Being Real

Domestic Violence: It’s Always Going To Be Personal

Miss Poison Being Real, Boundaries, Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Thought-Provoking, Women, Writing , , , , , ,

Domestic Violence: It’s Always Going To Be Personal

I don’t talk about my personal life on this platform much. You’d really have to know me and be able to read between the lines to pick up on subtle nuances. However, there’s an issue that’s been bothering me and I have decided to open up here and confront it. This might trigger some people, so please read the title carefully and if that is too much for you, it’s okay to ignore this.

Originally I planned on writing this on another blog a year ago. I got side-tracked with other commitments at the time and whatever I had planned fell to the wayside. Not this time. This is the right place to publish it. I no longer feel safe on the other blog and quite frankly, what I have to say isn’t something to be judged by hundreds, least of all those who deem themselves superior. This is not a place for competition, it is a place for sharing, openness, and honesty.

It starts with a very simple comment, one that I’ve said many times before. I am a product of domestic violence. I’m not shy or quiet about it. If asked, I always tell the truth. I knew very early on as a child that there was something “really not normal” about my family life. I vividly remember the fighting, the words, trying not to be home, hating being home, and how things escalated to physical violence. It is one of the reasons I am a writer, it allowed me to “escape” and be fully in control, where no one else could touch me.

I wasn’t even 10 at the time, but I’d had enough. I was the protector. I would put my mother and brother behind me and say “Go ahead, hit me. But you’re NOT going to hit them.” I never knew if my father would reach a point where he’d lay a hand on my mother, but I wasn’t EVER going to find out.

There’s a very fine line between disciplining your children and abusing them. Not all abuse is physical or sexual in context. Some of it is emotional and verbal, and leaves the same type of permanent scarring. It follows you through life.

I would NEVER take anything away from someone who has been in a worse situation, I have no right to do so. All I can say is that I didn’t live their experience, I only lived mine. And yet, I understand, I relate, and I will not speak against your pain, I will only do what I can to support you.

What a lot of people don’t know about me is that I am still living with a form of domestic violence. No, I am not married to that person (I would NEVER tolerate abuse from someone that claimed to love me, and the person I am in a relationship with knows that. He’s known me since we were kids, so he also knows I’d knock his fucking teeth out if he so much as spoke to me out of turn. He also knows that’s not me being abusive or being a bitch, it’s simply a reaction. He knows not to sneak up on me, to announce his presence if I don’t sense him, and not to do anything that might make me react in a poor manner. He’s always known these things and he is incredibly respectful of “the boundaries”.), it is not coming from someone who claims to love me, but it IS coming from a family member who shall remain nameless.

Over the last few years, I have had guns and knives pulled on me regularly, a sword was recently held to my throat, and I am often covered in gruesome bruises. There’s a huge difference between bruises where I truly am being a klutz (I walk into the side of my bed or the foot of my bed OFTEN, but that’s ME, and it’s different.) and bruises where someone is intentionally harming me and later denying they ever laid a hand on me. I’m here to say that they have and they are.

This person has been abusive for a good 20 years or so. They are a product of their environment, and no, I am NOT defending that. I think it’s sick and warrants therapy and medication, all of which I have encouraged. I was later accused of “trying to be controlling” by suggesting medication and therapy. Seriously? That’s a fucked up response, but it also explains the mentality behind this person.

Whenever something happens, I am often asked “Why didn’t you call the police?” For one, I know my state laws. Unless I’m beaten bloody, the cops aren’t going to give a shit. You have to show them a history. Unless I go to the ER with broken bones, etc., the cops aren’t going to give a shit or even take a statement. Yes, this person DID fracture my wrist many years ago. The person that took me to the ER that day pleaded with me NOT to say anything to the nurse, doctor, or to press charges. I did not agree with them, but when the time came to speak, I don’t even remember what I said I’d done or what happened to cause the injury. Yes, I am VERY angry at myself for not putting a stop to it right then and there. Maybe things would be different today if I hadn’t had that voice in my head trying to control me.

