From Shattered To Soaring

By Craig Evans

FOR CRAIG EVANS, INNOCENCE WAS TAKEN AS A CHILD
Abandonment, physical abuse, and psychological torture swallowed his youth. Depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia were the result of suffering. But through surviving cancer, a new self-discipline was born; that of iron will and perseverance. Craig transformed himself from the broken pieces to find powerful courage to soar through fear, then above it.

In From Shattered To Soaring, he shares his extraordinary life story and reveals the powerful techniques as a practical guide he used to transform fear, anxiety, and panic, to reach his full potential. His story uncovers a path that anyone can follow with actionable exercises to shatter fear, drive through pain, and uncover their greatness.

This book was written for those suffering from anxiety, panic attacks, agoraphobia, and depression. After enduring a lifelong struggle with these debilitating disorders, Craig discovered a way though the fear, and no longer suffers.

• If you are paralyzed by fear
• Stuck in the grip of anxiety
• Frozen in place by panic attacks
• Enclosed by overwhelming agoraphobia
• Or buried in a deep well of depression
Do not get discouraged.

 

Craig Evans has been where you are now, and knows what it feels like to try your best and to fail. Once stuck in the seemingly never ending cycle of fear, anxiety, panic, then self-preservation, he managed to shatter those glass ceilings, and soar to heights once thought impossible.

He has found the keys that will help you pass through the door of panic and fear so that they no longer control you. What may seem impossible now will become your past achievements. You can become the key maker to unlock any door you previously thought impossible. Apply what Craig share's, and you will become your own superhero.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lion Trail Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986001418

Book preview

Introduction

Your past does not define you. You may have been through some hard times, terrifying times, moments in your life when you believed you were going to die. No matter what has happened to you, what other people have done to you, what atrocities you may have experienced, know that you are not alone, and you can get through it.

This book came into being after my own experiences which you will soon read about, and the discovery which I will share with you that enabled me to overcome them. I was beaten, abandoned, and forgotten. I survived drug addiction and beat cancer. This difficult journey is filled with anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia, all of which I’ve overcome. I want to help you do the same.

Few things in life are easy. Our minds want to pull us to perceived comfort and safety, where a lot of people stay and accept what life has handed to them. It is difficult to break the pattern into which we were born: whichever way a tree grows, so it shall stay. Well, I’d had enough of twisting my life on a tilt and decided to do something about it. If you’re reading this, then you have, too.

Discovering how to get out of a seemingly never-ending cycle of pain and suffering, to find happiness and peace, became something I felt I had to share with the world.

Writing this book was one of the most difficult endeavors I’ve undertaken. It forced me to revisit every dark corner of my past to find the fear, the pain, the horror, the doubt, the terror, and the loneliness. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

Once I discovered there were others who suffered from anxiety disorder, panic attacks, agoraphobia, derealization, and depersonalization and that I’d figured out a way through it, I felt obligated and grateful to write this book. I feel fortunate that I found a way through all the fear and panic, and I wish to share my journey with you to help you find your own way, to help you become the author of your own story, and to help you to finally achieve the greatness within yourself that you and I both know is there.

In this book, you will find the real me, the raw me, the exposed me, the person I used to hide. The person I used to be limited my ability to live life as it should be, as I wanted it to be, because I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I was often criticized for being too analytical, reading too much into things. I overanalyzed nearly everything to my detriment.

Our minds don’t care for discomfort. They seek to run from our deficiencies and hide in our limited world. I want to teach you how to embrace discomfort, to run toward your inadequacies, and to help make your world limitless.

I will show you how I did it and teach you the tools you need to empower yourself to grow to heights of which you may have never dreamed.

If you feel stuck, immobile in a world that never stops, or frozen in fear and unable to leave your home, keep reading. Believe it or not, there is hope. I have found some keys that will help you pass through the door of panic and fear so that they no longer control you. You can become the key maker to unlock any door you previously thought impossible to open.

What may seem impossible now will become your past achievements. They will become memories you share with the next generation and accomplishments that propel you toward your next goal.

It may seem too scary to comprehend right now; I understand that. Apply what I’m about to share with you, and you will become your own superhero.

One

LIVING THROUGH CHILD ABUSE

Our private Idaho hell was found in front of a red brick house in a quiet town. In the early spring of 1969, a few months after I turned two, my parents decided to return to their hometown of Boise, Idaho. Looking back, perhaps we should have never left.

In 1969, Boise’s population was just over 70,000. The quaint town was big enough to be called a city. Everybody knew most things going on in a friendly sort of way, but nothing could have prepared my dad or me for what was about to happen on that late November evening at 4011 Nez Perce Street. I had turned three years old the month before.

Dad always called me Buckshot or Tiger. That night was no different as we pulled into the driveway. I always sat next to Dad on the bench seat of the pickup truck. I wore cowboy boots, a straw cowboy hat with a strap, and a holster with a toy pistol on each hip.

I looked up at the moon as he shut the truck off and asked, Dad, why is it so bright?

It’s a full moon, son, he said. C’mon, Tiger, let’s go inside.

I got out the same door he did, pistols swinging as I followed my father up the steps leading to the front door. Inside the house, my boots made a lot of noise as I walked across the hardwood floor. I felt like a cowboy; I felt like myself.

From the kitchen, Dad screamed, Craig! He began to sob.

I’d never seen him cry before; it scared me to the couch. I sat on that couch, staring straight ahead. I didn’t know what was happening. My father’s cries got louder and louder. He began to march around the house, crying uncontrollably. I was terrified. He went down the hall past the living room where I was sitting. I saw his fist fly through the sheetrock, punching a hole through to the living room.

