Interested in my life story? I am offering a preorder sale in the hope of raising enough money to get my family into safe housing! Coming VERY SOON at a MUCH HIGHER PRICE! The highly anticipated memoir from Stephanie Nolan, a young girl who grew up poor, abused, and a spiritual medium, who today, inspires many across the world. Most of this book is true; however, due to family threatening to sue me if I publish this book, I have changed the names. 95% is a true story.
Stephanie shares with her readers her life story in her own words. The day the abuse began, she cannot recall; however, she can recall the day it ended. Her father sexually abused her, while her mother emotionally abused her. She was thrown away like trash.
(Preorder today for only $5.99!)
At the young age of 15, her father committed suicide when Stephanie told the authorities what her life was like, and what she endured at the hands of her father. She shares with you how her family treated her when her father took his life.
She was the first person ever to be emancipated before the court of law at the age of 16 in the county she resided in. At the age of 17, she found herself pregnant and married. When she was 20 years old, her marriage ended.
Stephanie has seen the “worst-of-worst,” and survived. She refuses to be a victim. She inspires people daily to live a better life.
Stephanie’s life story is one that will draw every emotion out of the reader. She will inspire you to never give up.
Chapter 1 –
I can’t fucking believe it happened. I used to lie in my bed, and dream about a “Golden Arch,” however, I never knew it would come in the form of a building. What the fuck am I talking about? Let me tell you…
When I was a mere little girl, I grew up in the south. I was raised on military soil. I was born in a military hospital in Fort Sill, Oklahoma. To be exact, my mother described it to me as a tent, in the middle of a dessert with high winds. I had bombs “blow” above the roof of my home. I watched my father bring “wild” tarantulas’ home… with venom and all.
He used to walk into our kitchen in his green “attire” complete with MANY badges with his thermos in hand ,and VERY PROUD, (it was your typical grandfather’s stainless steel thermos with the typical plastic cap,) and dumped his spiders into in an empty fish tank he converted into a spider haven… I sat there and stared.
I wondered what these gorgeous, hairy creatures were. Look at all their legs. How in the hell do they have eight legs, and a human only has two? Holy shit they are hairy. Look at all the hairs on the legs of those spiders, aka tarantulas.
They are gorgeous creatures. Red, brown, white, tan, and black. It depended upon who I was looking at. I often wonder why so many people are scared of spiders. They used to be my ONLY friends. The ones’ who never judged, who would keep my secret, who I could confide in.
I often caught myself sneaking into the kitchen to stare at my “buddies.” I always felt “aloof” and somehow, , every day, I watched the “babies,” I felt accepted. I never wondered if I was good enough. I never questioned why I was born. I just sat there. I stared. I smiled. I watched them. I giggled as they crawled over this rock or that rock. I snickered as they looked at me. I talked to them. MY tarantulas were my best friends.
That was the day! Man, I can remember being that young, naïve, yet smart, and just happy-go-lucky on the outside, when in all reality I was truly dying on the inside. Those were the good ole’ days. Yes, I said it; they were the best days of my childhood. From this moment on, shit gets deep, serious, and not so- happy-go-lucky! But trust me, it’s still all good!
My mom and dad decided that my friends were not allowed in our home anymore after a few got “loose,” and NEVER were found! We had to make a family agreement (because of me) that we MUST go, and release my buddies back into the wild. I had to have them set free on the SAME military dirt road that my father caught them on. It was a sad day. I bawled like a fucking baby. You would have thought I just lost a sibling. I felt my heart break. Oh-my-god, I no longer have friends.
What the hell do I do?
I sat down, it was hot, I felt the dirt hit the skin of my rear-end. I was in short-shorts. My thighs hung out. I mean, they were the typical netting SHORT SHORTS that today people laugh about. I lived in Oklahoma, and it was the dead of summer. I lived on military land. I sat there. I didn’t say a word. I just sat. I looked up at my father and my mother, and I asked them “why do I have to let my best friends go?”
I still remember their answer. “Honey, they belong in the wild. It was wrong of us to bring them home. It was wrong to bring them around you. They cannot live in a home with a small girl.” I fucking lost it. I had snot coming outta my nose. I bitched. I cried. I stomped my feet. What in the fuck. Why in the hell did I allow my parents to rid my life of my best friends? Yes, I was young. Yes, I thought I “allowed” them. Yes, I was pissed. NO, I did not understand, even though I pretended I did.
I sat there as the sand burnt my ass. I just looked up at the sky, and I questioned everything. I questioned my existence. I wondered why a little girl would lose her only friends. Yes, I was selfish. Yes, I thought about only me. Yes, I was all of maybe 6-years old.
It pissed me the fuck off! And, to be honest, to this day I don’t think I have ever gotten over that day. I don’t think I will ever get over that day.
One-by-one my friends crawled out of my dad’s thermos, and onto the dirt road. I watched, but I could not move. I could not say anything. I felt my breath leave my body as my buddies crawled away.
WHAT IN THE HELL WAS I GONNA DO NOW? I had NO friends. I lived for them. They were who I confided in. They were who I snuck to see. They were MY FRIENDS.
I went home and crawled into my bed. I prayed to God. I asked him to please bring me a new friend. I didn’t know who, how or what, but I just knew I needed one, and somewhere out there a friend needed me.