Moreover, the person harming me can turn on a dime. One of his best friends is a cop, so one phone call and he’d be out of lock-up pretty fucking fast. Is that my only stance on it? No.

What will it take for me to call the police? More evidence. Bruises don’t mean shit to the police. I’d have to be calling them constantly on domestic disputes before they’d do anything, and I have yet to meet a police officer in my current state of residence that is willing to take me seriously. There’s something disturbing to me about a 5.3 ½” woman being harmed by someone twice her size and a hell of a lot taller and no one giving a shit about it, or having them think it’s a fucking joke. In fact, they’ve laughed and not believed me.

I’m not weak. Far from it. I will shoot this person if I have to, and when I fought back over a week ago, I ended up breaking a short sword. Fighting back prevented me from being harmed far worse than I was. This person didn’t care that they’d hurt me, they cared that the sword was damaged! That is the kind of sickness I am dealing with.

I don’t condone violence, but I have to be honest here, because this is serious. I sleep with knives close by. Knives that are bigger than my forearms. I sleep with a 500,000 volt Stun Gun. I keep the Glock locked up, only because it’s all too easy to shoot someone once they’ve pushed you to the point of no return. There’s no way in hell I’d only shoot once. I know myself, and I know that I’d empty a mag, reload, and keep going. That probably sounds awful, but it’s the truth. I know myself well enough to know that certain things will escalate. A gun can protect you, and it should, but I know that if I have to pull, that’s the end of it. My life is not worth that because to everyone else, this person is “normal”. Their ability to turn it on and off is terrifying to witness. Everyone likes or loves them, and that is sociopath 101.

With practically everyone else on the planet, this person is absolutely lovely. Genuine, funny, shirt-off-your back real, and the list goes on and on. The fact that they’ve threatened me in public and said things to me in public that no one has done anything about is quite disturbing. I get nothing, but violence and vitriol. I sought therapy for it, thinking it was me. Repeatedly I was told it was not me, that this person is the one that needs help and medication. And yet, there is no way to help them because they do not believe there is anything wrong with them. They believe I am the problem. I have medical professionals to back up the fact that, that simply isn’t true.

October is National Domestic Violence Month. It is now November 2nd and here I am to say, we shouldn’t just have one month a year where we openly discuss domestic violence. We should discuss it the second it happens, to whoever will listen and take us seriously, with whoever we trust. Don’t stop speaking until you are heard.

I don’t consider myself a victim because I do know how to protect myself. I consider myself a survivor. Unfortunately as women, we are almost always the physically smaller sex. We know this, so we teach ourselves and are taught to fight dirtier. I have some training to protect myself, but as I stated, this person is twice my size, and because they have martial arts training, they think nothing of throwing me down on the floor. In fact, they think it’s funny. I was recently thrown down onto a flight of stairs and dragged by my legs. Again, nothing, but laughter. There’s nothing funny about it.

I have decided to use photos to document proof, in case I ever need it. I am not posting any of them here because that’s not going to be helpful. I’m not even sure I’d legally be allowed to keep this post up if something happened, but I’d much rather someone hear it from me than see me on the 10:00 PM news and think “Wow, I never knew this was going on.” Don’t pity me. That’s not why I wrote this. I wrote it because I am empowered to put an end to all of this.

It is time to break the chain.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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The Need For Silence

Miss Poison Being Real, Cats, Friends, Friendship, Goals, Growth, Happiness, Health, Honesty, Hope, Images/Photos/Quotes, Musings, Negativity, October, Pets, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Reflection, Relationships, Silence, Space, Wicca, Work, Writing , , , , , , , , , , ,

Tomorrow is Samhain, which is Halloween for the uninitiated who can’t even pronounce what I just said. I’ve taken some time this week to be quiet, to look deeply within, and to give myself some space. Every year brings a new set of challenges, and I am hoping to embark on happier ones this time around. Simply put: I am sick of the crap. Every last ounce of it. I’m ready for positive change, happy change, and I am looking forward to putting a lot of unhappiness and negativity to rest.

