no matter what. I wrote, “I’ve read reviews of several memoirs where readers say the author tells the entire story honestly and without complaining, and then other reviewers will say (about the same book) it was nothing but whine, whine, whine. So, I’ve gone through my completed recovery memoir a few times to make sure I don’t sound like a whiny bitch, but I do realize how much perception varies.” 😂
The responses were interesting and encouraging.
A friend said, “I think one of the reasons people read memoirs is to interact with the challenges and important things the author has experienced, things that have caused growth in the author. I think if a reader finds that honesty whiny, then they’re not paying attention, and refusing to get involved, as they read.”
We all, indeed, open these books with a different perspective.
While reading other memoirs, I learned that you have to know your goal in telling the story. To me, it’s obvious when revenge is one of those goals or an urgent need to present one’s side of the story. Some things are written in anger or pain, and I feel fortunate that I’m not in any of those places. I decided that my memoir was about recovery, change, and progression. If I was going to write it, it had to come from a place of love; it had to come from my heart and soul.
I can’t deny that it isn’t a pretty story. It’s tragic and bound to be unsettling, but it’s up to me to find all the beauty in that story because it’s there. It’s not black and white but often overshadowed with grey and interrupted by numerous bursts of color—awe-inspiring, vivid, joyful, and brimming with hope.
No doubt, I will be judged harshly for what I’ve gotten myself into, but that’s okay. 🙂
Further details about my forthcoming book are provided below.
Book description:
Grateful to Be Alive
My Road to Recovery from Addiction
by D.K. Sanz
Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.
D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family.
From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naïve kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.
Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.
D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.
Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.
ARC Copies
For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.
Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.
ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.
Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.
ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.
To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:
1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)
2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?
3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.
4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?
5) Do you have an Amazon account?
6) Do you have a Goodreads account?
Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.
Oh, and just for fun, I’ve already created a music playlist for my memoir. You can see it on YouTube for the complete list of 57 songs.
For those interested, I thought I’d share the “introduction” to my forthcoming memoir. All thoughts are welcome!
INTRODUCTION
I never wanted to tell this story—at least not this way. Sure, I was forthcoming in sharing bits and pieces of it with certain groups and individuals, but, for the most part, I aimed to spare my loved ones. Now that I have been given the green light by those who mean the most to me, and after what I’ve witnessed over the past few years, I’m going ahead with my uncensored confessions. Down the rabbit hole we go to unearth the dark tales about lies that save and destroy you, paying the piper when the master is ego, and the challenges accepted at the end of the forbidden road.
It amazes me, still, the shocking things we can survive, especially when we never lose hope or give up on laughter and love. The weight, venom, mire, and bondage of our obsessions create roadblocks and wreak havoc until we take that yellow brick road back to sanity. If you’ve seen the movie, Wizard of Oz, you know what I’m talking about. The wizard at the end of the road is a fraud, but you always had the shoes, right?
Anyway, what matters is what’s real.
My story is about addiction and recovery (from many things). I am one of the fortunate ones who lived to tell how it went for me during my fight for sanity and peace from the late 80s to the mid-2000s. However, even after twenty-seven years of sobriety, when people tell me they have no regrets about their life decisions, I’m sure I misunderstand what they mean by that. Perhaps I’m taking it too literally, but I can’t imagine not having at least some regrets. Most of us have caused pain for others (and ourselves), even if we never meant to, and the one thing I regret more than anything is the people I’ve hurt in my oblivion and ignorance.
In retrospect, it’s hard for me to believe some of the things that happened—that I wasn’t dreaming. A serial killer murdered one of my dear friends. One day, the FBI came to my house looking for a bank robber I knew rather intimately. Except I wasn’t aware that he’d robbed banks; I was only a teenager.
My experiences seem absurd to the kind of people I’ve befriended well after that. They’ve led far more sheltered lives, where their parents took them to museums and ballet performances, and it surprised them that I hung out on street corners with friends and in parks. To quote my now-grown son, “I guess it was a sign of the times. Kids just go wandering around meeting people.”
I couldn’t help laughing when he said it, and I laughed whenever I remembered it throughout the day. Yeah, we weren’t Opie living in Mayberry or Beaver living in Mayfield, but, sadly, there’s danger in doing the most natural thing.
Nevertheless, in telling this story, I will include the humor and joy along with all of the tragic madness.
Yeah, some people will say, “Certain things must be kept private.” Perhaps, but we live in an age of transparency and accessibility. As an introvert, I never liked that, but I get over it when writing. Understanding is critical in the world we live in today.
Some people actually think there’s too much empathy in the world and that we as a species may have to be a little more vicious and cruel to survive, like in the olden days. Maybe even with a bit of medieval torture thrown in for good measure. Those people are wrong, and I’m pleased as punch that both time and history have taught us more about humanity. It’s part of our evolution as a species.
My theory is that malignant narcissism is at the heart of the world’s dysfunction. I’m convinced that we’re dealing with the chaos of the world’s trauma, shame, and pain. It’s the gift that keeps on giving—with the worst possible repercussions, and it spreads through the universe like a poison. I believe this suffering, which leads to more suffering, is a cycle we can break with recognition, empathy, and a genuine desire to change.
While I’m certainly not a professional, I’ve dealt with my share of narcissism throughout my life. Unfortunately, many people have endured far worse than what I’ve experienced, and some have been damaged beyond repair. Whatever we can do to help others toward the light in the darkness can mean the difference between their giving up and holding on.
Most of us already have an underlying fear that people won’t love us for who we are, which, through suffering from narcissistic abuse, gets distorted into the notion that no one will ever love us—period. Underneath it is a chronic sadness that never really subsides, and shame overwhelms us.
Not being loved for who we are is one of the things people fear most in life, a fate worse even than death, and many young people out there are killing themselves for that. They fight to cope with one trauma after another until they reach a breaking point and can’t cope anymore, and then they shut down. The message is I’ve had enough; I can’t do this anymore. I’m out.
Often, when people feel that desperation, getting beyond thoughts of suicide is only the first hurdle. From there, it’s a long haul to reclaim themselves and their capacity to love.
The aim of sharing my story is not to gain sympathy but to shed some light on how certain things develop and how we overcome those challenges even when the odds are against us.
One thing I’ve heard and can relate to as a poet and writer is, “Don’t waste your pain.” Life is beautiful and tragic, happy, sad, and everything in between, and, as a poet, I’m here for all of it. The pain is often long gone by the time we relay things in poetry and books, but we can still empathize with people struggling to navigate whatever we’ve already sorted out.
Speaking of that, I learn from everyone. As I’ve said in another book of mine, a heart that has ached mercilessly can spin a lifetime of agony into a garden of wisdom and solace, offering others comfort and peace. It’s the same heart that knows the ecstasy of being alive and cherishing every moment.
Recovery, for me, has been an ongoing journey toward authenticity, removing the veils layer by layer and discarding the masks. I was told in recovery that we are only as sick as our secrets. Of course, we are allowed to have secrets. But suppose our hidden truth has us living a double life or creating a barrier between us and the world? We tend to compartmentalize aspects of our lives as part of the deception. In that case, it either limits or restricts our healing and impedes our goal of authenticity.
We evolve as we become aware of our patterns and vulnerabilities—and we seek answers. Raw honesty combined with accountability helps everyone, especially those of us who’ve gotten caught in a cycle of self-loathing and self-sabotage. We need truth, spiritual courage, and to remain teachable.
These days, a sacred innocence in me has returned. The ever-present inner child in me is at peace and full of joy. I can see the world’s beauty with the eyes of that child. Even when things get crazy, I sit with this peace. If this peace slips away from me even for a moment, I’ll grasp it again and keep it clutched in my fist.
That’s because our job is to keep resolving things internally so we continue evolving as humans, deepening our understanding, empathy, and compassion. Suffering can be beautiful when we constantly grow, but not if we’re emotionally stuck in the same place without learning from what we’ve endured.
Think of this for a moment: When depicted as fire-breathing monsters, mythical dragons are harmful and dangerous—perhaps diabolical. And, like dragons, some people constantly and painfully attempt to incinerate others with their scathing flames. Even those of us who aren’t so malevolent can wear a dragon’s facade to guard and protect ourselves in the darkest of times, but must relinquish it before it destroys us.
The continuous goal is healing—not simply individual healing but collective healing. We each have our gifts and tools for contributing to the greater good, and it turns out that it’s one massive, collaborative effort, during which time we remain connected as part of a larger entity.
So, I write this book from the heart.
And, by the way, I lived happily ever after. I kicked the ass I had to kick to do it—especially my own.
Well, here we go with the story now. Sit tight. Grab some coffee, tea, or what have you, and all that I ask is, when things get a little too dark and ugly, please try to hang in there with me.
Thanks for reading!
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Grateful to Be Alive
My Road to Recovery from Addiction
Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.
D.K. Sanz’s storybegins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family.
From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.
Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.
D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.
Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, of defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.
ARC Copies
To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:
1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)
2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?
3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.
4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?
5) Do you have an Amazon account?
6) Do you have a Goodreads account?
For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.
Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.
ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.
Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.
ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.
Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.
