New York City

One State of Mind, and Uncontrollable Pain

Miss Poison New York City, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing , , , , , , , , ,

There’s so much I want to say, and so much I want to protect. I’ll try to say what I need to, without disrupting the delicate balance between the two.

Have you ever felt divinely guided in one direction, and maybe been afraid to jump? Or let me rephrase and say, were you overly cautious about a huge move? That’s where I am, and it’s scary. If you tend to psychoanalyze your decisions, as I am wont to do (to the Nth degree), then it’s terrifying, all while being amazing and exhilarating at the same time. I don’t jump; I’m careful. Until I’m not.

No matter what I do, all signs point in one direction. It might as well be a fucking headline in glaring red. I can’t go anywhere without reminders, either. If you’re into symbology, you will understand what I mean. The signs are in front of your face constantly. If you’re not into symbols, then maybe you understand synchronicity. I’ve pondered things ad nauseum for over five years, now. Around this time, last year, the symbology shifted and I tried hard to ignore it because I wasn’t ready from a mental perspective. I told myself I was being ridiculous. But now? It’s virtually impossible to ignore. It’s everywhere I turn. It’s the Universe saying, “Remember what you prayed for? I’m giving it to you. Be careful with it, but don’t you dare walk away. I worked too hard to bring this to you. This is YOUR magic, and this is all yours. Hold on tight, because this doesn’t happen for everyone. Don’t run from your destiny.” It leaves you in complete awe.

This keeps me up at night, praying for guidance. Guidance is laughing, because I’m struggling with this, and guidance tells me to listen and take what’s mine and meant for me. If there’s anything I hate, it’s me bringing up something completely unrelated in therapy, and allowing it to eat up 20-40 minutes of the time I am allotted every other week. Unfortunately, it ate up time twice in six weeks. I felt stupid bringing it up in the first place, until my doctor said I was doing the right thing. There’s nothing wrong with being cautious, smart, having difficult discussions, and powering through. Essentially, this is also a form of guidance, as well as self-care. It helps me work things out on my own, which is something I did long before I had anyone in my life to play therapist on any level. There’s a lot to be said for people who are capable of doing the work on their own. Let me be clear; none of this work is easy, but you have to show up for yourself.

Sometimes I can focus solely on the work I choose to do in order to improve myself, and other times I need to express myself in a rush because both of my best friends lost a parent this year (One lost both of her parents.), so they are essentially AWOL at the moment. It hurts me not to be able to share this with them, but I also don’t want to dump my drama on anyone. I would rather say something in a year. They can be mad, but I choose to be respectful of their pain and suffering, as opposed to being selfish, self-centered, and/or self-absorbed. That’s not who I am. I’m not a martyr, but am I sensitive to what my tribe members are going through? Absolutely! If anything, I am more self-aware than most people, and this is one of my better qualities.

I know when things settle down, they will be there for me. These are two of my longest friendships, and I know both of them want what’s best for me, no matter what. The same is true in reverse, and it breaks my heart that I had to walk them though these losses, coming from a place of experience. Maybe that was a gift, in a bizarre sort of way. My parents’ losses are felt deeply, but if I can help someone else by sharing how I navigated it all, then it’s not entirely in vain. Everyone reading this will experience loss at some point in their lives, and I hope my words of encouragement will help even just one person.

Navigating the day-to-day aspects of what I am going through right now are harder. I have a lot of late-night discussions and random bursts of laughter. I still spend a lot of sleepless nights writing until the sun comes up. Sometimes I can cut myself off earlier, but this often means taking prescription sleep medication, and I can say this based on my experience with it; it doesn’t always work. It’s never been consistent for me, but there are times it completely knocks me out, and times when it wears off too quickly. No wants a sleep aid to wear off after 2-5 hours. Then you feel like you didn’t sleep at all, and the cycle continues.

I hurt my neck about six or seven weeks ago (which is part of why I am experiencing so much painsomnia.). It initially felt like it was a flare-up from sleeping in a weird position during a rapid weather change, but quickly became me not able to turn my head at all. The pain affected the entire left side of my body. It eased up after a few days and I went to a doctor and had some injections put into my neck. Normally, this settles everything down in a few days, but it’s been a while at this point, and I am suffering terribly, and the injection sites flared up, as well. Any stressful situation or conversation causes my neck to get worse. I don’t even realize how tight my neck is, until I try to move. My doctor told me the entire back of my neck and head are badly affected, so she added some medication to the back of my head, as well. No help.