My only plan for tomorrow is to try hard to finish the read-through I am doing, and catch up on some little things that need to be put in the mail. Beyond that, nothing. I want a quiet day, I want to light candles at dusk, and I want a night of quality sleep. I don’t need scary movies to “get into the spirit”. I’ve already seen Sons of Anarchy and Stalker this week, I’ve had my dose of gore and I’ve been thoroughly ‘creeped out’.

It probably seems odd for someone so young to be in such desperate need of silence, but it’s honest. I already bought sweets this week and they were for myself. Okay, so I shared, but you get the point. The actual Halloween aspect doesn’t reside in my home. Samhain, on the other hand, does. It’s when I honor my loved ones who have passed away and light candles of remembrance. It’s when I keep my cats close to me and SAFE. I don’t believe in having outdoor cats, I never have and I never will. That is a personal choice because I believe that if you are going to have any kind of pet, you should do what is absolutely best for him/her and their overall well-being. When you rescue, you should give them a safe home. Last year there was a lot of concern over black cats being harmed. I own an all-black British Bombay who is the sweetest, most laid back little girl, so it’s even more important to me to keep her safe and sound. I don’t ever want my cats to know “the street life” again, which is precisely why I adopted them. You save a life, but you also save bits of yourself in the process.

Also, I have a very dear friend in the hospital, and I want to make sure I say a special prayer for her recovery. I’m breaking out the big guns on this one! 🙂

So, if there isn’t another post this month, enjoy the holiday however you choose to embrace it and keep yourself and those you hold dear safe & sound.

Bright Blessings.

L

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Why Are Birthdays So Rough On Some Of Us & Happy-Go-Lucky For Others?

Miss Poison Being Real, Birthdays, Friendship, Happiness, Introverts, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Relationships, Writing , , , ,

Why Are Birthdays So Rough On Some Of Us & Happy-Go-Lucky For Others?

I’ve never understood this, and maybe I never will. My birthday blues have hit me early this year, and they’ve hit hard. I’m days ahead of the actual day, and all I can think is “What’s the point? I might as well just stay in bed all weekend.” It’s a terrible attitude to have when a month or so ago, I was excitedly anticipating SOMETHING. ANYTHING. Lets face it, birthdays aren’t always happy.

I can’t remember the last time a birthday was truly joyous for me. I know it was under the age of 13, but couldn’t tell you for sure the who, what, when, or why of it all. I’m probably blocking it out for some reason (Most of my childhood should be blocked out for reasons I have yet to discuss here.). Generally, I remember everything on the long-term spectrum, I can tell you things about coming home from the hospital as a newborn (Crazy, right?), but as often as I’ve tried looking back on birthday stuff, I am a complete blank at the moment.

Was 18 a great one? No. It was the last one celebrated with my Grandmother before cancer fully took over, eventually taking her life a few years later. 21 was celebrated multiple times, because everyone was trying to top each other on the celebration and the gifts, but apart from coming out of the actual day with a new piercing, the day itself was nothing to write home about. Unless you’ve actually lived 21 years and have never touched a single drop of alcohol, it’s a ridiculous birthday to make such a big deal out of. I’ve never been a big drinker. I was given whiskey somewhere around age two by my Great-Uncle. Apparently that was much more satisfying to me as a toddler than my 21st birthday was because not only did I drink it, but with my discerning palette, I smiled and asked “More.” I was given more, until three appalled Jewish women lectured him on “giving whiskey to the baby”. It was cute and utterly hilarious while it was happening, and it’s still a funny story when properly told. The only time I drink it now is when I have strep throat, or a really horrific sore throat, and need to get rid of it fast. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve needed it for either, but I can tell you that it works. I have no idea why it speeds up the healing process, it just does. On occasion, I will have a drink or two. Hell, I might even have four, but it’s nothing to celebrate. I might just be pissed off on a Tuesday.

