In less than a month, I’ve written over 220,000 words. Does that sound like a lot? It is. To do it in such a short period of time is a testament to me pushing myself to write every single day, and not to give up when I’ve felt stuck. Even if I only managed one page on a bad day, I still parked my ass in front of the file and went over it, and over it, and over it. It’s called determination, with a healthy dose of bat-shit crazy thrown into the mix.
I’ve written, rewritten, proofed, edited, done additional rewrites, changed the direction up, added new characters, strengthened characters I liked, and here I am, still trying to figure out the true direction of the story. For the first time, I wrote something 100% unplanned. I let it haunt me for three months before I said “Let’s give it a try and see how it goes.” It’s become so much bigger than what I first thought, and I’ve found most of it incredibly easy to write.
The challenge in the work is getting in touch with things I’ve personally found difficult in my life. It’s been therapeutic to work it out on the screen in front of me and allow myself to be authentic within the confines of a fictional novel. Instead of saying “That’s decent, it’ll do.” (something I never say, I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my writing), I’m finding myself excited to get up each day and return to work.
During a radio interview Nora Roberts explained how she began writing under the pseudonym J.D. Robb. Her publisher had, and I’m paraphrasing here, told her to “get a hobby” because her books were selling so well. Instead of deciding to actually take that advice and learn something new or do something fun, she decided to channel it into writing something else. I remember hearing the interview and laughing, until I realized today that I’ve sort of done the same thing. Instead of staying in my comfortable world where I’m 100% writing the truth, I’ve opened a door into a new genre for myself, and have found it’s equally as comfortable, if not more so. If you had suggested this to me ten or even five years ago, I would have laughed in your face. Instead, I’m breaking personal records on what I can achieve. I feel proud of that.
I hate reading things that make me roll my eyes. I hate reading things that don’t feel realistic, to some degree. I also hate feeling like I’m writing the same shit a thousand other people are writing. It gets boring very quickly.
I hate timid characters. They annoy me. I hate the damsel-in-distress nonsense. This is the 21st century, and I don’t know a lot of weak women. Unless you’re writing a period piece set in a different century, lose the giggly, shy female that you’d either slap or kick if you were to meet her tomorrow. Let someone in junior high write that crap.
Some of what I’m writing touches on gender roles. What makes a woman truly strong? What makes a man the right person? What makes a couple work well together? How do you stay strong through difficulties, your own idiocy, lapses in judgment, etc. I prefer to focus on the humanity. What are our characters if not perfectly flawed human-beings?
I have come to realize that most of my female characters (some, not all) are a version of me. If Erika Girardi can be Erika Jayne, then I can channel aspects of who I am into characters, too. There’s nothing wrong with that. I find it incredibly empowering.
When writing male characters, I work hard at channeling the men I know. There is no such thing as the perfect person, but there is such a thing as “the right person for you”, regardless of gender. Several of my friends described me as their soul-mate, from a friendship perspective. I firmly believe we have multiple soul-mates in life that we meet at different times. Some are with us forever and others come and go, leaving their mark. That’s real life. I’m virtually incapable of writing something and not bringing real life to it.
So as I sit here this afternoon, struggling with a scene I feel is emotionally crucial to the story, I have to remind myself to just be real. Take a deep breath and push through. And when I feel like I can’t focus, then it’s time for a break, but I have to get it done. I have to finish it. Maybe not today, but as soon as I can.
Let’s face it; no one would believe I wrote it if it were emotionally false.
I find myself unable to concentrate this afternoon as I work on what I can only hope is my second to last draft. Everything is coming together nicely, but my health is taking an unhappy turn.
It only took six and a half months, two applications (the first of which they lost and didn’t tell me about until January!), and a plethora of phone calls to find out that my health insurance has finally been approved! The utterly daunting task of finding a primary care physician, a neurologist, and someone who can actually diagnose and treat whatever the hell I have is overwhelming.
Over the past few years I’ve come to wonder if I was properly diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. Sure, I match all the criteria, but is that what this truly is? There are so many other pain-related autoimmune disorders, and disorders that are pain-related and neurological. I wasn’t tested for the majority of them and it’s been a while since I was retested for Lyme Disease. In turn, I’ve decided to meet a new doctor and simply give him/her a list of my symptoms. I’d need to have blood work and tests done any way, so I’d rather start fresh and not even bring the word Fibromyalgia up to a new physician. I want someone to come back to me with a clear-cut diagnosis and a treatment plan. I don’t want to be jerked around. Nor do I want to be judged or treated like a drug addict for saying it. I haven’t been on prescription pain medication in five years. If I’d been addicted, it would have posed a serious problem. Instead, it was just an asshole doctor playing with my life. A doctor who lied to my face when I asked about his residency at a local hospital (it’s how I was referred to him, by a nurse that had worked with him). He’s the only doctor in the United States with that precise first, middle, and last name, so why lie about where you did your residency? It’s common knowledge with a little research. That wasn’t the only indication that something about him was off. Being dropped as a patient without warning was the icing on the cake after his in-office behavior.
My migraines have progressively gotten worse. I am currently on day ten of a migraine that has destroyed me. Each day I’m a little more hesitant to eat or drink, because anything can trigger my headaches now, and I simply don’t see any correlation between food, drink, and when I’ll get slammed with a headache. I can be okay for an hour or two, and the second I sit down to put the information into the migraine app, I get slammed with horrific head pain, nausea, etc. These are clear signs that I’m NOT okay and that I need to make sure a brain MRI is done soon. The last one I had was of my brain and spine. The brain scan is usually 35 minutes with and without contrast, but the spine takes longer and the position is extremely uncomfortable when you suffer from serious lower back pain. I ended up having a claustrophobic panic attack inside the machine. That had never happened to me before, so this time, I am going to make sure I’m armed with Valium, Xanax, or whatever a doctor can give me so I don’t have a meltdown in the middle of the test. I’m not usually claustrophobic at all, but I now know that MRI machines and snow storms cause me to go into pre-panic meltdowns at the mere thought. It’s the exact opposite of who I am, so it’s hard to explain why this is suddenly happening to me. I hope that whatever this is, it doesn’t not require surgery. I did some research and didn’t like what I found. 😦 This is precisely why I hate when people say “You could have this…” and I end up Googling it to educate myself on something I’ve never heard of before, only to convince myself of the “What Ifs”. A case of the “What Ifs” will only increase ones’ stress levels and anxiety, so why do people say shit like that”?! It’s one thing if I’m with someone and they’re displaying signs of a heart attack or stroke, in which case I am getting them an aspirin (for the former) and calling 911, regardless of which situation it may be. I don’t have to be anything more than concerned, and get them medical attention as quickly as possible.
The nicest thing a person can say when I’m suffering is “I’m concerned. Make an appointment and I will go with you.” If you’re going to say one thing and not mean it, then I’ll go whenever the fuck I go, but it won’t be on your terms.