Eventually, I let out a deep sigh and said, “I just want to stay home.” He grinned. “Not home, Diane, in a cage—maybe one with wires and bars where only you control who enters and who speaks to you or touches you. You want to be protected. Even at home, you want that, and this is not a criticism. It is an observation.” In retrospect, I’m not sure he understood why I’d developed such an intense obsession with feeling safe. But he did seem to grasp how powerful that need was, while I remained oblivious. I had yet to acknowledge that I consistently rejected reality—preferring fantasy, delusion, and a false sense of calm or any manufactured euphoria which, ironically, wasn’t safe. I also hid from others, not because I didn’t care. I just cared too much, and it hurt.
D.K. Sanz
BOOK DETAILS
Grateful to Be Alive:
My Road to Recovery from Addiction
By D.K. Sanz
Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.
D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family.
From her earliest days, Sanz was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.
Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.
D.K. Sanz has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.
Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, of defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person Sanz always wanted to be.
First ARC copy review:
“When you begin this book, you will not put it down. You will immediately be drawn into Sanz’s bold narrative of a woman, throughout her life, passing through “every forbidden door,” as she says of herself. It is a book of continual growth through experience, defeat, and triumph. The prose is swift, concise, full of irony, truth, and poise. You will not find a more startling, revealing memoir. Highly, highly recommended.” ~ J.T. Masters
ARC COPY INFORMATION
This memoir about recovery from addiction and illness is complete and in the final editing stage.
Before its release in February, I will provide readers with a certain number of ARCs.
For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to do either, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.
ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.
Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.
Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Sure, in-depth reviews are preferable, but I will greatly appreciate any effort made. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.
ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.
To apply, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:
1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)
2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?
3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you
4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?
5) Do you have an Amazon account?
6) Do you have a Goodreads account?
Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.
Some people may think unconditional love as a way of life means loving, supporting, befriending, and forgiving everyone in every instance. I see it as a general way to view other humans and a way of having compassion for those who struggle.
It doesn’t mean supporting or necessarily forgiving the behavior of those who intentionally seek to harm others. It doesn’t mean befriending those people.
Unconditional love is a blanket feeling, a way to interact and approach. It’s a way to work at your life’s passions. Overall, it’s a way of being—having an inclusive mindset, offering a welcome space, and relentlessly projecting love. ~D.K.
“People often ask me what is the most effective technique for transforming their life. It is a little embarrassing that after years and years of research and experimentation, I have to say that the best answer is— just be a little kinder.” Aldous Huxley
While I’m certainly not a professional, I’ve dealt with my share of narcissism throughout my life. Unfortunately, many people have endured far worse than what I’ve experienced, and some have been damaged beyond repair. Whatever we can do to help others toward the light in the darkness can mean the difference between their giving up and holding on.
My primary theory is that malignant narcissism is at the heart of the world’s dysfunction. I’m convinced that we’re dealing with the chaos of the world’s trauma, shame, and pain. It’s the gift that keeps on giving—with the worst possible repercussions, and it spreads through the universe like a poison. I believe this suffering, which leads to more suffering, is a cycle we can break with recognition, empathy, and a genuine desire to change.
So, I write this from the heart.
THE NARCISSISTS AMONG US
As you likely already know, narcissistic abusers can be parents, lovers, siblings, friends, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, co-workers, employers, teachers, etc. Many of us are unwittingly drawn to them because of their familiarity. Awareness of malignant narcissism is critical since we have long-term contact with some of these people, which can amount to significant damage.
Reading and participating in narcissistic abuse recovery groups has taught me that there’s a difference between people with full-blown NPD and those who get “fleas” from narcissistic abuse—the latter having acquired the narcissistic abuser’s strategies and behaviors to cope and survive. There’s a spectrum, I believe, with varying degrees of impact. Some narcissistic abuse survivors don’t seem to exhibit any of the behavior they were subjected to, while others appear to have inherited every trace of it.
In short, while experiencing narcissistic abuse, we’re often dealing with a person’s trauma response to the abuse that they themselves experienced. Victims of narcissistic abuse can become so defensive that they, too, can become hurtful.
There was a time in my own life when despite the general empathy I had for others, my privileges made someone else’s struggle unrelatable to me. I took for granted that I had a good job and a career and that in my recovery from substance abuse, I wasn’t struggling. Relapse was not a temptation, let alone a threat. Many would say, well, you worked for those things. Yeah, I did, but the fact that I was able to shouldn’t have blinded me to the reality that it was hard and damn near impossible for those who didn’t have the advantages I had while growing up. My expectations of others at the time were unrealistically high, and I didn’t understand it when people fell short of meeting them.
I mentioned empathy a couple of times now because that’s an essential factor here. Empathy is what sets the recovering victim apart from a hopelessly disordered narcissist because it is empathy that makes us want to do better and play fair. We’re eventually willing to relinquish the narcissistic “payoffs” because we care about others. In my experience, I’ve found that as long as we have empathy for ourselves and others, we can rise above many of the character defects that burden us and make us a burden to others.
And to be fair, I’m not sure I’ve ever dealt with anyone who had a total lack of empathy, but they’re out there, and they’re dangerous.
NARCISSIST MOTIVATION
In my view, most narcissistic abusers do what they do out of insecurity, fear, and habit, and they can be oblivious to what’s causing them to act as they do.
These narcissists are ashamed of who they are, so they manufacture an image of who they want to be. That’s where the obsession with one’s self-image develops—and whatever the narcissist stands for becomes part of that façade. It becomes necessary for them to buy into and sell their superiority because, in the narcissist’s conscious or subconscious mind, there is no in-between when it comes to superiority and inferiority. Equal isn’t an option, and they don’t want anyone to see them as inferior. Damage control becomes a survival strategy and an automatic response to any threat to the ideology that comforts and, quite frankly, saves them.
In terms of fear, I think one thing narcissistic abusers often derive from their experiences is that there’s not enough of what’s good to go around, which may even be the case in their family environment. They then take that fear out into the world, believing, again—perhaps only subconsciously—that there’s a limited amount of love, attention, money, success, fame, and so on, no matter where they go. More for you means less for them; therefore, everything becomes a competition. With this mindset, it is difficult for them to genuinely support others and easy to fear that those “others” might succeed at their expense. You want them to root for you, but they’re more likely to sabotage you with discouragement and disinterest.
Perceived threats to a narcissistic abuser can be enviable traits, such as someone else’s popularity and influence, or even unenviable traits, such as an illness or disorder that another person may have to endure. People begin to pay more attention to the afflicted or popular ones, which can trigger an alarm for the narcissist. It compels them to redirect the attention they’re not getting so that the focus is back on them.
Sometimes, narcissistic abusers reject others simply for being different. There are circumstances where a child has mental or physical health issues, and a narcissistic individual will perceive that as shameful because they think it reflects negatively on them, or they see it as a weakness from which they must distance themselves. Sometimes, parents or relatives deny the problem or blame the child rather than support them. To a narcissist, that behavior is an affront to them. The main concern is, What will people think?
That was typical behavior hundreds of years ago—the result of clinical ignorance and/or superstition of the times, but it hasn’t entirely vanished all these years later, despite our society having a better understanding of these issues today.
For a dysfunctional narcissist, everyone in their family and circle of friends must be normal by their standards. Every member of their family or circle must also validate and reinforce whatever they think, say, and do in order to nurture the notion that their perception is always accurate. That’s crucial to them because their deepest fear is, if they are wrong about that, what else are they wrong about? And can they possibly be wrong about everything they believed to be true? They may not be ready to examine any of those possibilities.
Narcissistic abusers withhold support, validation, admiration, attention, and approval from those they perceive as threats or competition or anyone who challenges the reality they’ve constructed. They reject, bully, intimidate, humiliate, and kick perceived enemies when they’re down. These heartbreaking actions can crush a person’s spirit and leave them with paralyzing trauma and fear. Malignant narcissists often demonize someone because they don’t have the same power over that person that they so expertly wield over others.
Character assassination is most definitely in the narcissistic abuser’s wheelhouse, and they excel at it. They rewrite history, spin false narratives, mischaracterize, mock, and blame their chosen targets. There will be people within the narcissist’s social group playing both sides, as well, which becomes a never-ending drama. Too often, people want to be on the side they figure is winning, more popular, or simply more rewarding. They may even fear the narcissist and remain loyal rather than become another target. As victims of narcissistic abuse, we may also feel a sense of loyalty to the abusers, and we may wish to protect them. Denial becomes a method of survival for us, too. It doesn’t help that narcissistic abusers can be charming. We may find them so lovable and irresistible that we’re desperate to be wrong about them.
Nor does it help that none of us are perfect people, unwittingly allowing abusers to bring out the worst in us. When dealing with manipulative behavior, we sometimes make a bad situation worse with our reactions or simply by tripping over our own flaws and insecurities, thus taking the bait. (If I had a dollar for every ridiculous thing I’ve said in those circumstances—well, you get the idea.)