There are plenty of birthdays where it’s nice to spend time with friends and family, share a meal, and end the day with a cupcake. For the past six years or so, cupcakes have sort of become my staple. There is ONE company that makes the absolute best Triple Chocolate and Lemon Ice cupcakes. If you’re nice, I’ll even tell you who makes them and where to look for them. They’re amazing, everything else falls short, including the fanciest ones from a bakery. They come out about this time every year and you can find them until maybe March, after that, you don’t see them again until early Fall. There’s a flavor for everyone, but I’m addicted to the Lemon. I am going to look for both before “the big day”, in case I’m really blue and need sugar to help cope with my misery. 😦

I’m not an envious person, but even on the birthdays where I’ve intentionally gone away in order to be able to enjoy it, I’ve ended up waking up the morning of my birthday, growling in any direction, and going back to sleep. Or I end up sick and I never get to celebrate at all, which sucks.

In 2011, this happened while I was on vacation. I did end up going out with a family member later that day, in seriously cold New England weather with intermittent rain. I was an absolute unpleasant bitch, and it makes me cringe knowing how I behaved. After nearly a week of hitting up so many different places and great restaurants, we ended up someplace I would not have chosen off the top of my head, but had an amazingly delicious meal and great service. When we got home, there was Chocolate Raspberry Truffle cheesecake and Coconut Cream Pie cheesecake waiting. Too sweet to eat more than a few spoonfuls in one shot, but 100% worth it.

In 2012, I got sick and spent my birthday in bed. The next day, despite still being sick, I pushed myself out to celebrate. Two hours later, I was in a gun shop in the middle of nowhere. I’d been told it was a 20 minute trip, so by the time we reached the destination, I was pissed and in desperate need of stretching my legs. The shop owner told me to “just stand there and look pretty”. He’s lucky he was behind a counter, or he’d be missing a favorite body part to this day. Afterwards, I did end up having a great birthday meal and then spent some time at the mother-ship (Sephora). If ever you just want to get on my good side, throw Sephora gift cards or nail polish at me. No, I’m not kidding.

Last year, I forced myself to attempt a celebration. After a manicure and an errand, I was completely done for the day. I was exhausted, fine to be home early to enjoy seriously awesome Italian food as my reward for being born. Like most years, it came, it saw, it fizzled out before 8 PM.

Why is it so much easier for some people to go out, celebrate, and be thrilled on their birthdays? It can’t possibly be about material things or the people they’re sharing it with, can it? Is it all about gifts, alcohol, food you may, or may not, really want to be eating, and people you may, or may not, even like? Is it quantity over quality? Is it extroverts over introverts? If you know the answer to this, please step forward and spit it out!

My discussion this morning went something like this: “Mexican sounds SO good to me right now, do you want to go to…?” It’s a tiny little place, but the food is authentic and if you get there at the right time, the service is good too. “I’d rather stay local.” Mind you, the place I’m talking about is less than 10 minutes away, 15 if you hit traffic. “How about…?” Blank stare. And then I had a moment where all I could think was “It’s MY fucking birthday, douche bag! We’ll go where I say we’re going, and you’ll fucking deal with it.” Another suggestion was presented, probably because the look on my face showed that at any given moment, someone might need to sleep with both eyes open. Sadly, I’m just not feeling it.

Is it wrong for you to want certain days to have a special feel to them? I’m not saying you need a fortune spent on you, or that you need to spend a fortune, but on a special day, it shouldn’t just be “the same old shit”.

In the end, I’m leaving it all up to Fate. What’s meant to be, will be. If I wake up and I don’t feel it, then that’s okay. I’m sure someone will be more than happy to deliver.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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The Little Things

Miss Poison Being Real, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Unfiltered, Work, Writing , , , , , ,

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You know you’re a writer who lives and dies by her laptop when replacing your laptop battery is a big deal. What’s worse, you’re excited about the fact that you got it for a good price and it should be here sooner rather than later. The fact that I considered getting a second one “just in case”, is probably just a sickness.