I sit here this afternoon, really praying I don’t end up in the emergency room or at Urgent Care over a migraine. I’ll pretend that the stomach pain I’ve had on and off since Sunday is an abdominal migraine. I’ve never been diagnosed with them, but the symptoms come with a lot of my migraines these days, depending on the severity. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to put two and two together. In fairness, what will either place really do for me? Not a whole lot. I’d be lucky to leave with an abortive, like Relpax, and a referral to a neurologist. That doesn’t help me, but would they do blood work on site? Yes.
I’ve already had to cancel my appointment with a Physician’s Assistant due to transportation issues. I don’t feel good about that, but it’s a huge scheduling conflict. Not every appointment in my life can be at the crack of dawn, especially when I am having severe issues falling asleep and staying that way. An early morning appointment means no sleep for me until I return home, and that’s if I can sleep at all. It then screws up my schedule until a week’s worth of Melatonin can correct the problem. So unless I’m sleeping well, I don’t commit to appointments that early because I cannot guarantee I’ll be able to make them. If I’m awake at six in the morning, chances are I’m in pain or didn’t get an ounce of sleep. I’ve got allergy medicine knocking me out most nights, and kind that is marked “non-drowsy”, so I’m not being stubborn, but I am owning my limitations.
Normal walked out the door a long time ago. I can’t expect anything to give me my life back. All I can do is muddle through the pain and pray that someone will eventually hand me the correct diagnosis.
Wishing everyone who celebrate a Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! Have a good weekend, one and all.
Hello everyone! I hope this finds everyone in a good place, or at least, not a painful one. Life happens and I know it’s not all roses, sunshine, and ice cream. 😦
I didn’t mean to drop off the planet for a bit, and in truth, it hasn’t been that long. Even still, it’s unacceptable to keep everyone out of the loop.
About two and a half weeks ago I began writing a piece of fiction that has been haunting me for several months. I began my third draft this morning of an 80,000 word novel. It’s a genre I was unaware I could write, but I am thoroughly enjoying my time spent (About 8-14 hours a day) with these characters. And even though the characters keep changing their strengths and personalities on me, each trying to be in the lead for who is stronger, I am finding myself doing all that I can to keep their best assets in tact, and complete this for submission to an agent. I wouldn’t need representation if this wasn’t a “hobby genre”. It’s the polar opposite of anything else I’ve ever written. It will appeal to people who read the genre, but not so much to the average reader, and that’s okay. None of you will be obligated to grab a copy, unless I self-publish, in which case, there will be freebies available (for judgment). And even then, more than half of you won’t like it. Hell, I myself am learning to be comfortable with this new side of myself. She’s always existed, but suddenly she was handed the keys to go for it, so why the hell not make an effort?
Aside from that dose of positive news, I’ve been plagued by migraines, fell down the back stairs last week while taking out the recycling (I thought I’d come away with a few bruises and some soreness, but apparently I banged myself a lot harder than I originally thought.), and just plain haven’t felt like myself.
I am spending the majority of my time writing and rewriting. I can’t complain there. When I declared the first draft to be “missing something”, I banged out a 20,000 word change that shifted the entire story in a few direction. So what is my problem? Finding the right way to stop the story. Doing a “one and done” novel has never been something I’d anticipated attempting. I like writing series work. It allows for expansion and growth, and takes the reader on a journey. A book should be more than words on a page; it should mean something. Regardless of genre, you should come away educated, enlightened, happy, sad, or a plethora of other things, but you should still gain something from your time spent reading an author’s work. Even if you hate it. However, agree, here and now, not to tell me you hated something I wrote. Respectfully decline to comment on it, don’t read it a second time, but agree not to tell me you hated it. 😉 I’ll have plenty of detractors, and I do, but it’s so much easier to say “Congrats on your achievement.” than “I hated it!” While not the most diplomatic person on the planet, I’ve never told a single friend of mine that writes that I hated their work. I’d rather say something isn’t my taste, and not be disrespectful to what I know is not easy work to start and complete.
The days and weeks have flown by since I started writing this new body of work. The fact that I allowed it to simmer inside my head for so long is the culprit behind being able to get so much down so quickly. That, and the fact that I type over 100 words per minute.
If all else fails, at least I know I tried something new.
Wishing you all a wonderful end to this day. I will be back as soon as possible. Currently immersed in a month in this year we have yet to take on. 🙂
The Descent Into Hell Is Easy-“Facilis Descensus Averni”
I can accept a lot of things about other people. Damn near anything, but I cannot accept lying, betrayal, stealing, drug addiction, abuse, and/or the acceptance of abuse in a relationship.
As I’ve discussed in the past, I’ve lived through an abusive relationship. It was a roller coaster and the damage done is, on occasion, still present within my mind. It took a long time to fully emerge from the mental and emotional damage the relationship did in terms of screwing with my sense of self. There are some lingering effects that still remain, despite my best efforts. However, I walked away. I did not, and have not, looked back.
I am the product of an abusive home. It took my mother a long time to muster up the strength and courage to leave, but she did something so many people in her position would never do. She knew things were never going to get better, and she (finally) realized she did not have to stay put and witness G-d only knows what else. I was always proud of her for walking away. I never stopped believing that my mother deserved better. Her response was always the same, “My marriage may not have been what I had hoped for, but my children are everything and more.”
When you repeat the same patterns in your relationships (One person is not a pattern. Two is early on-set pattern. Three is a flat-out problem.), there comes a time when you have to take responsibility for errors in judgment. You have to take a look at yourself and own your part in continuing to accept the behavior as “normal”. Perhaps by beginning therapy to work through your issues in order to have healthier relationships moving forward. It’s important to do something constructive to help you put thoughts into action. You should do whatever the hell you have to in order to be rid of the cancerous person that is bringing you down. It might seem drastic and/or cruel, but that’s precisely what it is. Abuse can and will make you sick. No one needs such negativity in their lives.
Good, healthy, solid relationships do not cause you to be afraid, depressed, unhappy, jealous, miserable, suicidal, angry, hurt, and they NEVER cause you to cry. There is an immense difference between happy tears and tears of misery.
Quality relationships do not have to be defined via social media. You will see zero presence of my personal life on my social media accounts, and there’s good reason behind my decision. I believe in protecting that piece of my life because once you open the doorway into it, there’s no way to slam it shut. Even just mentioning certain people, at times, has felt like an enormous invasion of my privacy, but I will do it if there’s a reason behind it, especially if someone’s life is hanging in the balance. Ultimately, I feel like shielding someone I love deeply is more important than the vanity of showing off. What else is social media if not a form of showing off to the world? Unless you’re using it to showcase work, talent, creativity, etc., it isn’t very real. It is also one of the top issues couples have between them these days.