Sadly, too, we often genuinely love a narcissistic abuser and hope we can help them. It’s wise to remember that people who want to recover will do the work required to repair themselves. People who are not aspiring to change may not be willing or ready to examine themselves, acknowledge their mistakes, take responsibility, and begin the process of learning, growing, and healing. If they are not there yet, and you confront their behavior, they’ll likely act as if your question or statement is shocking, offensive, or absurd, and they’ll think you’re the one with the problem. The moment you put them on the defensive, it becomes even more critical to discredit you to themselves and their circle of family and friends.
It won’t matter what you say to them or how kind you are; your words will not move a narcissist who isn’t ready to change. You think you can meet them halfway, but if believing you, understanding you, and finding a way to co-exist peacefully with you doesn’t work with their agenda, they don’t compromise. Even if they care about and respect you, the extent to which they care has to be greater than their need to be perceived in the most flattering light.
The payoff they’ve gotten from selling their narrative is a lot to give up because they’d have to be willing to risk losing the false alter ego they created to survive. It’s easier for them to dehumanize a perceived enemy and rationalize that this person deserves their retaliation, no matter how vicious it is. They can’t afford to put themselves in your place and understand your emotional pain or see how they may be the ones who caused it.
Narcissistic abusers may call you selfish if you end the relationship or leave their group because they don’t realize what they’re asking you to do is tolerate their constant disrespect and abuse. But that’s okay. Those in their corner will agree with them that you’re selfish, and that’s okay, too. Maybe someday, they will be able to see things objectively, but don’t confuse someone you can save with someone you need to save yourself from.
IMPACT, SURVIVAL, AND CHANGE
I mentioned bullying above because bullying is a form of narcissistic abuse and can be debilitating for targets who are deeply connected to their emotions. These people may be strong in most situations, but bullying distorts their self-perception and leads to kindhearted people becoming more sensitive and insecure—often hating themselves. People don’t necessarily realize it when they contribute to the erosion of a child’s self-worth, but kids pay attention to how people treat them, and they get the message loud and clear. Abusers intentionally or unintentionally break our wings so that when we don’t fly, they can say they knew we never would or that we might have succeeded if only we’d listened to them.
Sadly, most of us already have an underlying fear that people won’t love us for who we are, which, through suffering from narcissistic abuse, gets distorted into the notion that no one will ever love us—period. That’s often one of the things people fear most in life, a fate worse even than death, and many young people out there are killing themselves for that. They fight to cope with one trauma after another until they reach a breaking point and can’t cope anymore, and then they shut down. The message is I’ve had enough; I can’t do this anymore. I’m out.
Often, when people feel that desperation, getting beyond thoughts of suicide is only the first hurdle. From there, it’s a long haul to reclaim themselves and their capacity to love.
That’s right. Our ability to love genuinely is also affected. We ask ourselves, What’s wrong with me? We can’t fix it or explain it, and we can’t stop it. We sometimes imagine we’re crazy or going crazy. We get completely lost and unsure about many things. Underneath it is a chronic sadness that never really subsides, and shame overwhelms us.
Awareness and acceptance are the first steps to most self-help, and that’s very much the case here. It takes time and requires ongoing self-maintenance, but we are generally more powerful than the obstacles that derail us. In this instance, I’m not talking about chemical imbalances or illnesses beyond anyone’s control; I’m talking about things that are beyond our control simply because we didn’t understand them at the time.
I advocate awareness because it’s easy for people to use our idiosyncrasies against us. Longtime endurance of narcissistic abuse leads us to question our judgment and sometimes acts to prove that the negative assessment of ourselves is correct. We may be attractive, intelligent, talented, or whatever, yet we fear we are inferior and unworthy of love and success because the people we want to love us—the narcissistic abusers—are incapable of genuine love. And if we are the reminder of their shame, they fear us as much as they fear the true selves they’ve buried deep.
We become more understanding as we become more aware. We learn to examine our actions and motives and not fear what we find. Again, we don’t have to be perfect, and none of us are. More important is the desire to recognize and correct hurtful behavior as we move forward.
When we choose to break the cycle, we learn to spot trouble from the get-go and avoid it. Even better, narcissistic abusers will tend to keep their distance because they’ll realize they’re not able to manipulate and control us.
The good news is we are always healing, as individuals, as friends, as a family, as a nation, and as a planet. As part of that process, we continue to expand our consciousness, and we wake up every day one step closer to who we are meant to be—the best person we can be under our everyday circumstances.
Note:
This blog contains numerous excerpts from my forthcoming memoir, Grateful to Be Alive.
BOOK DETAILS:
Grateful to Be Alive:
My Road to Recovery from Addiction
By D.K. Sanz
Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.
D.K. Sanz’s storybegins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family.
From her earliest days, Sanz was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.
Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.
D.K. Sanz has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.
Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, of defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person Sanz always wanted to be.
First ARC copy review:
“When you begin this book, you will not put it down. You will immediately be drawn into Sanz’s bold narrative of a woman, throughout her life, passing through “every forbidden door,” as she says of herself. It is a book of continual growth through experience, defeat, and triumph. The prose is swift, concise, full of irony, truth, and poise. You will not find a more startling, revealing memoir. Highly, highly recommended.” ~ J.T. Masters
If you are interested in obtaining an ARC copy, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com.
When my son was little, sitting on his bed, he began a conversation with, “In my other life …”
I waited, but he stopped.
“In your other life, what?” I asked him.
“What?” he said.
“What about your other life?”
It confused him, and he didn’t remember saying what he said. 😕
Life seems to be full of “strange” incidents of that nature.
Many people relate to feeling homesick for a place they can only vaguely remember, and sometimes they can’t even remember it exactly, but they’re aware of it. Either way, they feel an aching, a longing they don’t quite understand.
Some people believe their partner is someone they’ve fallen in love with many times throughout the centuries, and they always manage to find each other. Others think they’ve continually searched for their twin flames and soulmates through one life after another. Or that they are born into this life with unfinished business. Then, of course, there are those déjà vu moments that don’t make any sense.
In my experience, the twin flames and soulmates seem about right, as does the unfinished business and weird déjà vu. So, I can’t discount any of the other stuff.
I read Siddhartha by Herman Hesse when I was in my early twenties. You may know the book presents reincarnation as a necessary part of life. Over time, I’d also read a few suspenseful books that dealt with the same subject—Max Ehrlich’s The Reincarnation of Peter Proud and Frank De Felitta’s Audrey Rose. Both books have film versions, and Audrey Rose was supposedly a true story.
A friend of mine recently recommended Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss, M.D., which gives a therapist’s account of his sessions with a patient who eerily recalled past lives. Evidently, Dr. Weiss was pretty skeptical about the whole subject and ultimately became convinced by what he’d heard, so I look forward to reading that.
It’s fascinating stuff. The idea that we continually evolve has always made sense to me, and I could embrace the fact that it takes place over many lifetimes. Is the goal to get it right finally? And then what? Those are things I like to explore.
In making sense of the “continual evolving” theory, here’s what I’ve noticed.
We have people who can throw another human being in front of a train without conscience. We have people who can be oppressive and hateful. In the first instance, some will say that’s just someone who is mentally ill. But you can say that about many serial killers, too. Most people with mental illness don’t do things like that and wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. In fact, I believe people have to reach a level of depth before they even suspect there’s a mental problem or disorder they need to confront. They already know how life is supposed to be and are trying to cope. The others don’t seem to know or care how they should treat each other and behave.
Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone who can’t even begin to comprehend that everyone deserves rights, dignity, and respect? Yeah.
Once I half-jokingly said to my son, “Maybe those people are here for the first time. You know, like when somebody is incredibly incompetent, and you think, first day?” It’s also similar to when we consider that a person who is so very young has a brain that’s still developing. (My son doesn’t like this theory for those I described above because he thinks it provides an excuse for people whose actions should never be justified.)
It may be an explanation, never a justification.
But I can’t say whether these people are in their first lives or not. Nor can I proclaim with certainty that I’ve had more than one life, but I can say that, in this particular life, I’ve learned so much, and I’m still learning.
The little jolts I’ve had, the moments of wondering if I’d been here before—well, I saved them for last because I’m still not sure it amounts to much.
There’s the fire thing. As a kid, I sprang into action to put out a fire that started in my sister’s room. Everyone had been asleep, but I was on it before others could fully awaken and realize what was happening. It happened two other times when I was a decade or so older. Once, someone had left candles unattended, and I, practically naked, leaped out of bed like Superman with the tall buildings and all, and it was actually quite funny. My boyfriend at the time laughed heartily, but I snuffed those flames out in a heartbeat.
Yes, I know, people put out fires all the time, especially firefighters. Many act quickly in a crisis. What strikes me is the feeling I’d get whenever faced with that situation. I had a fear of fire. It was an instant threat to me, signaling a violent urgency, but there was no fear or panic when I confronted it, only action.
Another time, while still a kid, I realized, during a crisis, that a person would not survive if I took one action instead of another. I had no way of knowing that, but I turned out to be right, and someone lived to see another day.
Many people would say, in both instances, it was God. Okay. I lack the evidence to dispute that, but obviously, there’s a lot of food for thought, as they say.