The next thing I will have to replace on my “not even old laptop” is some of the keys. They’re all still firmly attached, but if you didn’t know where all the letters are on the keyboard naturally, you wouldn’t be able to read E, R, T, I, O, A, S, H, L, N, M, the period key, or half of the space bar. HP and I disagree on the pricing, so I’m definitely not replacing the keys through them.

One of my best friends and I would always laugh about this, because with longer nails, we both had to take Sharpies and write what key was what on our old desktop computer keyboards. Hers was a nightmare. I tried using it once and after Sharpie-ing all of the letters in, never touched it again. She came home one day and laughed hysterically at what I’d done, but it was necessary. Her keyboard was different from mine, but apparently we’re both rampant keyboard abusers. We won’t discuss how many times the tip of one of my nails gets stuck between the keys, which is always a sign for me to file them down to a more desirable length. This time, it’s happening Friday or Saturday. I want nice nails for my birthday, even though I have no plans. (Yes Riley, I’m being ever-so subtle here. You’d better be bringing me chocolate, diamonds, or chocolate covered diamonds, but I will also settle for chocolate covered strawberries. 😛 ) However, no matter what the plans entail, I will be watching The Good Wife. That’s definite.

I made it through a few more chapters on that read-through yesterday, but not before calling the intermediary to make sure I was protected in case this guy acts like a douche bag again and I am forced to back out of the job. I am protected, which gives me a sense of calm. I messaged him a chapter update and he seemed like a totally different person, but later sent me revisions to a chapter I have not yet read. Yeah, I know, I had the exact same thought. I did a little research and discovered that this guy likes to hire women to read his work. In nearly two years, I don’t think he’s hired a single man to read his manuscript. I have a theory on that, and it’s not because every woman I’ve ever met is thorough, has great attention to detail, and gives solid feedback. I honestly think I’m being misjudged here, AGAIN, but since I probably don’t have a lot more work to really do, I am going to try and stick it out. In the meantime, I am actively looking to line up something more challenging. I nearly fell asleep during chapter four. That doesn’t bode well, but it could just be the lingering whatever I have in my system that caused me to pass out yesterday afternoon. Even now, since I’ve been up since about 4:00 a.m., I am feeling exhausted. It helps that, thus far, it is dreary outside.

For now, I am going into my own work for the second time in two days. Yesterday I revised my acknowledgements, today I’m going to re-read the big fight sequence and see how it plays out in my mind. I am certain there’s more that can be added, but I don’t want to force it. When I don’t feel at my best health wise, it’s always okay to back off a bit on the external shit.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Defining Your Issues

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Defining Your Issues

It’s taken me a long time to admit that my biggest issue is asking for help. I get in over my head and then I drown because I never, ever expect to be rescued by anyone. I am the kind of woman who has always rescued herself. Unfortunately, the past two years of my life have proven that sometimes, I feel like I don’t have any pride left.

There is an expression “You can never be too strong.” Yes, you can. Being “too strong”, for me, means that I would rather die than ask for help. 99% of the people in my life have hurt, betrayed, lied, stolen from, and/or abandoned me. People who are supposed to be there for you no matter what are often the ones that will fail you in the worst of times, and after a while, you stop turning in any other direction, except inward. You don’t ever sit around thinking “If only someone would help me through this…” No, you’ve always had the skills to dig yourself out of the crap you get into. Unfortunately, you find yourself angrier than a starving lion with no kill in sight when you realize that there is no Prince or Princess Charming coming on a white horse to rescue you. You’ve always done for yourself, it’s how you were raised, and you have issues breaking free from that.

I am the kind of person that actually means “Thank You.” when she says it. It’s not just polite, pretty words. If a person holds a door for you, especially in this day and age, saying thank you is a prerequisite, but you’d be surprised how many people will walk right past you when you’re holding a door and say absolutely nothing.