Whenever someone tells me their boyfriend or husband is friends with all of his ex-girlfriends on Facebook, I already know they doubt him, because in reality, how many people feel the need to be friends with every single ex they’ve ever had? No one I know.
When someone hesitates to state that they are in a relationship with you, when you have already stated you are publicly, and amongst yourselves, that is called a RED FUCKINGFLAG. Pay attention to it. If you’re anything like me, you’ve already had a thorough background check run on him and everyone he associates with to make sure he is 100% single with no children, and that you’re not his side chick/mistress. No one wants to be with someone who is dishonest AND has Dexter-esque skeletons in his closet, or qualities within his private persona. I’ve known too many people who were leading double, or even triple, lives. I’m not sure how they found the time, because living one life with one person is hard enough.
One aspect of abusive relationships is the push and pull. They want you, and they don’t want you, mainly because they do not like change. It’s NOT because they don’t want anyone else to have you. They fear change, that’s all. They “love you” one minute, and they also have an opposing side that doesn’t truly resemble hatred, it’s simply disingenuous and emotionally detached. Not everyone is capable of genuine love, and this is important to remember. As the abused party, you have to realize this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the other person. They may come from the absolute best family you’ve ever met; that means very little when they lack the ability to treat you the way you deserve to be treated, or worse, believe they DO treat you properly.
Another result of the long-term abusive relationship is being the recipient of “guilt gifts”, as I have come to call them, especially in relationships which involve cheating. He fucks up and post-fight, you’re “rewarded” with flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry, chocolate, an expensive vacation, amazing restaurants he’s never taken you to before, you get the gist of it. He thinks these “gifts” mean everything is forgotten and forgiven, that you can keep on “as normal”, and that is precisely where he is wrong. I can guarantee something; his behavior isn’t going to change just because he sent you flowers or bought you something to “shut you up”. Make no mistake, that’s what he is doing. I used to know men who only ever bought flowers for their girlfriends or wives when they’d screwed up royally and didn’t want to sleep on the couch, or in the garage. The ones who were cheating spent a fortune on jewelry. Those weren’t “because I love you” gifts. They were GUILT, plain and simple. The gold and diamond industry is, on occasion, built not on love, but on guilt.
There is also guilt and a plethora of bullshit apologies in physically abusive relationships. Now I’ve never personally experienced a physically abusive relationship outside of my childhood, or I’d be in jail, and there’s a reason for that; I will not tolerate it. I WILL fight back. After several warnings regarding sneaking up on me and/or not announcing one’s presence, I broke a guys’ nose and gave him two black eyes with the force of a well-placed elbow. They truly did not believe I’d do it, but I’d spent weeks saying “Don’t come up from behind me without announcing yourself, because I will react. I am instinctively trained to react as though you are a threat.” Again, this person did not believe me. I don’t know that he learned his lesson, but I gave so many warnings and no, I didn’t do it intentionally. Maybe you can sneak up on a girl who doesn’t have city street smarts, I wouldn’t know, but for me, a warning is enough. “Don’t do this…” is the best I can give a person. My Uncle (G-d Rest and Bless His Soul) did not believe in allowing me to be a victim.
Normal men with healthy attitudes towards women, love, and life don’t keep making such enormous, unforgivable mistakes. They keep to their word, will be where they say they will be every single time, and don’t ever have to buy a “guilt gift”, unless they were SO busy at work they forgot your birthday, anniversary, or had to skip a major holiday. If they do come home with their tail between their legs, it’s not because they were epic fuck-ups or intended to hurt you. There’s a difference. They’ll be honest with you.
Deep down, all women know when they are genuinely loved and when they are genuinely being lied to by their significant other. Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be the only time someone shows you their love or the false kind of “love”. It should be a year-round thing. It doesn’t always have to be large displays of affection either, it can be something as simple as making you breakfast when you’re in a rush, bringing you coffee/tea each morning, or taking care of you when you’re sick. It is the little things that build intimacy and show you you’re loved. If someone knows how I take my tea within a few weeks, that’s a sign that they’re on the right track, because they’ve obviously been paying attention to things I do for myself, as well as things I do for them.
To this day, red roses make me queasy. I sold a gold necklace, including the engraved pendant that came with it, and two rings from that horrible relationship. I donated an FAO Schwarz teddy bear to a charity, because I could no longer allow it to be in the same space with me. I felt immensely liberated in those decisions because I was no longer bogged down by the heaviness of emotions left behind. All evidence of the relationship was wiped clean in those moments. I never have to go back and I do not have to choose to re-live it with anyone else, not unless I choose to divulge the information. There are a few photos that remain, and I don’t have to keep them.
Sometimes I am still haunted, slightly, but ultimately, I would rather be with someone normal, someone who understands that loyalty means remaining loyal, than be with someone who can’t tell the truth, and who thinks it’s okay to cheat when it most certainly is not. I refuse to cry over any relationship when I have the intelligence, self-esteem, and common sense to walk away from anything and anyone. I am stronger in my ability to place my self-worth over someone else’s negativity and drama.
Unfortunately, when you’re in an abusive relationship and you continue to stay, after a while, even your family and friends will stop believing you because your false mask, the one you’ve chosen to show while in the relationship, is one you’re choosing to keep in place. It’s quite similar to covering up bruises with makeup and continuing to allow yourself to be beaten. I’m not sure which is worse, but what you’re doing is a HUGE LIE. It’s encouraging the behavior and allowing it to continue in a vicious cycle. For what?! You gain NOTHINGfrom this merry-go-round of hell. In turn, any support you may have had from family and/or friends will be gone, because they will come to believe you’ve been lying about your relationship all along. They will come to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’re an attention-seeker who cannot be honest, not even with herself.
I am one of the most loyal friends in the world, always ride or die, but when I question that in someone, something is very wrong. I dislike people who force me to question my judgment. In fact, it pisses me off. For some reason I find myself unable to sympathize or empathize with people who keep going back for more. I’m strongly considering cutting ties with a friend for this very reason.
While I value the friendship and absolutely adore her,.she obviously lacks the ability to hear what I’ve been saying to her from day one. You can’t agree with me and say you know I’m right, but continue to do the exact opposite of what we’ve discussed. It’s unhealthy, and I won’t perpetrate that unhealthiness back into my own life because it inevitably results in a phone call at 4:00 a.m. where I then have to calm this person down and get them to agree that this is the end of the relationship, that they deserve better, that it’s making them sick, and that they need to focus solely on themselves for now, and that they need to start by making a clean break.
Ultimately this person is an adult and can do as they see fit, but I can’t listen and be there for anyone if they are constantly refusing to follow through on sound advice. That’s a waste of my time and quality oxygen, not to mention it disrupts my sleep cycles. I will give 110% of myself if you’re actually going to listen to what I’m saying and hear me, but I am NOTgoing to waste my time if you keep going back to your abuser. If you truly want out, I will be there for you. I will help and I will listen, but if you’re going to go running back to what’s comfortable, to your version of “normal”, then I’m out until you get your shit together.