In childhood, I had a cousin about six years older than me. We hardly saw each other, but whenever we did, we couldn’t help feeling we’d always known each other. He was always incredibly familiar to me, and we talked as if we’d been friends forever. Again, it was about the feelings, not so much the idea, where you can say, so you just connected, okay, no big deal.
My conclusion is that I lean toward believing in reincarnation and will continue to look for more evidence of that.
In her memoir, Finding Me, the outstanding actress, Viola Davis, revealed her conversation with actor Will Smith. He’d asked her who she was (down deep) and admitted that he himself had been stuck in a place of childhood trauma. It helped her to realize where she was stuck, and, in reading that, I instantly knew what that place was for me. I’m not there anymore, but I was for many years.
Viola and Will were talking about this lifetime, but isn’t it possible that people can get stuck in a place that has nothing to do with this life? Hmm …
If there is truth to these theories, we have more power than we realize, and hopefully, the end game is to promote an agenda of love over hate.
You don’t have to be a lampshade-wearing drunk or fighting barroom drunk for drinking to be a potential problem. However, there was a time when I figured just backing off street drugs was the end of that forbidden road. I continued to drink alcohol—mainly a glass of champagne on birthdays or holidays.
Yes, well—abstaining from one drug and not another may work for some people, but I realized 27 years ago that it wouldn’t work for me. That’s when I decided I might as well stop drinking, too, and adhere to the twelve-step program.
It wasonly the beginning of my surrender.
In my first decade of sobriety, I didn’t fully understand why people said it’s “one day at a time” to infinity and beyond. If you’re not abusing alcohol or any other substance and haven’t even come close to relapsing in all these years, you’re good, right? You’ve got this. But that’s not how it works. Addiction, I learned, is a disease of the body, mind, and spirit, and emotional sobriety while abstaining is also ongoing one day at a time.
On the emotional end, it’s been referred to as the “disease of the attitudes.” Still, I have to say most of us who’ve resorted to substance abuse come into recovery with fleas from narcissistic abuse, usually from people who were also living the aftermath of narcissistic abuse. On top of all that, many of us are trauma survivors who’ve dealt with physical, emotional, or sexual abuse—quite often all of those things.
Under these circumstances, we’ve co-opted the shame-based coping and survival skills of our abusers. They are skills that have kept us alive and emotionally intact while also putting us at significant risk over and over again. So, we’ve been wandering around doing things we weren’t aware of to block out the pain or create a pacifying illusion of safety. On some level of our consciousness, our needs seemed urgent, making us unusually vulnerable. We craved attention, validation, and praise, and that was another drug, a temporary fix whenever someone complied. It doesn’t work for long because, as with any other drug, the euphoria fades, and you remember the pain and torture of what you genuinely fear—that you’re not special or that no one loves or cares about you. Hence, we crave one fix after another.
We convince ourselves that certain relationships are about selflessness and love when they are more often tainted by our dysfunction. We may love people the best way we can, but it’s only as genuine as we are.
Whatever the deal is, addiction is an obsession. In its active state, it impairs our judgment and clouds our perception. It robs us of clarity which only returns and continues to improve with consistent physical and emotional sobriety. Meanwhile, the pressing urges of codependency will consistently override any willingness to be authentic.
Addicts, for the most part, in our lifelong frenzy, attempting to survive the madness, may become con artists. Often, too, we lack empathy. We are self-obsessed and often unable to put ourselves in someone else’s place. We’ve lost the connection where we assimilate what others are experiencing.
Without realizing it, we may become bullies with an eye out for any perceived threat, frequently compelled to do damage control. We’re fiercely determined to preserve our delusions and denials and protect our “secrets.” We attempt to control everything, including how others perceive us. So, drama is very much a part of our lives—waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading it when the phone rings, an automatic response of, what now? And we don’t hold ourselves accountable for our actions. Instead of learning from our mistakes, we make excuses.
Despite having developed a shaky trust in others, we still trust the wrong people at times because those types are familiar to us. We form toxic relationships that can put us or keep us in dangerous situations with severe consequences. People inclined to use our fragility against us instinctively take advantage, and we will unintentionally draw them to us. Sometimes, they suffer from the same affliction, and their desperation is so great that they can’t discern beyond it. Neither can we.
The point is, we can abstain and still be a hot mess. When we come to our moment of surrender, we are broken and, yes, quite fragile in our vulnerability. Our self-esteem has been gutted. We feel unworthy of anything good. We lack the tools or coping skills for dealing with life on life’s terms. There continues to be unrelenting self-sabotage and self-loathing.
It’s a long road for us, and guilt continued to assuage me for many, many years. I cringed, embarrassed, remembering things I said or did, and it was hard for me to find any empathy for the person I was. My dearest friend, whom I’ve known for decades, reminded me not to be so hard on myself. “That girl was just trying to survive,” she said.
It’s hard to believe that merely trying to survive can be so catastrophic, but we’re not perfect. We struggle, and if we continue to put in the effort to become the best people we can be, we never stop getting better. The most important thing to me is continual recovery in every regard. As long as we’re still here, we have a chance to fight for our lives. I’ll never stop fighting, and I’m always grateful for another day to awaken and thrive.
This writing is an unedited excerpt from my new memoir, Grateful to Be Alive. For more details about the book, please read on.
Book description:
Grateful to Be Alive
My Road to Recovery from Addiction
by D.K. Sanz
Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.
D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family.
From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naïve kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.
Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.
D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.
Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.
ARC Copies
For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.
Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.
ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.
Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.
ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.
To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:
1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)
2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?
3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.
4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?
5) Do you have an Amazon account?
6) Do you have a Goodreads account?
Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.
“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.” – Ray Bradbury
I promised a few people I would blog about my year in reading.
My Goodreads goal was 52 books in 2022. Goodreads gives me credit here for having read 53 when last I checked, but I’m at 54 now. It takes them a bit to catch up. Most of the books are psychological thrillers, but there are a few other genres.
Here are the books I gave a five-star review:
Obviously, my favorite author of the year is Freida McFadden. There are many I’ve come to love, and Carrie Magillen is also at the top of that list.
I’ll post just a couple of my reviews.
This is the second book I’ve read by this author. The first, When He’s Not Here, I rated five stars.
Now, this one, I wasn’t sure what I’d rate it for a couple of reasons. First, I figured out exactly what would happen when I was about halfway through. (I wonder if that’s to my credit or if others would figure it out just as easily). Then again, is that so bad?
Second, the story deals with narcissistic and domestic abuse and gets into so much detail at a couple of pivotal moments that it almost seems to turn from fiction to non-fiction. Those subjects are important, though. I was into it, and, as far as I’m concerned, the more awareness created, the better.
The writing itself was beautiful, especially her descriptions of the surroundings. The story was riveting, and I couldn’t put it down. I read it all in just two days, and despite my figuring out the upcoming twists, the way she executed it was brilliant. So, near the end, I thought, hmm, should I give her a four or a five? Then I read the last few pages and HAD to give it a five. Well done!
*****
Bloody brilliant! And I never say bloody anything. As disturbing and unsettling as it was in general, it was a well-written page turner, so cleverly constructed. I’m thirsty for more.
A few words…
According to the literary statistics, 2022 has been a banner year for reading all around. That makes me happy not only because I’m a writer marketing books but because it’s a joy I want everyone to experience. For me, it’s been one of life’s greatest treasures, a passion I’ve felt privileged to have.
I have fond memories of trekking to the library with friends as a kid. On the way back, we bought french fries from the fish market, ate them along the way, and then settled on my stoop to read. It started with the Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and Pinocchio, all so thrilling and magical.
I looked forward to ordering books during the school book sales. Narrowing it down to the books I wanted most was tough since my list was so long. On the day they arrived, the teacher arranged them in front of the classroom for all to see, and they were just beautiful with their gorgeous covers. I couldn’t wait! Then, holding the new books in my hands! It was a feeling I find hard to describe.
My English teacher introduced us to classics like Nicholas and Alexandria in high school. He took us to see A Christmas Carol at Radio City Music Hall, where my love for Charles Dickens began. I went on to Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice with a burgeoning passion for 19th-century British literature. I loved gothic settings, too, time travel, and the days of the Roman Empire.
The truth is, no matter what you read, it’s bound to be good for you, and it’s easy when you find the genres and authors you love. In fact, like meditation or a day at the spa, reading is one of many ways to practice self-love. It takes you out of your world and into someone else’s mind, heart, and universe. You get comfortable in your favorite reading spot by the fire or under the covers. You relax with a book or even your phone. (I’m always reading on my iPhone Kindle.) You cast any troubles aside and simply surrender. It’s “you” time.
“What better occupation, really, than to spend the evening at the fireside with a book, with the wind beating on the windows and the lamp burning bright.” – Gustave Flaubert
For me, that escape to another time and place, learning about different people and things, is a lot of fun, like traveling in your mind. Whether you’re a writer or not, the stories inspire you. It’s good for the brain, warding off cognitive decline, and it often helps me fall asleep! 😉
Back in my school days, teachers would tell us we could increase our vocabulary by looking up words we didn’t know. That’s true as well.
And one of the best things about reading is the opportunity to empathize, even in a fictional situation.
When I became a parent, I often took my son to the library. At the time, I was looking for horror fiction, and he was looking for books about Jupiter!