When someone steps up and says “I’ve got this.” or “I’ve got you.”, it feels like an Angelic Blessing to me. Right now, I need an enormous Blessing, but I just don’t feel like my prayers are being heard. I am 100% DONE. I’m done making an effort, being a good person, being a good friend, being an upstanding citizen, and taking care of things and people when it’s not my responsibility. I’m just plain DONE. I am tired of the injustice, I am tired of being told “Sorry Ma’am”, I am tired of the lies we are told about who to go to, and who will help us in bad times. Moreover, unless I am visibly over 75 years old, I should be allowed to punch you in the face until I see blood whenever someone deigns to call me Ma’am. I don’t care who you are and if you think it’s good manners, because I find it incredibly rude. You never know how badly a person needs your assistance, or how you would feel if the situations were reversed, so be kind to people when they ask for it, not dismissive and rude. Don’t ever presume you are doing them a favor by being rude, because all it does is make them angry.

I’m Lisa and my biggest problem is asking for help. I wouldn’t worry, I won’t be asking for it ever again.

P.S. NO, this is not a suicide note. Even if it were, I can count the people who would attend my funeral on one hand.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Have You Ever Had A Day…

Miss Poison Being Real, Chronic Pain, Fibromyalgia, Health, Honesty, Life, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Thoughts, Unbelievable Crap, Uncategorized, Unfiltered, Writing , , , , , , , , ,

Have You Ever Had A Day…

 

We’ve all had days where we’d like to call into work or life “dead”. For me, today is one of those days. I’ve reached a breaking point. It started yesterday, when I had to walk away from a very serious look at suicide. No, I am not seeking attention with my honesty, I am simply being forthcoming. Why do so many things have to go wrong all at once? Why does every single thing in life revolve around money?

Money equates security, and it also equates greed, depending on how you look at it. Some people are so greedy for “stuff” that they never realize they could be helping someone in need. It doesn’t even occur to them. No matter how bad things get in my life, I always look at where I came from and if a small donation to charity will make a difference, then I will do it. If helping someone with a problem, or simply being a good person is what is needed of me on any given day, then I don’t even think about it, I just do it.

For me, money is about security. It’s about making sure the bills are paid, there is a roof over my head, and food on the table. It’s also about providing for my overall health. Yes, I like nice things, what woman doesn’t, but if it comes down to buying something shiny and buying food, I am going to choose food. If it comes down to paying my bills or buying something fancy, I am going to pay my bills. In this, I feel like my priorities are in check. Someone suggested to me that during my struggles, I get rid of my cat. I was LIVID.  I would rather STARVE than surrender a precious little life that trusts and loves me into the hands of a shelter. Who else will cheer me up with her insane antics and ankle biting?!

Some days though, I simply don’t know how I survive, or why. These past two years have been a terrible struggle for me with my health, with family, and life in general. When you’re suffering, finances dwindle pretty quickly. As my health worsens, I am faced with the very real possibility of being homeless, of requiring a pain pump to help manage the Fibromyalgia, and possibly a wheelchair. I assure you that I am far too young for the last two, and yet, these are all very real possibilities. Moreover, they’re terrifying.

If you believe in a Higher Power, today I ask that you say a little prayer for anyone and everyone suffering and struggling. I will do the same. I believe strongly in the power of prayer, and I also believe that sometimes the best things comes out of the absolute worst things.

Today I find myself desperate, humbled, and scared for so many reasons. I have nothing left, but to believe that God has answers, and that they will soon show themselves in unexpected ways.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Decision

Miss Poison Being Real, Boundaries, Friendship, Honesty, Unfiltered, Writing , , , , , , , , ,

It always helps to have a plan, but some days, it’s perfectly acceptable to wing it.