Having written this, someone will inevitably read it and call me, feeling betrayed. If you have to call me, please re-evaluate your circumstances before attacking me. I did not name names, nor has anyone’s confidence been betrayed. I could be talking about ANY of my female friends and/or acquaintances, or even myself (Yeah, not likely.), so before attacking, get off your high horse. This isn’t about you, it’s about facts.
I don’t think it’s bitchy to question a friend’s motives on this level. I am happy you trust me enough to come to me, but be honest. If the relationship is SO horrible, why keep going back? Are you that deprived? Is that what you truly believe love is? Call me crazy, but I cannot be with someone who has zero respect for me and makes that clear. I cannot be with a person who tells me he is going to keep cheating, and that I should “learn to accept it”. Those are DEAL-BREAKERS. No sane person stays around for that kind of trash-talk from anyone. I’m more apt to knock a guys’ teeth out for talking to me like that. No truly smart man would EVER say that to my face, either. He might very well hide behind a computer screen or a text message, thinking such things will keep him safe. They will not. My mother didn’t raise a fool. I will hunt his ass down.
The same holds true in reverse, gentlemen (When I use that word, I’m pretty much thinking about Tom Hiddleston. He’s my visual example of a classy gentleman.). If your partner is disrespecting you, cheating on you, lying to you, etc., then I fully expect you to pick your ass up and walk away, even if it is terribly painful. The only issue on this level is if you have children in the picture. If you do, file for joint physical and legal custody immediately. Don’t hold back. Don’t stop fighting for your kids. Even if you’re angry with the other person, do not let your children know that there is a huge issue. They already know, because they can feel the tension and they’re not stupid. Do NOT speak ill of the other person in front of them, even if you are utterly blind with rage, be sure to hold your tongue as much as you are able. That person may be a great parent, and a horrible partner, but you don’t want your children to see you as unwilling to fight for them, or hear you talking trash. Children repeat things and they don’t truly forget.
While my life was quite different in this respect, I can tell you that my father was physically present when I was growing up, but was never emotionally present. He worked hard, he provided, but there was zero love or warmth whatsoever. I can count on one hand the times he genuinely spent caring about his children. Overall, I feel he viewed his wife and children as nuisances, nothing more. If we were sick, he’d yell about the money being spent on a doctor’s visit and/or medicine. Talk about unrealistic. Kids get sick and accidents happen, that’s life, be it with children or anyone, really. When I fell on a sheet of ice and fractured my elbow, he had a tantrum over the fact that I did it early in the year, before the deductible was met. At the time, I knew NOTHING about such things, I just knew I’d fallen, couldn’t feel my elbow, and that the pain was awful. My Mom took it seriously because she was the responsible parent. Always. I didn’t fall on purpose, but to hear him yelling at her over the phone was downright ridiculous. She cared more about me having a potentially broken elbow, but he cared about the doctor’s visit and the x-rays at the radiologist’s office. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized we were by no means as poor as he implied to my mother, blaming her for years about not working because she just “had to raise HERchildren”. Not even “our children”, always “HER children”, spoken with pure disdain. We were upper middle-class, but my father mismanaged finances in terrible ways. My mother raised her kids and went back to work, and she did that to gain financial freedom from my father, because he controlled finances the same way he tried controlling all of us.
He was the type of person who should have stayed single and never should have had kids. My mother was the type of person who followed the list of pre-set rules placed before her (Get married, have children, live your life even if it’s not perfect, etc.), mainly because she wanted to get married and have children more than anything in the world. Her marriage may have been horrible, but her children were truly her world.
I was raised entirely by my mother & Grandmother. At about age thirteen, I began raising myself (I fully believe this was a smart move because it definitely helped shape who I am today.) and I helped raise my brother. My father never once asked me to spend summers with him or asked me to visit after we were safely away from the abuse. My brother spent every summer with him (I chalk this up to him being younger and Daddy’s boy.), and did not experience anywhere near the level of abuse I did because, for years before we left, I physically put my mother and brother behind me to protect them. I never knew when things would escalate to extreme physical abuse, so I took my role as protector quite seriously. It was not perfect, but I did my best. You can hit me, but I’ll hit you back, and once my father discovered I wasn’t afraid of him, it only made him angrier. It was a physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive environment and this went on for years. No matter what my mother said or did, her words and actions would never have stopped him. Walking away changed things, but the abuse did continue in a different way.
I would spend years hanging up on my father when he’d get abusive with me over the phone. I had to reiterate to him that I was an adult, and over a hundred miles away from his abuse and wasn’t going to take it because I no longer had to. Sometimes he’d wait five minutes and call back, and other times he’d simply call the following day, as though nothing had happened. He’d turn me into the bad guy because I placed boundaries on the relationship.
Thankfully, in my intimate relationships, I do not look for a father figure. I had a couple of good male role models to keep me from going totally off the rails, but I definitely notice red flags in pretty much every relationship I witness, especially people I am close with. I have warned my brother that if I ever witness him treating a woman or children the way we were treated that I will personally remove them from the situation. I would never allow him to become my father. I hope he knows he’s better than that, because he’s likely reading this.
Sometimes my friends will call me, upset that a husband or boyfriend isn’t where he said he’d be. “He’s ignoring my calls. He’s not answering my texts.”, that sort of thing. I 100% know when someone has hit DISMISS or DECLINE on their phone. It’s a total douche move. Unless you’re in a business meeting or you’re performing life-saving brain surgery, there is no need to hit that button. Let it go to voice mail. Don’t be a douche bag..
I will grant someone a low battery excuse here and there (it happens), but how many grown men do you know who turn off their phones completely unless something is up? Not a single guy I know over the age of twenty. They might silence their phone for work purposes, they might put it on vibrate or airplane mode, but ultimately if a guy hasn’t called you in 6-10 hours, you talk regularly each day, and have left multiple messages, he’d better be in a fucking hospital because there’s no quality excuse he can provide.
“I lost track of time.” Mm-hmm. “Uh, my battery died and I lost my charger.” The words are spoken as a blatant lie, not as a statement of fact. Especially when you find a working charger in his glove box or center console. Or when he returns and his battery is at 75%. Dishonesty is dishonesty. The first time a man lies should be the first and only time you accept it. It’s your sign, do you need it to flash in neon and sparkle?!
Men are men and women are women. We’re very different indeed, but smart women are practically trained from birth to smell the lie. If ever the government truly wants ISIS stopped, they need only recruit military teams full of fierce women because once we lose our patience, we’ll take you down with little remorse.