I touched base with someone recently who is coming off of shoulder surgery due to a pinched nerve which, for ten years, tormented her. She’d finally had enough of the excruciating agony. My doctors decided it was a pinched nerve without running any tests. I’m not kidding; they recommended physical therapy via YouTube and a cervical collar which is SO painful, I am not sure where I threw it one day, but I do know I threw it out of frustration. To make a long story slightly shorter, I now have to deal with a shitty primary care physician in order to get him to go back into my chart when this first started (during the height of Covid), and insist we discuss it, and that tests be run this time around. During the last two flare-ups, they put me on short-term opioids (In May and again in October of 2020), along with long-term muscle relaxers, which made a dent. This time, I don’t even know if they’re strong enough to touch this pain. The muscle relaxers help me temporarily, but I’ve reached my pain threshold and I am worried surgery could end up on the table. There’s clear-cut nerve damage. If there’s something torn, I could be sidelined for 6-9 months. There are parts of my head and face that I don’t feel anymore. My right ear, especially. It seems weird, but I realized it last Winter, and another time when, recently, I was putting a small earring into my myriad piercings. I jammed a sharp earring into a piercing which, for some deeply unknown reason, wants to close up on me. I could understand if I never wore anything in it, but I actually do. Every time I leave the house. I’ve had it since I was about twenty, so I’m baffled by it giving me trouble over the past year or so. I left the house one day with the earring in (along with all of my others, none of which had given me trouble), only to later discover blood trickling down the side of my neck when I reached my destination. I never felt a thing. I cleaned it up with alcohol pads I keep in my purse, but later that night when I took the higher piercings out, it all stemmed from the third cartilage piercing. I disinfected everything and I still wear it, but some days I get fed up and skip it. It’s not worth popping it open, having it swell up, etc. Eventually, I will find out if it’s related to a metal allergy, but honestly, one piercing out of so many seems a bit odd, even to me. Of late, all of them are swelling up, except for one. It’s been an odd, random experience, to say the least.

Obviously, I have a lot of my plate right now. In advance, I would like to thank all of you for sticking with me this year. I have definitely been out of sorts and challenged beyond measure, but I am grateful to walk this website into another year (Which officially starts on the 26th.). I did take a lengthy break from writing over the past while, because I needed it, I was burning out, and my focus needed to be elsewhere. My focus remains where it needs to be. I will revisit what I’ve been working on and forge ahead, but I might focus the next few months on a How-To manual (If you know, you know.). The idea started out as a joke between myself and a mother figure, but I quickly realized I might be on to something. If nothing else, I keep people laughing, and there’s a bonus to that.

If I am not able to write anything more this month, I want you to savor all the good moments. Be it Fall or Spring where you live, enjoy the little things, the big things, and everything in between. You never know when you might be stumbling on something life-changing. I’ve been the dumbest brunette on earth this year (In my bubble of an existence.), but I’m embracing the magic and protecting what, and who, I value beyond measure.

Wishing you all a wonderful remainder to the month of October. 🍁🍂🍃

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author.

Sixteen Years

Image Miss Poison New York City, Reflection, Remembrance, September 11th , , , , , ,

september11-4

september11-2

Today was incredibly somber for me, and I am certain other people felt this way, as well. Every year, a deep part of me re-lives 9/11. I wasn’t afraid, not for a second, but I was definitely in silent, angry shock. Sixteen years later, I still can’t believe all that has transpired since that day.

I haven’t been back home in a long time. I miss it. I’ll never stop being proud of where I come from. My city, every part of it, is deeply enmeshed in who I am. Someone told me that they like where I live now “because it’s kind of like New York, but much smaller”. Yeah, not so much.

Coming Out Of The Ancestral “Closet”

Miss Poison Ancestry, Being Real, Finding Your Truth, Honesty, Images/Photos/Quotes, Inspiration, Languages, New York City, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Unfiltered, Writing , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

justbe

Coming Out of The Ancestral “Closet”

I find it more than a little appalling that in 2014, I am still being asked “What are you?” Not “What religion are you?” or your average, inappropriate social questions, which, by my standards, are still rude. No, it’s always been “What ARE you?”, with such profound emphasis, as if I am my own species. It’s become ridiculous, and as we’ve established, I am not a patient woman.

Growing up in New York City; a small, fair skinned, dark blue eyed, dark haired child, I was utterly adorable. I have pictures to prove it. My peaches & cream complected, blonde, hazel eyed mother was very clear in my genes, but so was my olive skinned, raven haired, dark brown eyed father. I was clearly a genetic mix of my parents and maternal Grandparents. For years, my eyes had that perfect Asian up-tilt, a gift of my Tribal Siberian and Mongolian ancestry, something that I now enhance with carefully applied eyeliner when I have the patience to do so. I was about six years old when they changed in color from dark blue to hazel. It normally doesn’t take such a long period of time for a child’s eye color to change.

Where am I going with this? Well, I will tell you. I’ve known for about 8 years now that I am indeed part Latina. I have absolutely no reason to hide it or not discuss it if it comes up in conversation, especially now that Spain and Portugal are allowing Jews to return for citizenship. I have to say, I was very sorely tempted to pack my bags and leave.