It’s a wonderful thing.
“When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young.” – Maya Angelou
My memoir about recovery from addiction and illness is complete and in the final editing stage. Here’s an unedited excerpt to give you an idea of what’s coming:
The Atlantic Ocean seemed as vast and deep as the aching within me and represented the same somber foreboding. It was the sea of the titan after all—more than 41 million square miles. In those moments, it looked as foreign to me as everything else that was once familiar. One might see it as a green leviathan monster or the depths of God’s love. I saw the monster, noting it could simply devour you, but so could the earth, and life itself. I was on the sandy shores of Rockaway Beach, somewhere about 108th street, sitting cross-legged, on my beach blanket, playing with a stick in the sand. Aggressive seagulls descended effortlessly from the clear blue sky—ravenous, and predatory, like some humans I knew. The calls of piping plovers and other shorebirds were ominous, too. The warmth of the sun felt good though as I took in the ocean’s briny aroma mingled with the fragrances of cocoa butter, coconut oil, and glorious traces of jasmine. The ocean breeze provided a hypnotic tranquility, so much so that as the salty waves thrashed against the shore, I’d managed to believe that somehow, someday, it would all be okay. The music on my radio soothed me then, pretty much the way it always did, and I listened to the laughter of yesterday. I was sixteen now, and when men approached my blanket, I immediately told them, “I’m leaving in two minutes.” By this time, I didn’t want to meet any more people.
D.K. Sanz ~ from my upcoming memoir
Please Note: Before its anticipated release in February of 2023, I will provide readers with a certain number of ARCs. (February is a tentative release goal.)
For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to do either, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.
ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.
Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.
ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.
To apply, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:
1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)
2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?
3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.
4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?
5) Do you have an Amazon account?
6) Do you have a Goodreads account?
Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.
Funny thing—when I was younger, I hated the idea of being a “fan” of anyone. I thought of it as worshipping others when we all are, in fact, equal and that it was beneath me to worship someone else. Now, I see a difference between worshipping and having the greatest admiration for another human being. In fact, if I love you, I’m likely one of your biggest fans.
But the issue of equality remains of the utmost importance to me. For example, when they say you can judge a man by how he treats his inferiors—no, we don’t have inferiors! Some people have more talent or money, better positions, nicer cars, higher functioning brains, and genes that make them more attractive. Still, there’s no reason for anyone to hang on to the illusion of superiority.
When they say you know a person’s character by how they treat someone who can’t do anything for him, then yes, that might be true. But do those who believe in a merciful creator think their creator would snub the poor, sick, disabled, or anyone of another gender, ethnicity, race, or sexual orientation? Would that benevolent creator think less of them? It begs the question; if you believe we are sacred, who is less sacred than you?
Some who have co-opted the term ‘woke’ make fun of the concept, but deplorable hate crimes are rising at an alarming rate, and I have to wonder why we’re still fighting this battle in 2022. The term ‘woke’ came about to bring awareness to racism, and now it’s being used as an insult as if inclusion is a bad thing and wanting everyone treated with the same dignity and respect is a problem. They have this idea that we say what we say to impress others or to appear tolerant or benevolent.
I can speak only for myself, but I know this is true for many people. I don’t care about impressing anyone. I say what I say and do what I do because that is 100% genuinely and honestly how I feel. I have never seen any justification for denying people rights, dignity, or civility based on their represented group. There was never a time in my life when that didn’t seem inhumane. It always made sense to me that you don’t know a person just because you know their race, ethnicity, or sexuality and that being one thing is better than being another. And it’s been said many times, but tolerance, WTF? Who am I to decide whether to “tolerate” another person’s existence or not based on that information? I’d have to be a complete narcissist to think these people are beneath me for those reasons, deserve less than I, or are less worthy than me.
Unlike the woke critics, many of us have never been asleep in the first place. But it comes down to this: how people treat each other is appalling. Life’s hard enough, and I think we need to cheer each other on along the way.
People who’ve known me for a while know that I’ve changed names and hair colors more than the average person. The hair thing is just fun, but the name, hmm.
Choosing a pseudonym can be as challenging for a writer as naming books, characters, and fantasy places. I’d created many pen names before Kyrian Lyndon, and while I haven’t published books under any of the former nom de plumes, some of them make me cringe now. There was Nicole Peri, Jasmine Sérle, Diane Kristen Abbott, and Robyn Angeli. So, how did I finally decide on Kyrian Lyndon?
Well, one of my parents had an Italian surname, and the other had a Spanish one. Not wanting ethnicity to be an issue, I searched online for an alternative. Kyrian seemed good because it had a few different origins, and Kyrian Lyndon sounded lyrical. The bonus was I couldn’t find anyone else with that name.
Switching names isn’t that big a deal, really. Anne Rice wrote under A. N. Roquelaure and Anne Rampling, while her birth name was Howard O’Brien. C.S. Lewis wrote under two other names. Washington Irving wrote under three! That’s all fine, but I now regret ever changing my name to Kyrian Lyndon. (Those close to me won’t be surprised. 😅)
Blah, blah, blah, I know. Overexplaining is one of my OCD things.
Anyway, my big news is that I will publish future books using something closer to my real name. My name is Diane, and my initials are D.B. or D.K. My mom’s last name is Sanchez, like the musician, singer, and composer Alejandro Sanz. I decided to shorten it the way he did, writing as D.K. Sanz. Social media accounts will change, as will my website, so when you see D.K. Sanz where you have me as a connection, I want you to know it’s me.
Fantasy often bests reality. Sentimentality can provide us with an illusion of innocence in a safe and familiar world. That’s fine, and it’s not hard to understand why people, in their everyday lives, cling to illusions and delusions that comfort and protect.
That said, most of us would say we are honest. We believe that we are. The trouble is, we can’t be honest with others until we are honest with ourselves. And we can’t be honest with ourselves until we know what is true—until we confront it, accept it, and deal with it however we must.
So, why would we not know?
Many of us grow up indoctrinated with a built-in belief system. The beliefs we hold may lead to harsh judgments—to the point of shunning, oppressing, and hating others. There is often an unwillingness to understand people who are different. And these core ideologies can simultaneously result in self-loathing and a feeling of being unworthy or never quite good enough. It’s the inferiority complex turned inside out—a desperate need to feel superior.
Along the lines of needing to be perceived a certain way, I’ve seen debates on how honest to be with children and whether they have a right to hit us with their perception of the truth if it isn’t favorable to us. The ancient rule that you respect all adults no matter what.
I believe children have the right to call out parents on their behavior, and that parents should address their concerns about any relative, family friend, or person in authority. If we care about people (and sometimes even if we don’t) but especially when we care about people, we need to listen to them when they tell us how we’ve hurt them even in the smallest of ways. We can’t be accountable while in denial, can’t grow and evolve, can’t set the example for the children who look to us for guidance.
Pretending we are perfect doesn’t serve anyone. It’s painful to acknowledge when we caused pain where we wanted only to love and protect, but we must. There are many hard lessons in life, just as there are other ways the truth may elude us.
A fair amount of clarity is essential in sorting out what is biased and what is factual. Specific characteristics and predicaments diminish that clarity. Here are a few:
Addiction/obsession (clouds perception, impairs judgment) – For example, I have found that people in recovery continue to gain clarity as they remain sober and clean.
A self-centered existence (usually correlates with substance abuse including alcohol and certain personality disorders)
Stress
Lack of self-care (sleep, healthy lifestyle, etc.)
Our agenda (of which we may or may not be aware)
Our vulnerabilities
Misinformation (I think being an avid reader of books, especially those that introduce you to different cultures and perspectives helps tremendously.)
Taking ourselves too seriously (also may correlate with substance abuse and certain personality disorders)
CAN WE HANDLE THE TRUTH?
Some of us fearlessly plunge into that seemingly endless abyss where we face painful truths and endure the grueling process of healing. Others deliberately avoid it or scatter a little bit of dirt to the side and then dart off in another direction, taking cover until they feel grounded enough to dig a little deeper. They don’t want to uncover the truth because they have an inner sense that it won’t serve them well. Indeed, at the moment, it won’t, but it definitely will in the long run.
Ten years ago, I’d assume people could handle whatever I could. It never seemed to sink in that they were as vulnerable and fragile as I was once. My idea of being characteristically direct may have been someone else’s idea of being attacked.
At times, we feel an urgent need to resolve things, and, if we’re not patient, we can end up doing more damage than we intended . The goal is not to “hurt” people, and like any conflict, resolution can happen only when both sides are mentally prepared and open to that— willing to go where it leads. There must be a mutual willingness to get to the truth. When you come from a place of caring and love, you see that they are human and vulnerable, and you approach them that way. Besides, even with the vast amounts of knowledge, wisdom, and insight we acquire, we are all still vulnerable to one degree or another.
