Where I've been.

TW: Mentions of abuse, trauma, religious trauma.

Hey, friend. 

If you reached out on social media or my website in concern or confusion, I’m sorry I haven't had the strength to reply until now. If you watched my Facebook page or website in hopes that I’d post an update, I’m sorry you were left wondering for so long. Trust me when I say that knowing you still believed in me gave me strength while I've started piecing myself back together. Even if I wasn’t ready to answer you.

Consider this an overdue and overwrought explanation. Please forgive my silence.

I’d like to tell you where I’ve been for the past several months. 

A thing about me - I was born into a cult. Yeah, dramatic nonsense, I know. The married folks wear handmade traditional Russian clothes to church. All the women wrap and cover their hair and necks before they step into the building. All proceedings were done in Russian while the vast majority of us glazed over, not understanding a single thing.

Afterward, on the drive back, my dad would translate the speeches and any mystical prophecies. We’d all wonder if God was going to give us some special message about the fate of the world. Then we’d arrive home, take down our hair, change into normal clothes, and go about our day.

You know. Normal shit.

I grew up with the knowledge that even though I couldn’t invite my school friends over or fall in love with someone outside the community, it was because we were special. God instructed us to shun those outside our community, and that was a good thing. It kept us safe.

I was in my last year of college when a classmate had asked me the right questions and helped me uncover the truth of how the church and fellow community members abused me. I won’t go into the gruesome details. Let’s just say there was a *very* good reason for my chronic anxiety and depression.

(Later on, that classmate became my husband. A perfect love story. Book-worthy, if you will.)

Anyway, after the series of conversations with him at school - and about a dozen panic attacks in the church bathroom stall - I finally recognized the cult's moral corruption with my own eyes.

My church didn't care about protecting its own. Not in the ways that mattered. What did matter was appearing perfect, otherwise risking an exile to the back wall of the congregation, barred from participating. They all told me to do the godly thing and forgive. To think of the consequences if I spoke out. To push on and keep going to church, where I’d be forced to stare at the people who shattered me at such a young age.

I still had hope. I tried to get help from the community I trusted in so much. But after my church failed me and my family turned their backs on me, the hurt solidified into resolve. 

See, once I realize something is harmful or false, I am forever changed. It shifts the very nature of my perspective and it becomes impossible for me to exist in those circumstances.

And I knew I had to leave. 

At 20 years old, I can still see my mother's pinched mouth and venomous glare as I told her I was moving out and seeing someone outside the church: "Don't expect to be invited to Christmas."

But this isn't a story about the cult. This is a story about how last spring, it took every lesson I learned then to find the strength to leave my husband.

After 7 years together, I came to the horrifying realization that this classmate of mine, this partner I'd chosen as my safe haven, was abusive and controlling. That he scared me. Every day was a new battle, a fresh fight, or an old argument cycling over and over again. Somehow, I was wrong at every turn. His anger was my fault, and why couldn't I just be a better wife? Otherwise, he wouldn't have to be so angry at me.

Not exactly the perfect love story any more, is it?

And gods, no one’s blameless. I certainly wasn’t. But this justification only held so many threads together. As I stood on the edge of marital collapse, unwilling to admit I’d have to take the leap, I asked myself how I would advise a friend if she showed me these texts. If she had me listen in on the phone calls I suffered through. 

What would I tell her if she were in my place?

I made myself look at him - really look at him. The picture cleared. 

Peeling back the cracked veneer of our relationship and seeing the years of manipulation and mistreatment shocked my system.

I felt lied to. Tricked. Bamboozled, if you will.

Wasn't he supposed to be my ultimate advocate? My savior? I mean, we had some amazing times together, too. How had I left a goddamn cult and not seen this writing on the wall? 

(I now understand that being young and vulnerable, I'd been ripe for the picking.)

I took a deep breath, ugly-cried, and steeled myself. Again.

Just like so many years ago, I knew what I had to do.

I took my car, my clothes and my cats, and left. I was privileged enough to have had friends to stay with and family I'd reconnected with to support me. My therapist has been my rock.

I won't bore you with the details of my following mental breakdown, the phone call fights, and the immense depression that kept me from my keyboard. I don't think I have to explain the crushing guilt I still feel after leaving my three beautiful step-children, each of whom owns a personal chunk of my heart. 

Looking back on that mess, it's a miracle I published Crown of Lies at all.

I'm also not the only one who's gone through hardships that upend entire lives. You probably have, too. I'm devastated to know you likely understand this level of pain in some way.

Despite the avalanche of fuckery gluing my creativity to hell itself, I was pissed at and disappointed in myself when I cancelled the pre-order for Threads of Fury. I was too ashamed and emotionally shot to even post an explanation. I didn't know how to answer your messages and questions, or where to begin.

Family crisis? An understatement.

Mental breakdown? A bit vague. 

Life falling apart at the seams while I overate chocolate and cereal and binge-watched true crime? Pretty much, but still.

Sorry for leaving you in the dark.

Today, I'm doing much better. I'm in a new apartment. I'm on the right medication to help me stabilize while I sew the wounds close a little more every day. I spent time with my mom and sister in the mountains of Montana - thank fuck for generational healing - and I'll be divorced by the end of spring. 

My mental health has improved drastically. The cats are ecstatic to wake me up at 3am with horse-race galloping and impressive acrobatics, and I keep a healthy stock of bagels by the toaster (very important for my happiness). I haven't killed a plant in three months, and I just made the best lasagna of my life. (Click here to see it yourself. I'd never lead you astray.) I'm seeing the kids a few times a month, too.

Now, for the question you came here for...

I'm thrilled to announce that I've been writing again. The story is slow-moving. It's going to take a while to gain my momentum back, but I'm getting more and more excited every day. Threads of Fury is still happening, and I'll post a release date when I can. I’m just trying to take it easy on myself.

Huzzah!

I hope this answers enough, and not too much. I tend to be an over-explainer, but maybe that comes with the author territory. I could have just said, “Hey, I left my husband and my brain fell apart for several months.” But there’s nothing like turning a short explanation into a short story, I suppose.

I also find it funny that I wrote so much about the cult and so little about my marriage itself. Maybe I’ve processed those memories much more than the pain of my newly-shattered relationship. Right now, it feels too unwieldy to break down the highs and lows of my marriage into pretty, meaningful descriptions.

I guess this isn’t a very good short story.

Anyway, thank you so much for your incredible love and for bonding with me through books. Thank you for reading this. Your support and kindness means more than you'll ever know. You're the reason I keep writing, and if my absence worried you, you have my sincerest apologies.

Also, If you're in the center of a storm, fighting and fighting to keep your head above the water... same, twin. My heart is with you. We'll both get through it. Life is too goddamn short to live for others and put up with shit that makes us miserable.

We're both too kickass to settle for that. 

All my love,

Annika.