Growing up, everyone assumed I was either 100% Puerto Rican or 100% Italian. I am neither. In fact, I’m not 100% anything. I am so blended, I should have my own flag. My Latina roots come from Spain (Zaragoza) and Argentina (Buenos Aires).

Several months ago, while filling out some forms I checked the Caucasian box, as I’ve done my entire life, and followed up with Hispanic on the second portion of the form. It is truly the first time I’d ever done it, but I simply felt like not putting it down was to lie, and it bothered me, so I checked the box proudly. The woman handling the paperwork looked at me immediately and said “You’re Sephardic?!”, with such utter disbelief as she looked at the color of my skin and eyes, that I glanced up briefly from filling out the forms and said “I am Ashkenazi, Sephardic, Russian Siberian, and Jewish Asian.” In truth, that’s not even the half of it, but it was short and to the point. I didn’t owe her an explanation of my lineage, but I’d be damned if I was going to be treated any differently.

Really, why the hell does anyone give a shit?! Why did she? I later found out that as an immigrant to this country, she did not want anyone knowing she was Sephardic. I was slightly astounded, but anyone who is at an age where their Grandparents or parents may have died during the Holocaust is probably still hiding what they are. Having been born here, I suppose I do not feel the need to hide. I’ve never felt the need to do so, not ancestrally or religiously.

People tend to forget that Latinas come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some are blonde and blue eyed, some are more like me, and others are dark haired, dark eyed, and always look naturally tan. I cannot tan to save my life, and since I detest sun damage and the sun on a whole, I religiously wear sun protection. Some of us speak Ladino, Yiddish, Spanish, Portuguese, or older versions of various languages. Some of my cousins, also Sephardic, speak French (My brother does, I do not.). I grew up in a bilingual home, my closest family friends did too, and they all spoke Spanish. I spent years studying other languages, and am now teaching my brother Italian, Russian, Ukrainian, and Spanish. I understand languages I don’t speak, but I base that on the fact that some of them are incredibly similar. I have been trying to learn Swedish for a couple of years now. Not for any other reason than I think it’s beautiful when spoken. Welsh is next on my list.

I’m a great observer of others, but I try very hard not to judge people based on race or religion. Everyone is an individual. If you treat me like shit, I am not going to judge your ethnic background for that, just you. If you treat me well, I’m not going to automatically assume that everyone like you will show the same kindness and respect.

I have friends from all walks of life, and I accept and respect them for their individuality. I don’t care where a person is from, so long as we treat each other with respect and courtesy. Most of the people in my life who are closest to me are not American born or American citizens (though I can now say for a fact that more are). Two of my best friends are Israeli and German. My boyfriend holds dual citizenship. He is Welsh born, returns to Wales several times a year to visit older relatives, but is not an American citizen. His parents and siblings are not American citizens either, but they’re some of the loveliest people, and to me, that’s all that matters.

I have a friend who, for damn near our entire friendship, would openly declare herself Hispanic “From SPAIN!”, she’d tell people loudly. She’s also part Cherokee, which shows. Honestly, it doesn’t matter, but now that our friendship has declined so badly, I have noticed more and more that she is embracing the fact that her ancestry is actually Mexican. It’s always been pretty evident to me, but would I ever have said a word to her about it? No. That’s disrespectful. That’s like catching me on a dumb day and then pointing out that I have some Polish ancestry. It’s rude and it’s not something you say or do.

I think what bothered me the most about her saying it so often is that people would ask her if she was Hawaiian, saying that she looked “exotic”, and I’d then think of Stefanie, one of my best friends, who is Native Hawaiian. There’s a definite difference, not just in looks, but in so much more. She is not simply born and raised there, you can see her Hawaiian and Japanese ancestry in her hair, eyes, skin, and beauty. It shines like a beacon. Her Italian mother, we often joke, barely got a gene in. Between her and her siblings, she is the one who most looks like her father’s side of the family. For the previously aforementioned friend, ancestry and honoring it is clearly a big issue, so I never, ever tried to make her feel uncomfortable, nor did I ever press her on it. I feel it is something to honor and show respect, not hide from or deny, but that’s me and my otherworldly view since I’m still being asked “What ARE you?”

The next time someone says that to me, I might very well declare myself a vampire, purchase a really cool pair of colored contacts from Italy, and not say a word to anyone ever again, until the sun sets. Stupid questions deserve stupid answers, do they not?

So, this is me. Part Latina. Owning it, not ashamed, remembering to use my Spanish instead of forgetting that I can speak it, completely unconcerned if my honoring it bothers someone else. It’s my genes, my ancestry, and if you’ve taken issue with it, fuck off!

“Coming Out Of The Ancestral ‘Closet’” is copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC., and was originally published on July 7th, 2014. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.