THE PRICE OF DENIAL
In January of 2002, Psychology Today published an article by Bill Sullivan, Ph.D., about the devastating consequences lying has on our brain. “Dishonesty puts the brain in a state of heightened alert, and this stress increases with the magnitude of the lie,” he wrote. (It doesn’t apply to sociopaths lacking empathy, but most of us care about our trustworthiness and integrity.) “Symptoms of anxiety arise because lying activates the limbic system in the brain,” he explained. “When people are being honest, this area of the brain shows minimal activity. But when telling a lie, it lights up like a fireworks display. An honest brain is relaxed, while a dishonest brain is frantic.”
Denial has a price, as well, and it’s often quite steep. We see its cost while it continues to happen all around us. Don’t for a moment underestimate its power to destroy lives, institutions, countries, and ultimately civilizations.
While in denial:
We don’t know why we want what we want or need what we need.
We don’t know what our vulnerabilities are.
We hurt people or put them in harm’s way.
We obsess over certain people and things, oblivious to why or the fact that it isn’t normal.
We’re unable to see our part in anything.
We don’t see ourselves or others with clarity, so we mischaracterize our behavior and theirs.
We take dangerous risks and put ourselves or keep ourselves in situations that have serious consequences.
We lie to ourselves and others.
With highly unrealistic expectations, we set ourselves up for disappointment and devastation.
We can’t take the right action because we make decisions without the correct information.
We lack empathy.
We have a constant need to do damage control.
We don’t learn from our mistakes, and so we miss life lessons that can empower us.
Being honest is not about unnecessary disclosure. It’s about separating fact from fiction, opinion, and popular belief—notions that cause egos out of bounds, discrimination, exclusion, judgment, and condemnation. We pull the curtain on delusion and denial to let the light in. We choose clarity over confusion. It leads to more empathy, less vulnerability, and decisions based on expanded horizons and a more substantial knowledge base as we surpass our self-imposed limitations and embrace a wider world.
YEAH, THE TRUTH DOES SET YOU FREE
We can wear masks for a lifetime, not knowing who we are or what is real. Or we can begin to peel off one layer of untruth at a time, just as if we were peeling an onion or discarding a myriad of veils.
In the process of uncovering and accepting the truth, the shame that drove us to compete and control begins to dissipate. We learn to love with our whole hearts—not just others but ourselves. We know we are vulnerable. We understand how vulnerable we are, so we walk away from people whose goal is to exploit our vulnerabilities. And we keep getting better at it. That’s good because before we understood, it was easy to lead us, fool us, and enslave us.
Blessed with clearer vision, we can routinely examine our motives and expectations. We won’t always trust our egos, and that’s a good thing. People without clarity of conscience don’t question themselves. They won’t say, “I’m glad I caught that. I can refrain. I can resist. I can do the right thing.” They’ll keep doing what they’re doing, often not understanding what they’re doing or why.
Those of us searching for the truth are tired of being terrified of it. Denial has ceased to be our sole comfort and our only way to survive. The payoff in protecting our hearts, our image, and our secrets is no longer worth it. We came to fully accept that we are all struggling humans, equal in importance.
We continue striving to become more and more authentic. We continue to replace false with real. It’s not as easy as living in denial, but we know we have to get better. We know we have to do better, and it’s important to share what we learn. We are all teachers on this earth, just as we are all students. Sometimes people don’t mean to teach us anything, but they do. Learning doesn’t make you inferior any more than teaching makes you superior.
I love that we continually evolve, and we know better than we did in the past. We are worthy of the truth. We deserve that much.
I never write short stories; this effort is the first, only, and maybe last I will ever do. The initial version came to me decades ago, when I was so young, but I later found it and rewrote it for my son. It was just a fun thing I decided to do, so I hope you enjoy it.
A STRANGE AND PEACEFUL NEW WORLD
Employing the latest holo-vision technology, top scientists on planet Obelus had fully monitored the Earth’s predictable decline. It was as if they had a front-row seat to a horror flick.
Arsenal, biological, and eventual nuclear warfare had prevailed for several Earth weeks. They experienced flooding, drought, landslides, and elevated levels of carbon in the hot, dry atmosphere. The few survivors lived in primitive darkness surrounded by fires and billowing smoke, breathing toxic air.
That was hundreds of years ago. Most of the survivors went insane, and, sane or not, they turned on each other.
On this particular day, Seren Heddle, one of the most famous scientists on Obelus, was there in the flesh. His brilliance had prompted the aristocracy of his native land to have him visit and observe the new Earth. At his side was the beautiful Alula, with whom he’d been obsessed ever since she came to work with him. They wore full body suits, rugged shoes, gloves, and safety visors, but underneath it all, Seren was a slight, five-foot-six inches with verdant green hair and eyes like topaz jewels. The shapely Alula, only a tad shorter than he was, had bits of silver stardust sprinkled through her lavender mane, which was straight and smooth to create an elegant frame for her feline face. Hers were the eyes, nose, and the clever snickering grin of what was once the Earth’s cat. She was a hybrid version of the feline species trained to scout on Earth and other planets.
Before them, grey steel buildings and factories stood amid tree stumps on barren lands of eroded soil and mud-filled puddles. The noise level was hard to bear, so dwellings and workplaces contained stone walls for better insulation. Experts planned for reforestation, hoping new trees would come to life within the next few decades.
“We had hoped to intervene,” Seren said with a slightly guilty conscience. “But, from all we’d heard and observed, many earthlings fear and demonize alien entities of any variety.”
Alula shrugged, as he’d said this before, many times. “Perhaps if we reflected their own images and perceptions, they’d have welcomed us with a champagne and truffles gift basket,” she joked.
Seren nodded. “They are that way with people in their homeland, too, and yes, terrified by ‘creatures’ from outer space, but, truth be told, they’d never even heard of Obelus.”
“Oh, right,” said Alula. “The astrologist scalawags pretended our planet didn’t exist, though they knew it was there all along. They tricked earthlings for centuries with their corrupt pseudoscience.” Obelus was huge and took up quite a lot of sky space for an ignored constellation, she thought. It held the second-closest star to the earth!
But earthlings had had much more to worry about than a world shaken by the revelation that the sun’s position, when observed from Earth, was not aligned with the arbitrarily defined planet they thought it was on the day they were born.
You see, the last original human survivor, Mason Guthridge, was a scientist who’d built himself an elaborate bunker city and didn’t invite anyone else. He’d decided that only uniformity could create a world without jealousy, elitism, and hatred, so he decided to clone himself ad infinitum and lived underground with his clones, waiting for the remaining humans to expire before returning to the surface. His clones, male and female, were called dittos, and the dittos had plastered his photo on billboards throughout the planet, Mason was bald, with a circle of reddish hair above his ears and a walrus mustache. Aside from having a full head of hair, lacking the walrus ‘stache, and having different physiological ‘equipment,’ the females looked like him, too. Dittos had only the slightest variances in appearance and were about the same weight since limited resources had them all on a rationed diet.
“The man is a hero!” Seren marveled. “The wave of negative energy that once seemed the driving force here has dissipated!”
Alula nearly gagged. “Only a narcissist would clone himself even once, but enough times to populate an entire planet?!”
Seren begged to differ. “It’s marvelous, I tell you. There is no way to detect who is superior upon sight, and neither can one determine from where the dittos originate.”
A look of displeasure distorted Alula’s flawless face. “Seren, it could get so chaotic. There can be no attraction toward one another.”
With a bright smile, he shook his little head. “No, Alula, that is not true. No one is prettier or more handsome as to inspire jealousy, turning twisted envy into angry and hurtful vengeance. The dittos communicate without consciousness of the physical self and form opinions then ultimately relationships, based on hearts and souls connecting. Each has only his or her inner being to offer, and only by that can he or she be judged.”
Alula yawned before countering, “Okay, if they, Guthridge, or anyone else here truly was a genius or had any brains at all, they wouldn’t need such a preposterous solution in order to accept one another, differences and all! Want to know why this is insane? I’ll tell you why. Life, this way, is impossible! Suppose I was to converse with a gentleman and hoped to run into him again. How would I recognize him? Infidelity must be a common problem.”
Seren shook his head. “The meetings and arrangements are discussed, as are ways of how and when to contact. That is good, for if one wants to meet with you or have you contact, he can voluntarily instruct you. If he or she does not wish to see you again, it is marvelous, for the individual can, simply, withhold the information, and you never could harass the person. It would be difficult.”
“That is not likely to discourage infidelity.”
“I assure you, Alula, it is not a problem, for the mates are in heart and soul exclusively. Nothing is worth the risk of losing what they’d found.”
“That’s fine,” she allowed, “but how would I know if I’d like to converse with someone passing by and possibly get to know him?”
“Well, the signal for approach is always a beep, but you are not an earthling and therefore not equipped for beeping.”
Alula kicked some nearby rocks. “That is just stupid.”
“Why is that stupid, my lady?”
“It’s stupid because how does one know if he or she would like to beep?”
“They do not control the beeping process,” Seren replied. “When ditto instincts dictate, and they have the intention of approaching, they beep automatically. An effective method for dealing with shyness, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, no, no, no!” She stomped her foot for good measure.