Here’s the difference on my end in a relationship of any kind; I call to say I’ll be late. It’s called RESPECT. Hell, if I was going to be five minutes late to anything, I’d call whomever I was meeting. The same is true for my hair stylist, nail technician, etc. I firmly believe in being polite and respecting people’s time and concern for my well-being. If someone tells me they’ll be here at 6:00 and it’s 7:00, I am going to call and make sure they’re safe. Granted, very few people care about me, but those that do would definitely notice if I didn’t show up at all. In truth, it’s probably 80/20. Most people wouldn’t notice unless I disappeared for over 48 hours. They still wouldn’t be able to tell the police what I look like, what color my hair and eyes are, how tall I am, what I was wearing, my approximate weight, or if I have any identifying marks or tattoos. My height is incorrect on my ID by a good inch or so. You have to LOVE other people’s awareness and attention to detail.
I make sure my phone is fully charged before I leave the house. I keep my ringer on, even when I really want it off. I never know when there will be an emergency and quite frankly, that’s why I have a cell phone. For emergencies, and to communicate with family and friends out-of-state and overseas. Sometimes the best part of a person’s day is getting a text message to let them know you’re thinking of them. It’s a mood-booster.
I always tell my brother “If you don’t feel like talking, text me so I know you got there safely.” I always, always tell him to be safe. I always tell my friends to be safe and to text me when they arrive at destinations, just in case. A few months ago, when a close friend was worried about a trip and how it might turn out, I let her know I’d contact a friend in the same state if she needed to get out of the situation, and I did that without even asking the other friend because I know she’d have done it in a New York Minute. It’s important to check in with people.
My brother will be the first to tell you he KNOWSI care, even when I say otherwise, because no one else would ever send him fifty texts and twenty e-mails for dropping off the grid for six days. He misplaced his phone and the ringer was off, so he and several friends couldn’t find it. They were calling it for days and it kept going straight to voice mail. He knew I’d be pissed. By the time they did find it, one friend saw my last text message on the screen which was something along the lines of “I am calling the cops and having your phone tracked, you KNOW BETTER than to ignore me for six days without expecting me to react.” Poor guy freaked out and ran to my brother to say “I found your phone. HOLY SHIT, your sister does NOT mess around. You’d better call her immediately. She’s scary, but at least you know she loves you.” They were literally ALL apologizing to me at the same time. What can I say? It’s a gift. 😉
My real point is this; if someone is harming you with words, actions, hands, fists, etc., then you do NOT stick around for more. The nursery rhyme “Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” is absolute BULLSHIT. It’s a terrible lie we tell children, which only sets them up for disappointment because at a certain age, many children become vicious little replicas of their parents. Words and actions, among other things, are the reason most people are in therapy trying to heal parts of their psyche. There is zero shame in that.
One of my rules is that if you hit me, I will 100% hit you back, and you’ll be sorry you pushed me that far. I’ve been told not to be proud of it, but here’s the thing; I was taught to defend myself, not to lay down and allow someone to harm me. I may not beat you to death (unless I see red, and then I make no promises), but I’m not going to allow myself to come to harm if I have the ability to stop it. And if you’re using words, I’m going to walk away. You’d have better luck bringing a knife to a gun fight.
When you see red flags, please pay attention. I’ve known people who didn’t pay attention, and they paid horrible prices for ignoring the signs, and/or their intuition. An old friend was once “engaged” to a prisoner she became pen pals with, and inevitably began visiting several hours away each week while going to school full-time and being a single Mom to a young child. When he finally got out of prison (and it took her quite a while before she admitted the prison part to me), she eventually found out she wasn’t the only person he was “engaged” to, and she called me hysterical, because she now had to wait weeks for the results of an HIV test and was being tested for other STDs as well, and she was really scared. Sometime during that waiting period, she dropped off the face of the earth and I never heard from her again. Suddenly her phones were both disconnected, she stopped answering all correspondence, and as a last resort, I tried contacting her Mom to make sure she was safe. No answer. To this day, I still worry. I’ve searched over the years and have never found her. I never found a missing persons report for her or her son, and she lived with her mother, so I feel like a report would definitely have been available and/or made public to find if something bad had happened. For me, that is quite scary and I often worry about it. Could I have done more, said more? I will probably never know, but I genuinely hope she is alive, happy, healthy, and thriving. She was a good person with poor judgment, but she was also someone who simply wanted to get her degree, raise her child, and enjoy her life. She deserved that, and more.
When a person cheats on you, it has nothing to do with you. There is often something wrong with them, it’s not something you’re doing wrong, or not doing right. I can’t fake a polite hello to someone I hate, but there are people faking entire relationships! I’ve never understood it, and I likely never will. If you experience the sense that you’re being cheated on, you’re probably right, or quite possibly paranoid, you be the judge on that one. Just remember this piece of advice: Your intuition never lies to you. Unfortunately, some people mistake firm belief for intuition and they wrongly accuse people of heinous things, so be careful and do a little research before confronting someone.
One thing I’ve noticed about every ex of mine is that none of them are married or in happy, healthy relationships, so it’s safe to say I wasn’t the problem. Okay, to be fair one ISmarried, to the person he cheated with, and I openly admit I pray for the poor soul that has to put up with his psychotic shit.
Early on in their marriage, I was informed by close, mutual friends that he was cheating on her. She was pregnant with their first child at the time. I felt bad for her, because I’m sure she believed in him. He was, at the time, a VERY good performance artist when it came to lying in a relationship. He could have shit on someone and told them it was raining, and people would have believed him. That’s how good a liar he was. I don’t believe those things ever truly change, but I’m glad it’s not my responsibility to deal with. I pray for her, but I do not owe her anything. She & I only met once, briefly, but I immediately knew something was wrong when she looked me in the eye. I said something incredibly uncharitable to her, and, at the time, completely unlike me. Instead of denying it, she put her head down in shame. She said nothing, because she obviously had no defense. Apparently she didn’t see that as a red flag though, because she’s still with him.
Since he was the abusive relationship, I try not to think about it too much. I’m clueless how he was able to walk away from me and be engaged to her and married almost instantly when a ring was still on my finger. Yes, these things DO happen, and YES, I questioned my sanity for years after the fact. However, I’m also proud of myself. He didn’t take me down with him. Having dignity and self-respect saved me. I don’t have to take care of a narcissistic control freak who refuses to admit his faults. I have zero ties to him, and for that I am eternally grateful. I dodged a bullet. I wish I could say the same for so many others who put themselves through such complete and utter hell because they’re not strong enough to truly put their foot down and walk away.
Be honest with the person in the mirror, because that’s who you have to live with. Knowyour worth. You don’t have to be an adult reliving his or her childhood experiences. I’d rather go to therapy and work on me, than stay in a relationship that gains me nothing but pain. I already suffer enough without some asshole making it worse, so I’m going to keep making the right choices. I’m going to keep good, solid people in my life who would never dream of causing me such heartache. The types of people who are smart enough to realize that I’d cheerfully rip their heart out if they hurt me in such a manner.
