Suffocating and Surviving

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

self portrait ©Andrea DiGiglio 2017

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

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


Ramblings from an Unusual Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Personal journal entry

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

October 2013:

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


Release Alice’s Sacrifice, #2 Alice Clark Series

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

Rambling and News

I have been lost in a world created by the imagination  all the while fast asleep in dream land. 

I have a habit of dividing my time up between many things at once. Taking piano 1 and acting 2 at the local community college takes up a large chunk of my time between homework and attending class. I’ve been writing book 3, editing book 2, I am my families personal chef (for dinner,) rehearsing trying to keep my voice in top shape, scheduling photo shoots (with the amazing Russ Turner) left and right all while taking care of my adorable monster aka toddler (who turned two this October.) It’s strange that being overwhelmed pushes me to do better than I would have if I only had one project in the works. So I’m one busy woman is what I think I’m trying to say. No complaint here just wish there was more time in one day!

Enough rambling from an unusual mind. (Honestly I could go on for hours.)

I do have some actual news to share to those who are listening (reading, obviously) I have decided to release an audiobook version of Finding Alice. It’s currently at the baby stages and I currently do not know how long it will take from start to finish. If all works out well I will continue doing this with the rest of the series.


Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter and Facebook
and thank you all for your support!

*I appreciate the inquiries about giving reviews in exchange for copies of Finding Alice, however I am no longer able to mail paperbacks at no charge. If you are out of the country and unable to purchase a copy through Amazon or B&N, please feel free to contact me at and fill out the form including your email so I can send you an appropriate invoice. Once paid I will gladly ship internationally as well as nationally. It’s amazing to feel so much love from my fans and I am thrilled that so many want to read my series.*


There’s something to be said about honesty and truth.

I was recently at a high school speaking to some students about being an author and actress. Some found the combination strange while others were excited that they too could pursue many different dreams at one time. I always encourage the students I meet when guest speaking to chase their dreams. Not just chase them but to run full speed ahead and tackle that dream to the ground and make it your bitch.

A student asked me how to make people believe in a character that I write or portray. I answered simply, tell the truth. If you are honest with you writing or performance the reader or audience will see and feel that. It’s the one thing that makes our far fetched stories real. If you write with honesty and let the story tell itself, succumb to it and don’t force it then you can really be apart of something amazing. My love of all things supernatural and paranormal is key to my writing about creatures and beings such as Fallen Angels. When I write I believe these characters are in fact these beings and I sit back wishing I was one of them, enduring with them. So simply, I said tell the truth and then did explained what I meant.

When I fall deeply into a book like Craved by Stephanie Nelson, Mark of the Witch by Jessica Gibson or The Reaping by M. Leighton, it’s because I’m lost in the truth they have created. I believe in their characters, I want to be with them or even be them. I have a long list of favorites but these authors are so honest with their work that I am never disappointed. That’s the sort of writer I strive to be and the sort of writer I hope to inspire these students to be.


Finding Alice available now through Amazon and Barnes & Nobles

For the love of writing

For the love of writing I finally finished Alice’s Sacrifice book 2 in the Alice Clark Series. I’m relieved, I’m excited, I’m terrified, I’m panicked. *sighs* What an emotional roller coaster writing that book took me on. I’ve grown so used to these characters being a part of my life and at the end it’s always so bittersweet.

I haven’t updated in a while so you all missed the announcement of the books completion. So SURPRISE! 🙂 In all seriousness you can go like my Facebook page and always get up to date information. Or not you know do what you want. FB Author page

It is true I have been working on a couple other books and just added book 3 in The Alice Clark Series to the lineup. To say I’m busy, eh maybe a touch but I love every second of it. Except the editing stage which is where Alice’s Sacrifice is, it is off to the editors and I am attempting to not act like a sissy while I wait for the red pen.

So wish me luck and I can’t wait to continue sharing Alice’s story with you. XO

Coming Winter of 2012

Random Interview

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny- Is Cole going to be on it!?

Andrea- Oh yes.

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

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


Blog about me

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

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

Till next time.