He ignored that. “We might think about a similar system for—”
Alula was aghast at the mere suggestion. “Oh, right, let’s adopt this post-apocalyptic absurdity in our perfectly functional society. Are you out of your mind? The last thing I want to do is trade my unique attributes to become just another ditto.” She thought of another argument. “What then might I do if I’m walking merrily along and feel someone sneak up behind and pinch me? How would I know which beeping ditto did it? I’d turn around and see a slew of them parading behind.”
“Why would any of them resort to that?” Seren turned his palms up, smiling. “There is no physical attraction, and lust is no longer an obsession.”
“Lust? Do you think it has to do solely with lust— why people prey upon others? There are other reasons they choose to be a nuisance.” Alula folded her arms across her chest. “How much do you want to bet? You’ll have confused dittos beeping incessantly at everyone!”
At that very moment, a frantic, beeping ditto raced toward Seren. While yanking the wallet from his pocket, the culprit pulled at his nose, bopped him on the head and knocked off his visor. Alula could not help laughing, cupping her mouth, and feeling relieved for, in an instant, the guilty ditto was lost amidst a crowd of lookalike dittos up ahead.
“Obviously, a psychotic,” Seren said, looking for his visor amid the rubble.
“Hmm, and this is why we can’t have nice things.” Alula spied the visor and picked it up for him. “Tsk! Listen, I love the idea of being one and equal and loving one another, but if the answer is they can only beep and steal wallets, well—”
Seren, grabbing the visor from her hand, looked embarrassed. “The unfortunate result of generations of inbreeding, I suspect, but it could have worked.”
Time goes way too fast for me. I saw Midnight Mass on Netflix about eight months ago and have wanted to write about it, but I’m just now getting around to it.
If you haven’t seen or heard of it, Midnight Mass is a seven-episode miniseries created and directed by Mike Flanagan. Flanagan’s inspiration came from his Catholic upbringing and recovery from alcoholism. The genre is supernatural horror, the same as The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor, both of which he created previously for Netflix.
David Fear of Rolling Stone magazine called Midnight Mass extraordinary. A critic on Rotten Tomatoes called it “gorgeous and unsettling.” Tomatoes revealed it had an 89% approval rating.
Okay, some felt it was too much of a Salem’s Lot rip-off, paying homage to Stephen King. Those influences were there, sure, but, in my opinion, that’s a good thing.
Anyway, the filming of Midnight Mass took place in Vancouver, at a seaside public area called Garry Point Park. Garry Point Park became Midnight Mass’s fictional Crockett Island, a small offshore fishing village whose inhabitants are trying to recover economically from an oil spill that devastated its fishing industry.
Riley Flynn is the main character who comes home to Crockett Island from prison after his drunk driving resulted in a woman’s death.
The supernatural element stems from the arrival of a stranger; a priest called Father Paul. And while Father Paul is charismatic, he is not exactly normal. He performs miracles amid tragedy with winged, blood-sucking creatures lurking. I’m not a fan of gore, but if a series is good, I’ll endure whatever I must (Hello, Game of Thrones) and, if necessary, resort to covering my eyes. (Of course, I’ll peek out of one eye.)
Ultimately, Father Paul seduces his whole island of followers, pushing them to poison themselves with cultlike devotion. It reminded me of the preacher and mass murderer, Jim Jones, who was solely responsible for the Jonestown, Guyana massacre in 1978. Some viewers complained about Father Paul’s profound monologues from beginning to end, but I enjoyed them. Honestly, I found the entire series brilliant and thought-provoking.
Hamish Linklater as Father Paul received widespread acclaim for his character portrayal, and yes, he was great. Jen Chaney of Vulture called his performance “phenomenal” and believed he elevated the series to “moments of greatness,” writing: “he speaks as if he’s discovering his way through every sentence and wants you to come with him.”
Other noteworthy performances include Zach Gilford as Riley Flynn, Robert Longstreet as Joe Collie, the town drunk, Rahul Kohli as Sheriff Hassan, Kate Siegel as Riley’s childhood sweetheart, Samantha Sloyan as a high and mighty zealot, and Henry Thomas as Riley’s father.
There was tremendous praise for Flanagan’s directing.
However, many Christians found Midnight Mass offensive in every regard.
Sherriff Hassan, as a Muslim, feels like an outsider, with the townspeople forcing Christianity on his son. And Riley questioned his faith, which I thought seemed normal after what happened to him. Even the most devout have struggled to keep the faith. We’re supposed to be human and flawed, right?
Another complaint was that Midnight Mass portrays a vampire as an angel. Father Paul is romanticized and sexualized, ranging from benevolent to malevolent. But doesn’t the Bible have angels who rebelled against God? The fallen ones who’d decided God was a despotic, unmerciful tyrant and got sentenced to eternity in hell?
I read a comment that “priests would be able to recognize evil and not succumb to it,” yet they’ll defend the pedophile priest with arguments that the devil targets him, relentlessly tempting and “tricking” him. That’s just bullshit, but in the holy books, Satan is a powerful and ruthless rebel—a trickster who will constantly aim to manipulate and deceive you. While I may not believe these things, I learned while growing up Catholic that the devil will have his reign upon earth. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that one. So, it’s hardly shocking that Midnight Mass presents you with a version of the legendary Anti-Christ, who predictably fools people.
Midnight Mass also explores humanity’s desperate quest for eternal life, which is the “gift” offered to Father Paul’s followers in this story. The gift, in addition, relieves them of pain and suffering. I believe that’s why vampire lore is so popular. It dangles that gift and explores its consequences.
Midnight Mass presents the idea that “we must do evil to combat evil.” That misguided belief system is out there. Just look at the justification for people denying others fundamental human rights, justice, and dignity. Consider the lengths they will go to oppress and punish people for not being what the bigots say they’re supposed to be. No, not every religious person is like that, but no one can deny the mentality is out there. People believe they are combating evil and might have to resort to atrocious behavior themselves to accomplish that.
At the same time, some believe in a loving, merciful, forgiving God and opt for the perception of him that is consistent with the caring and compassionate Jesus. Others fear God as a cruel, unforgiving, punishing entity who is offended by slights to his ego and will ask that you do horrendous things to prove your devotion to him, and they obey him to avoid punishment. Well, Father Paul is a depiction of the latter.
Of course, I can’t tell people what should or shouldn’t offend them. None of it offends me, but I don’t share their belief system and so reserve judgment. I will say that some of the best characters in Midnight Mass were Christians and made admirable sacrifices rather than succumbing to all the madness. And most were victims of a psychopath leader. Except, in this story, people fought back.
I believe Midnight Mass is still on Netflix. If you enjoy this kind of stuff, check it out.
I’ve been pregnant only twice in my life and the first time ended in a miscarriage at about four weeks. Of course, I didn’t know I was pregnant until I’d lost the baby. In my second pregnancy, I carried to term, and though I didn’t realize I was pregnant until the third month, I was thrilled every step of the way. The pregnancy was easy, and I raised that beautiful boy to adulthood. I have never been in the position of not wanting a child I was carrying, but understanding the enormous responsibility of raising another human being, I get it.
Women seem to be damned if they do sometimes and damned if they don’t. I can’t imagine having a life inside you for nine months and giving it up for adoption. I applaud anyone who can do that because who can NOT fall in love with this little one when it’s moving within you and listening to your voice? It’s like a part of you for so long. It’s such a tremendous sacrifice, yet there are always these stories about the kids given up for adoption searching for the bio parent filled with resentment. People ask, how can you give your child away?
No matter what women do, they are criticized by someone or another. Whether you abort a fetus, give up your baby, or practice birth control, it’s like, how dare you! It’s no excuse that you can’t afford it, are not ready, or have a career.
Of course, holy books written by men are all about procreation. If homosexuality was forbidden and they oppressed certain groups, it helped their cause. Make taxpayers and soldiers and worker bees for the king. Of course, some will die because you can’t feed them or afford them, or maybe they’ll get killed in a war, but if you keep them coming, enough of them will survive to suit their purposes. How they live is of no concern. Win/win for them.
Otherwise, why would they care if you’re gay or whatever you are? You’re not harming anyone.
I read one comment that if we keep aborting babies, no one will be left on the earth. Really?
Others say people are overreacting to the decision. They’re not, but even if you missed how quickly several states moved to ban abortion after the ruling, you must have noticed they are pushing the envelope further and further. They’re testing the waters. Just ask Clarence Thomas, who has his eye on birth control and same-sex marriage. If you think people going after fundamental human rights ends there, think again. People were outraged when asked to wear a mask during a plague! That scared the crap out of them but not this. Go figure.
The same people who talk about not wanting government intervention in their lives won’t rest until they have complete control over women, gay people, and minorities.
If you are defending the rights of others who
are denied whatever privilege you enjoy, does that mean you have a savior
complex?
It’s one of many questions I ask myself, given the fact that I’ve been doing this since I was twelve. It was instinctive then, and it’s instinctive now because I don’t want to live in a world where bigotry seems to be the norm. Whether people were happy or unhappy about this stance I’d taken has never made a difference to me.
I have also questioned my own motives at
every turn.
It’s not about being politically correct. As far as I’m concerned, it is simply right, and I’m so confident of that that I’ll stick to it no matter who or what I stand to lose in the process.