The descent into hell IS easy, but you can make better choices. You can choose to ascend. You can choose not to allow someone to break you. Hell does not have to be “normal”. Let’s face it, there’s nothing “normal” about any of it. Be true to yourself, and don’t ever let someone drag you down to their level. You’re better than that.
I’ve always wondered what motivates people to be judgmental about things and/or people they’ve never attempted to understand. Character trait, flaw, or simply their nature? I’m never certain, but it grates on my nerves.
The majority of my family looks down upon me with much disdain because I’m “a writer”. I’ve never understood, nor will I ever, why having an actual talent marks me as “not good enough”, especially considering 99% of them have never read my work or heard me speak in public. If you think reading my work is interesting, it’s an entirely different experience hearing me express myself in a public setting.
Here are some facts about how I arrived here, as “a writer”: After realizing I’d never be an Olympic gymnast because my parents refused to let me move to Colorado Springs and train on my own, I set out to be a police officer. I studied forensic science. My goal was to be an FBI agent at some point. I was then stricken with an illness that started taking small dreams away from me, until it took the larger ones with it, as well.
I’m a trained singer, but never pursued it professionally on any level. I love it, but it’s not my passion. It’s an interest, a talent, but it’s not my life.
My writing, though? It has always stood out, from day one. Anyone can put words on a page, but it takes talent to tell a story and convey emotion. I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t give something back to me.
I don’t judge the person who decides to become an accountant, even though I’d personally die a slow, painful death to use that word in conjunction with my own name, so why does “writer” sound a whole hell of a lot like “street beggar” when it comes out of the mouth of so many people? Why is it so incredibly disrespected?
I never set out to be a reporter or a journalist, but I did study journalism. I took a plethora of creative writing classes, for which I was eventually banned. I refused to adhere to what the professors determined “proper writing”. I wanted to write the truth and I wanted to write what I believed in. I did not want to write nonsensical bullshit I had no interest in or no opinion on. In their minds, I was disrupting the entire program by refusing to conform. It’s hysterical when I think about it now, but at the time, it was incredibly frustrating. There were so many mixed messages everywhere I turned. To this day, there still are.
Last year someone told me I should, and I quote, “Get a real job.” Having been nothing but a writer and editor for so long, no normal 9-5 job will hire me. When you can’t get a job at a grocery store part-time and not a single store in the mall will hire you due to a lack of previous retail experience, it’s downright insulting. When Walmart and fast food places take a pass on you, you almost question yourself. “What have I done? Did I do something wrong? Why aren’t I ENOUGH?!”
It took a few months of unadulterated shock, but I realize now that it simply isn’t my path. It never was, or it would have fallen into place. If that’s a disappointment to someone, then that’s their problem. That anyone would encourage me to be less than who I am is a testament to how they perceive me, as opposed to how I perceive myself.
I’m not perfect. I make an exerted effort to be who I was raised to be; strong, smart, independent, sassy, honest, loyal, and real. I’ve been through a LOT. The past ten years or so have greatly challenged me and greatly harmed me, and while that is no excuse, I do feel it takes some people a little longer to get back on their feet when they’ve walked through hell-fire barefoot. If you’re 100% healthy and able-bodied to do just about anything, that’s great. When you’re throwing up 70% of your week due to excruciating migraine pain, are barely able to complete simple tasks like cleaning and laundry without feeling weak and drained of your life force, and have to fight off taking a nap at 10:00 in the morning, then you might very well be capable of holding down what some people consider to be a “real job” or a “normal job”, whatever that may mean to most people. However, I respectfully disagree that writing is any less a “job” or any less “real”.
Does writing always pay my bills? No. Does editing always pay my bills? No. Do they help me make ends meet and provide me with a strong sense of self? Yes, if I’m careful with every penny. Will I continue to struggle? At times, all good writers have struggled. There are times I will make decent five figures in a year and other times when I’m barely able to eat.
I’m motivated to write because it’s part of who I am. I’m good at it. I try very hard not to judge what other people do to pay their bills, get an education, etc. And yet, I’m judged because being “a writer” is apparently something others deem unworthy of respect. It may not always be glamorous, but at least I have strong command of the English language and know precisely how to hold someone’s attention.
I’m not motivated to hurt others or disrespect their lines of work. I don’t care if you work at a gas station or an insurance company. I don’t care if you’re a lawyer, a nurse, or a locksmith. I do, however, care if being “a writer” is something you believe is beneath you.
It’s so much more important to be a good person, to be honest, real, and loyal to those you love. I believe your health is your true wealth. I believe all of these things are far more important than the number of zeros in your bank account. Life is short, and while money can make you comfortable, it can also make you complacent. If someone had handed me a black American Express card instead of notebooks, pens, and computers, I’d probably be a very selfish, shallow, ignorant, vapid human-being, with no real understanding of the world around me or the immense value of those I hold dear.
So, I have two words to say to those who simply do not understand what it’s like to have genuine talent and follow through on it, regardless of where the path takes them. Yeah, those are the words.
Author’s Note: There is a huge difference between being judgmental and not accepting someone’s bullshit.
For my entire writing career, I’ve had a lot of hard & fast rules. A list of “don’ts”, per se. I’ve stuck to those rules, and I’ll continue to stick to the ones that are genuinely important (Zero plagiarism is Rule #1, obviously.). However, in lieu of my upcoming anniversary this Spring, I’ve decided to throw the majority of those additional rules out a metaphorical moving car window.
There is a time and a place for everything, both in daily life and with the written word, but lately people’s behavior is feeding me such rich material (It usually does.) and I’m tired of letting people slide on things. They don’t know they’re doing it, but they’ve unwittingly become cannon fodder. And so, I want people to know from here on in, if you want to remain on my good side, don’t be an asshole who says stupid, ignorant, foolish shit to me. Treat me the way you want to be treated, so I don’t have to write about it. If you don’t care what you say, how you behave, or you forget who you’re talking to, then you’ve merely proven my point; you’re asking to be cannon fodder, and fodder you shall be.