Why? he screamed. His voice echoed down the hallway and in the room where I sat.

I couldn’t see him, but I could see his fist. My eyes felt like they were the size of hard-boiled eggs as my eyebrows tried to crawl under my scalp. I went back to staring straight ahead. I was afraid of that rage I’d never before seen, this sadness and fear.

He made his way to the living room, sat down on the couch next to me, and said, Well, son, I guess I screwed up.

I replied, No, you didn’t, Dad.

At three years old, I was old enough to know he was hurting. He was wounded and broken.

I’m sorry, son. I love you, he said as he put his arm around me to give me one of those father-son hugs, the kind of hug that means something, the kind of hug that makes you feel loved.

Mom had left a note on the refrigerator. I’ll never know what that note said. It is not something I’d ever like to ask my father. She had left while we were out.

I never told this story in as much detail as I am now. I gloss over the sharp points if asked in conversation. But I remember. I remember it all, because it’s important. Dad never saw her again.

About a year later, a woman he was dating was driving me home in her Volkswagen Beetle. She pulled over to the side of the road to tell me something. I held the grab handle in the passenger seat as she said, Your Father wants to marry me. I would be your new mother. Would that be okay with you?

My mother was gone. I didn’t have a mother; it was just Dad and me. At almost four years old, I didn’t know that I could have said no or that it would have made a difference.

Yes, I said with a smile.

Yes? she asked.

I nodded. She started the car again and we turned the corner for home.

Dad and Grace got married. She had a daughter, Nina, so now I had a sister who was my age. We got along fine because we had something in common: her mother.

I’d begun to notice danger as time passed. Nina didn’t empty her trash can one day, so her mother beat her with a belt and sent her to her room. I had never witnessed that kind of violence; it scared the hell out of me. I believed I was a good kid and that my dad had done a great job, but hell was on its way.

The first sign of the monster’s attention toward me came the next summer.

There was an apartment complex just a couple of houses down the street that had a pool. The temperature that day was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. With me standing beside her, Nina asked her mother for permission to go swimming.

Grace said, You can go over there, but do not get wet!

We both responded, Okay.

I knew that if I got wet, I’d be in trouble. We walked to the pool, and I told Nina, You better not get in, or you’ll get in trouble.

I know, she said.

I sat on the pool’s edge, feet dangling up to the ankles in the water. That cool blue water was so damned tempting, but I’d seen what Grace could do and didn’t want to be on the wrong end of her anger. Nina, however, just waded right into the water. Before I knew it, she was swimming under my feet.

As I watched her, I thought to myself, You are going to be in so much trouble.

She had long hair; how was she going to hide it being wet? She couldn’t. I figured I could dry my feet and hide them if I had to. But Nina? She was in for it.

When Nina finished swimming, we walked home. Grace met us at the door. She looked at her daughter, Did you go swimming?

Yes, Nina responded.

She looked at me and asked the same question.

I only put my feet in up to here, I replied, pointing at my ankle.

Grace’s face turned red with rage as she screamed, I told you both not to get into the water! Go to your room, I’m getting the belt!

Terror came over me. I didn’t know what getting hit with a belt felt like. Grace finished whipping Nina, then it was my turn with the belt. She snapped it as she walked towards me. I pleaded, I only got in up to here!

She beat me everywhere on my nearly naked body with that leather belt. I told you not to get in the water!

I’d never seen anybody so angry. What was this? It was fucking painful, that belt, but worse was the terror and the loss of control. Where was this violent fury coming from? I’d only put my feet in the water, and I wasn’t a bad boy. I pleaded, but she wouldn’t let up. Something had come over her; she felt it was necessary to show me just how bad of a child I was. I didn’t understand it then, nor do I to this day.

In first grade, I had a good neighborhood friend, Carrie. We walked together every morning to Whitney Elementary and home every afternoon. We attended each other’s birthday parties. As friends, we were inseparable. One hot summer day, we were climbing a tree to pick its apples. We sat in the shade among the branches, plucking apples and eating them. After talking for a while, we both agreed we were best friends.

On one of those unassuming days, I rode my bike to her house. It was only a few houses down and around the corner. I knocked on the front door and her father answered as he always did.

Can Carrie play? I asked.

He had a look of dread on his face and slammed the door. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t do anything wrong that I knew of, so what could it be?

Some months prior, we’d walked across the long lawn after school. The grass seemed to go on for miles, even though it was only a couple of hundred feet. It gave us time to collect ourselves, Carrie and me. We made it to the sidewalk that we would take on the way home.

My dad was driving in his truck with his cowboy hat on. He stopped in the road and turned his truck off. I asked, Dad, where are you going?

I’m going hunting, he replied.

But it’s my birthday today, I protested.

I’ll be back in a week or so. I’ll be back before you know it.

I repeated, this time with tears running down my face, But it’s my birthday.

I’ll be back soon, son. I love you, he said.

He drove away. I was distraught and felt alone. Carrie put her arm around me all the way home as I sobbed, not understanding how he could leave on my birthday. Carrie repeated what she’d heard before; Everything will be all right, Craig.

I felt good knowing that at least when things went dark, she was always there.

Leaving the front stoop of Carrie’s house, I couldn’t imagine what I might have done to make her father so angry with me. I was only five. I went home and explained to Dad what had happened: Carrie’s dad didn’t say anything; he just shut the door.

I was sad and confused. Dad put his hand on my shoulder and sat next to me. He tried to explain that Carrie had died. She’d been climbing on some playground equipment at school and fell.

So, she’s never coming back? I asked.

No, son, I’m sorry. She’s not.

I couldn’t process it at the time, the gravity of it all.

Later, I played with her brother who was a year