You see through shadows and fog. So much obscured. It’s a murky reality where confusion reigns—crisis after crisis, unending drama, boundless pain. You bury the fear that would deplete your strength. It’s become harder to function, wearisome to hope. You sink into despair. Light peeks in at the top of the hole, but every move toward it overwhelms.
You thought the cavalry would have arrived by now, ride up on rugged horses, but there is no cavalry.
You think you can’t do this. You want to die.
Think about it.
If you can’t do this anymore, all the stuff you don’t want to do, you can’t do the other stuff either—the beautiful, incredible, and amazing stuff. Those things that make you smile, laugh, ooh, and ahh—all the blessed wonders that fill your heart with joy will be gone along with the pain.
People say the best thing you can do when you’re feeling hopeless and powerless is to take the focus off you and help others. Bring smiles to people’s faces with a random act of kindness. It works!
But if you’re feeling too weak right now, not quite ready to save yourself, hang in there. We’re human, and we don’t always have to be strong. The world feels cruel and cold right now, and the suffering around us hurts. The suffering of the world is too much, yes. We’re all so vulnerable, but you’re not alone. We’re here with you.
We call upon the earth’s angels to construct the symbolic pyramid that surrounds, protects, and guides you. We send you the healing white light of unconditional love. And you’ll be surprised at what a difference a day makes.
If you’re not too defeated, maybe that sink or swim moment has arrived. Perhaps this is where you surrender. So, get up and take the fierce warrior stance. You’ll know when the time is right. You’re going down the rabbit hole to dig in and dig out, regain your clarity and calm, and restore your peace and joy.
And then the long dark night comes.
You approach it as what you’ve become, the persona that provided the armor you wore, the persona you constructed to protect you in the darkest of times. It was a godsend that’s slowly become a fire-breathing monster, diabolical and dangerous. It’s time to kill it before it kills you.
But it’s turbulent in this period of darkness. You feel disoriented and bewildered. There is so much to grieve.
You may be broken now, and things look rather bleak. I know. You may not believe me when I say you can heal because your heart is breaking in a way it never has. It’s like every broken heart you’ve ever had has come together to magnify the brokenness.
It seems everything has fallen apart, but then it will all come together again, I promise you, the way it was supposed to be. Deep down, we have the answers. When we are ready, we’ll align our will with the will of our highest power of love and of light. I’m here with you.
So many memories come to mind—the child you were, the adult you’ve become—so much anguish for what happened all those years ago.
You never wanted to let anyone down; I get that. You feel everything so intensely; I get that, too. Just don’t tell me you don’t deserve better. You do. Don’t tell me you’re a failure. You’re not. We learn from every mistake. That’s not failing; it’s growing. You are a beautiful, empathetic being of love and light. And don’t say hope will damn you; it won’t always, I promise.
It’s okay to acknowledge regrets and feel every wound that keeps hurting and the sadness of the torment that has yet to subside. Yes, it’s agony. You cry harder than you ever thought you could. Every version of you that’s existed cries with you. Especially that child in you who’s waited so long for your comfort. That small child who was thrilled by the universe in every waking moment—he’s still there! He wants you to fight for him. You care so much about everyone. Care about yourself, too! You help everyone, my dear; help him. The child is fragile and wailing. It’s the ghost that’s haunted you for many years, but she doesn’t unnerve you now. Your sobs are hers, as are your tears. This child is releasing your pain. Hug that child.
Every version of who you’ve been will need that comfort and compassion. Don’t be afraid to wrap all of those former “yous” in a blanket of love and show them they are worthy of that! They were just trying to survive. YOU were just trying to survive. After years of taking hit after hit and getting back up, maybe you learned how to compartmentalize, stay calm, and protect your energy, as I did.
It’s hard to fight the urge to share words of wisdom, some of which you may not be ready for, but I can plant a seed. I’m here and don’t you apologize—not to me. It’s not too much for me ever. I’ll never regret a moment with you. Just breathe. Take deep breaths as often as you need. You have to trust a little. Let me help you. Let me hug you. I got you, my friend, and you’re going to be alright. I love you so much!
And when the light of day shines on you after this long night, you are a warrior and a conqueror, too, who will conquer one thing after another in life.
You slay your demons so that the fierce dragon you desperately needed can transform into the beautiful paladin that champions your survival. And here you are now, a weightless dragonfly with mesmerizing beauty!
They say home is where you wake up and try again. Well, you’re home now.
This blog is a tribute to female authors in the dark thriller genre, whom I’ve appreciated more and more in the past few years. There are many good ones, and I’ve been going through their books like they are a giant bag of Twizzlers. I just can’t stop.
One of my best discoveries is bestselling British author Rachel Abbot. She writes psychological thrillers, most of which are set in Manchester, England, close to where the author grew up.
According to her bio, “After being turned down by several literary agents and publishers, she decided to brave it alone and go into self-publishing.” I’m so glad she did because her success story encourages us writers and thrills her readers and fans, including me!
Her books are suspenseful, page-turners I can’t put down even when dinner’s calling! They are the type of books you can lie with for hours, snug under the covers on a wintry Saturday morning, or what have you. There are good characters to root for, especially detective Tom Douglas and Becky, his partner. Ms. Abbott’s books are well-written with believable dialogue and good pacing. I enjoy the plots and how they unfold. Just as I think I have it figured out, there are brilliant twists. Her books are addictive. I’ve read them all, and I’m waiting for more.
Freida McFadden is another new favorite and quickly catching up to Rachel Abbott. I’ve read many of McFadden’s books, and they are fantastic reads. Seriously, you can’t put these books down.
“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live; it is asking others to live as one wishes to live.” Oscar Wilde
Parting is rarely peaceful or the sweet sorrow of Shakespearean poetry. It can be an ugly and torturous process. It’s not unusual either to be called selfish for walking away from toxic relationships and environments.
We get involved in something or with someone having the best of intentions. Often, we don’t realize what issues we bring to the table. There may be parts of us still in need of healing. When we look back, we may see we could have handled it all better—not simply because hindsight is 20/20 but because we can’t be objective. We’re busy drowning. Everything is clouded, including our judgment. Being oblivious to what motivates us and how others can manipulate us, we fall into traps. We may even trust the wrong people, people who take advantage of vulnerabilities and unresolved needs. They push buttons we didn’t know we had and, after a time, we don’t recognize ourselves.
We walk away, because we don’t know what will happen to us if we don’t. We choose sanity and serenity over endless battles. The exit becomes the way of saving our lives, reclaiming it along with our dreams, putting our needs first after years of trying to please people who cannot be pleased. We are no longer in a place where we can be or do our best. The kinder thing is to go on and heal what needs healing. Who says we can’t bring our best efforts somewhere else? We can take our kindness. We know, too, it’s never going to be enough to walk away. We may need to burn that bridge, so we don’t get sucked in again.
The place we escaped from may haunt us from time to time, what we left behind. We can leave those dead things wailing in the dark and shut the door. That part of our past taught us many things we needed to learn, and it’s over, done, dead. As long as we didn’t lose the lesson, we’ll be fine. We needed to be there and experience what we experienced, but we’re free now. It’s time to celebrate our freedom.
“Man is the only animal that deals in that atrocity of atrocities, War. He is the only one that gathers his brethren about him and goes forth in cold blood and calm pulse to exterminate his kind. He is the only animal that for sordid wages will march out…and help to slaughter strangers of his own species who have done him no harm and with whom he has no quarrel. ..And in the intervals between campaigns he washes the blood off his hands and works for ‘the universal brotherhood of man’–with his mouth.” Mark Twain – What Is Man?
Since its first season, I have been a fan of the television show Dancing with the Stars, so I am pretty familiar with Ukrainian-American pro-dancer Maksim Chmerkovskiy, who appeared in many earlier seasons and recently as a judge. When the Russian invasion began, Maksim was a judge on the Ukrainian version of Dancing with the Stars. For days, he took refuge in a bomb shelter, and his frequent Instagram videos revealed how distraught and heartbroken he’s been, barely able to hold it together. At the same time, he kept us informed and advised people of ways to help. As of now, he’s trying to leave Ukraine, making his way to the border, and I pray he arrives home safely to his loved ones.
So many courageous people, including Maksim. are coming to light right now. And we’re seeing an extraordinary display of empathy with people speaking up and reaching out, a great measure of love and support. That moves me to no end, as does the unity among the Ukrainians and overwhelmingly on a global scale.
Someone posted on Twitter that “Ukrainians are not fighting with each other over issues like vaccines and CRT. They are fighting FOR each other so future generations will enjoy the freedoms that exist in a true democracy.”
That’s true. These things I mentioned above—empathy, love, unity, etc.— have been lacking here throughout the elections and pandemic and one crisis after another. So, yeah, I find it hard not to cry when I see good people fighting back against corruption, cruelty, and greed.
Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, has stepped up to be quite the courageous leader whose humility allows him to see himself, not as an idol to be worshipped but as a patriot who refuses to abandon his country or his people. It reminds us that humans can be amazing.
Every day I send all of them love, light, and prayers—and to the whole world. Wherever there is suffering, we suffer, too, because we care about each other.
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D.K. Sanz 