Two members of my family are expecting a baby this summer, a firstborn son. I immediately got a gift idea in my head and decided to design it myself. I knew they’d love it because it is 100% unique, completely tailored to their interests. I’m pretty crafty when I want to be and have an impeccable eye for detail. She (the person not directly related to me) then makes a comment on Facebook about how what she’s looking for is unavailable everywhere she has looked and that what she’s seen from people who craft is “subpar”. Excuse me?!People who craft are some exceptionally talented folk. I can drool over stuff on Etsy for hours; stuff I cannot for the love of G-d make on my own, and that is some incredibly talented craftsmanship through my varied interests and tastes. In turn, I found that comment immensely disrespectful. I can do it myself, and I guarantee it won’t be “subpar”. $80+ in materials for a custom-design that no sane person would ask for, and she’s got that kind of attitude? That’s not rude or anything. <rolls eyes>
I specifically told her NOT to order an item or purchase one, that the gift was intended to be a surprise for them. I then get a Facebook message from her letting me know how sweet that is, BUT “she wants everything to match the baby’s room”. A room that is obviously not painted, has no furniture in it, and is a completely empty canvas. Call me crazy, but you just bitched to everyone you know, including your mother and mother-in-law, about how you cannot find designs with your fucking dog on it. I am willing to do one that you could literally use for additional children, if you’re so blessed, and you’re being a bitch to me? A person who you haven’t even met. Real classy. <cue the snarkiest eye roll you’ve ever seen>
In the midst of her rudeness, she then asked when she & my cousin could visit me or if I wanted to meet them somewhere. I’m roughly 30 minutes away, depending on traffic. Her sudden interest is bizarre because I’ve been here for over a fucking year. My Hand to G-d, I nearly told her to go fuck herself. I was super-polite, and then short with her and dismissive. She’s too stupid to realize that my tone went from warm and accepting to 100 below zero. She cannot accept a beautiful gift with graciousness, like every other pregnant woman I know (People are telling her they’ll make baby blankets and other items for her, all of which she is completely accepting of, so yes, I have every right to feel that her behavior was completely rude and disrespectful.), so now I’m too tired to spend months making a mobile for the baby’s crib. She can register, like normal first-time mothers do, which I heavily implied she ought to consider doing, and I’ll decide whether or not she’s deserving of a gift or not when the time comes.
Despite having not bought the materials yet, I let her know I was annoyed, for which she apologized and claimed she was making my cousin and her mother “insane”. Yeah, I weep openly for her mother (Not at all.), but my cousin I truly feel sorry for. He has enough problems without her behaving like a spoiled brat. I don’t appreciate her attitude or disrespect. I’d love to tell him that, because he’s mostly got my back in a lot of ways, we have a very good relationship, but I know he’ll immediately repeat what I say to her, to his mother, etc., and thus, I will become “the bitch”. Not true, but it’s how that side of the family likes to twist things. They all think they’re perfect. That simply isn’t possible. No one on Earth is perfect.
Normally, I might skip the gift altogether because I will play no significant role in this child’s life, but I was invited to the baby’s Bris (six months in advance). I wasn’t particularly fond of the way the Facebook Messenger “invite” was worded, either. What is WRONG with people? Does everything have to be announced and discussed via social media?! Can’t you just mail an invitation like a normal person? Or a potential save-the-date? Seriously?! Yes, with a Bris there is a timing issue, eight days, but you don’t have to message me on Facebook, the land of the impersonal pretending to be personal.
For starters, I was asked to attend, but was also apologized to, “incase ritual circumcision is offensive to me”. I wish you all could have seen me reading the message. Why would ritual circumcision offend me? I’m as Jewish as they are. It might offend someone else, but to me, it is a natural part of having a boy with Jewish parents (Please save your opinions for yourself, I’m not having a discussion about whether or not to have a circumcision on your own son, or for you to go out and have it done as an adult! I’m explaining a situation, not debating religious beliefs.). The next statement was this winner: “I was afraid to tell people we’re having a boy because most people aren’t into the simcha, they just want free food.” What the fuck did you just say to me?!That comment 100% rubbed me the wrong way. I read it five times to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated or had a stroke.
#1- I’ve never gone to an event, be it a family function or otherwise, for the fucking food. Seriously, you cannot impress me on that level. I’ve given five stars restaurants a huge thumbs down.
#2- Unless you’re planning on having me cater the event, you don’t have to worry about people going into a food frenzy <Yes, I’m rolling my eyes, but I also mean it.>.
#3- Perhaps you should only invite your immediate family (of which I am not), close friends (of which I most certainly am not), and loved ones who attended your wedding ten years ago (Despite being family, I wasn’t on the guest list.).
I know if it were me, such ludicrous thoughts would not be in my head. I’d be ecstatic and want to share with loved ones, which is less than 20-25 people, so obviously I don’t have to worry about such psychotic things, like whether or not someone is attending for “free food”. The fact that it was said truly appalls me.
When was the last time I attended a Bris? When my cousin Seth came home from being adopted. Loosely translated: A long fucking time ago. I don’t feel a deep desire to attend this one, not with such attitudes in the air. However, if I am still living in this state, I will try to be present. Try being the operative word. Mostly because it’ll kill his mother to be in the same room with me. 😉
In truth, I will have to go based on how I feel that day. If I’m not feeling it, then I’m not going. I can send a gift with someone else or mail it. Believe me, my absence will not be noticed by anyone attending. I do NOT feel obligated to kill myself for unappreciative, rude people.
When you’re pregnant, there are more important things to be concerned with than baby bedding and preparing a room, especially when you’ve got an over-bearing mother, obscenely over-bearing mother-in-law, and a slew of psychotic relatives who will bend over backwards to help you. If you’re a first-time mother, the best thing to do is make sure you’ve got a portable crib in your room because that’s precisely where the baby will spend the majority of his or her time, especially if you are nursing. In fact, I told her “You have plenty of time.”, in my attempt to give her the chance not to be a bitch and calm her down a bit. However, the entire time I was trying not to say “Hey bitch, accept a gift with a thank you, like a normal person. You’re behaving like a spoiled brat.” How I stifled myself, I do not know.
Instead of asking about the design and maybe using it as the focal point for the room, which I gave her the opportunity to do for well over two weeks, she storm-rolled over me in her desire for “everything to match”. Babies can only see black & white for the first few months, so color is beyond them. I know many people go with shades of white and grey with little black details, and they do this for that very reason before introducing color. Plus, it’s easy to change the room over as they grow. Anyone who is doing color immediately is doing it for themselves. The baby is NOT going to be impressed. On this level, I know she is trying to compete with her sister-in-law, who recently had her second child, and who moved into a enormous mansion last summer. She doesn’t have those things, so she’s obsessing over unattainable “perfection”. I, however, don’t have to tolerate the nonsense.
My Goddaughter’s custom-made mobile was a HUGE hit when she was born in 2011. It still hangs in her room, not because it needs to be there any more (My G-d, she’s almost six!), but because it was a cherished, respected, appreciated gift. It was also an item no one thought to purchase or make out of all the people who did send gifts and visit, so the beautiful piece remains in tact. It plays music and she has always loved it. Score one for Aunt Lisa.
Gift-wise, I could still do the mobile and let her deal with it (Though I personally feel she’s undeserving of such beauty at this stage in the game. Especially since I have to apologize to the person who was making the dogs for me. Dogs based off of photos of their dog. Seriously, it’s a pretty damn thoughtful gift idea for people I’m not even remotely close to.), or I can wait until the baby is born and do something last-minute with zero personality. Normally I hate the last-minute thing, but in this case, maybe she’ll be less bitchy once she realizes that the most important thing in all this is not the perfect, matching nursery, but having a happy, healthy baby and a healthy, safe pregnancy.