Over the last ten years or so, I’ve had a deep, abiding urge to tell a long list of people precisely what I think of them. In many instances, I have chosen to refrain. Not out of fear, but out of the fact that it doesn’t make me a better person, and it does not allow me to grow. If someone is a piece of shit to you, sometimes the very best thing for you is to walk away, not say anything, and keep on moving forward. Of course, if a person persistently pursues you for an answer, let them fucking have it.

Who is on my list? Family, a best friend of almost 19 years, and more recently, some “friends” that have proven themselves to be so incredibly full of shit, I am amazed they can breathe actual air. I am pretty sure they are walking EPA violations.

Family is always a mixed bag for a lot of people. Does anyone truly come from the perfect family? I used to think some of my relatives were so pulled together, until one particular funeral when I realized exactly how fucked up and dysfunctional every single person truly is. It was as if their masks had come off at a masquerade ball and I was suddenly able to see them for exactly what they truly are. It’s scary when people put up such good false identities, even to their own family, that you start buying into their bullshit. It’s all a facade, because in the end, no family is perfect, not everyone loves each other, hell, most of them don’t even like each other. In truth, it’s perfectly okay. Moreover, it clarified a lot for me.

Not every friendship is perfect either. The best friend I have issues with is someone who has been a part of my life for an exceptionally long time. We haven’t spoken in four years, yet she occasionally “likes” one of my Facebook posts or comments on something I write. That’s confusing to me, because if I mean anything to her, she should have apologized a long time ago for the crap she’s pulled. I love her, but I also hate her, all in the same sentence. There are moments when I just can’t imagine having allowed her to become a part of my life, and in the same breath, I sometimes wonder how she & I can not speak for so long, and then, out of nowhere, pick up like it was yesterday, like nothing has changed. The truth is, a lot has changed. I have changed. I think this time she knows that, and she’s afraid of what the outcome will be when she inevitably slithers her way back to me. She has no idea what I have in store for her. No, she doesn’t read this.

As for false “friends”, I have no use and even less time for delusional people who think their shit doesn’t stink, or who take offense to things that aren’t offensive, like the truth. If you’re my friend, then you’re my friend all of the time, not when it is convenient for you to be. If you’re not “Ride or Die”, then get the fuck away from me, period. I don’t have time for drama, petty nonsense, or bullshit. I would much rather close ranks than allow some two-faced degenerate anywhere near me, my heart, or my work.

90% of the time, I am an incredibly professional, driven, hard-working woman, and I’m a lady. The other 10% of the time I’m silently contemplating the benefits of letting a person know what I think of them, only to decide it’s not worth it, that they’ll reveal their snake-like personalities to others all in due time, and I can just sit back and let it unfold, without ever having to say a single nasty thing, however deserved it may be.

Sometimes, no matter who the person is, they’re not fucking worth it, and it is perfectly okay to come to that conclusion. The one thing that bothers me though is knowing that as I rise through the ranks, these very same people will return in an attempt to ride my coat-tails. I am going to have to employ a few people to physically and publicly sever the ties.

In short, be careful how you treat people. You never know where they’re going, or how high.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Something New, Something Old…

Miss Poison Being Real, Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Unedited, Unfiltered, Writing , , ,

Sometimes, it’s good to return to your roots. It helps remind you where you come from, how far you have come from step one, and how much more you intend to achieve.

“Poison In Lethal Doses” was always my place to be brutally honest. That will continue on here. It was my “Say anything, and say it loud.” position within the community of which I was a part of for so very long. I walked away from the community for a laundry list of reasons, but I own the copyrights and have decided to bring myself back to how so much of myself began. I cut my teeth on this particular concept and while many people are quite original and individualistic now on a larger scale, I worked with the scale that was placed in front of me. It became this huge thing very quickly, but when I walked away, I never left the core of who I am behind.

This will be the place for the more brutal side of me. There won’t be any kindness or sympathy to be found here, just me, in my normal, unfiltered fashion.

I hope that you, the reader, will come to enjoy this as much as I enjoy having that place to be myself without limits.