Women have babies all over the world every single day. Not all of these babies survive. In turn, I feel she should focus on what’s truly important; delivering a healthy child into this world, as opposed to being an ungrateful bitch. Apparently she’s picking up on some of the uglier traits of her in-laws. That or she’s always been this way, I will never know for sure, and I refuse to allow people to make excuses for her behavior and how she spoke to me.
This is how she turned herself into cannon fodder. She won’t be the first and she certainly won’t be the last. And before you ask, she will likely never read this because her IQ is pretty close to a sock. Bless her heart. Moreover, I would not care if she did read this and cried because quite frankly, her rudeness will not be forgotten. If there’s one thing I don’t care for, it’s rude, attention-seeking little shits. You only get one chance to make a good first impression. Hers resulted in over two thousand words. What does that say about her?
A lot, I’d say.
The title sounds slightly gruesome (I’m a writer who, up until a few weeks ago, was researching serial killers. Leave me alone, okay? LOL.), but it is merely a reference for people who’ve known me my entire career, or at the very least, a good enough chunk of it, and know what to expect from me.
It seems like only yesterday when I was first given the idea to write something immensely simple. After that, it was as if I’d been plugged in to something unique and special, and I certainly was. Back then, I didn’t know what it was precisely, or where it would lead, but the path less traveled has been both good, and not so good, to me.
A lot of people ask themselves “When do I get to call myself a writer?” or “When am I officially a writer?” First and foremost; there are many different types of writers. Some people write music, poetry, movie scripts. Some write books, plays, or simply share their thoughts in a creative way. When you do it and can’t stop doing it because you are driven by a genuine need to share your thoughts and acquire feedback, good or bad, then you, my friend, are a writer.
Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s important not to twist things; plenty of people “write” and aren’t true writers. It’s a fact. Many are published authors who I will not call out by name, but nevertheless, they’ve hit a lucky strike at the end of a rainbow because there is zero talent to what they’re doing. It’s published gibberish that would make any true writer cringe. I spend more days cringing when work is submitted to me for editing than I do enjoying the work of another writer. Sad, but true. Sometimes, no matter how strongly you guide someone, they simply cannot be a gifted storyteller. There’s no shame in that. I believe it is inherently within a person, or not. It is not something I will ever feel is taught.
Some people come at you, as a “writer”, from a different angle. Satire, humor, playfulness, honesty, anger. The list is never-ending. Choose an emotion and/or a genre and I assure you; someone, somewhere, is writing about it.
I’m told we all have our “gifts”, our niche, in life, and that it is through exploration and exploration alone that we stumble upon said gifts. But there are many people who are lucky; achieving a measure of success through connections, as opposed to genuine talent. Then there are those who are born with immense gifts they’re simply waiting to share with the world, gifts they are, too often, not aware of.
If my gift with the written and spoken word had not been encouraged, supported, applauded, then I might be doing something boring at this very moment; something I loathe with every fiber of my being.
I know far too many people who’ve been in the same job for twenty, thirty, or forty years and absolutely HATE what they do. I have my moments. I’ve never hesitated to discuss them openly and honestly, but my gift? No, I don’t regret it; not any of them.
I’ve spent the majority of my life being put down, shunned, laughed at, and/or insulted for being creatively talented, as opposed to a “follow the rules” type. I would rather live an authentic life, as opposed to one chosen for me by others. I would rather pick and choose my wealth of knowledge, as opposed to doing what is “expected”. That is precisely how one masters the art of being gifted with a talent.
I speak the way I write. I live the way I write. It’s one of the reasons people like and respect me. It’s one of the reasons I get feedback that doesn’t require anyone kissing my ass telling me how great I am. I don’t walk around trying to be anything I am not. In turn, I feel it helps the words be more clear for others. Because it’s honest; it’s easy to relate. I’ve had many people tell me when they could not relate to something I wrote or said, but they still respected the hell out of me for putting my thoughts out into the universe so boldly. I never looked at it the way they did, not until receiving that level of feedback. I was simply writing, and they were reading with their senses fully engaged. I call that mutual respect.
Several years ago I started shutting down certain aspects of myself that I was told were “wrong” or “needed work”. It turns out the people whispering lies in my ears were wrong. Very wrong. The only time I need to work on something is when I choose to work on it, and only then. I am fully entitled to my feelings, thoughts, unique point of view, and even more entitled to live my truth. It is more important to me to tell the true stories than it is for me to pretend.
Whispering lies to someone is a form of manipulative abuse. It’s a way of telling someone they’re not good enough in YOUR eyes, usually because YOU don’t like certain attributes they possess. Often because it makes you uncomfortable, or because you’re jealous you don’t possess the same level of strength. I’ve had people tell me they could NEVER be the kind of friend I am to others, and then turn around and tell me my friends wouldn’t love me if they had to live with me. That came from a former best friend, and it came from a place of jealousy because she couldn’t even be a solid best friend to ONE person, leave alone multiple people. She did not understand how crucial being a good friend is to the core of who I am, and so, a friendship I thought would always be present is a friendship no longer. Her choice. Her immense loss.
Most people don’t think I’m funny, which is perfectly okay. My friends and my brother find me HILARIOUS, and that’s because they get me. I don’t care if other people lack the ability to grasp my humor, because those that do are invaluable to me. Criticizing my sense of humor is only going to make me laugh at you, it isn’t going to poison my mind against my wacky, twisted humor. I have to live with me. I have to look in the mirror and be able to face that person day in and day out.
I wasn’t raised to worry about being liked or loved by others. I’m secure enough in myself to not need the approval of everyone around me. Sure, at least once a day it would be nice to not be insulted or told I’m wrong, or be accused of things I’ve never even thought of, leave alone committed, but that’s not MY issue and I’m not going to carry it with me any longer. I do, however, have to be true to myself.
So, Lethal Poison is back in business. This Scorpion may glow, but she’s not afraid to sting, either. You decide which side you’d like to be on. I’ll keep speaking the truth.
Vi veri universum vivus vic~ “By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.”
I’d like to thank the two people who reached out to me with messages of encouragement, respect, and kindness after my last post about how horrible I am feeling (My feelings have only worsened.). Steven & Tasha; your words genuinely helped me and, from the bottom of my heart, they meant the world to me. Thank you both SO much. I don’t even have the words for how touched I am.
As for the rest of the world; I’m not really feeling people too much these days. Granted, I am not a people person on a good day, but it would certainly be nice if some people were more aware of their words, behavior, and attitudes towards me. I’m sick of being told how I am speaking, how I sound, how I’m behaving, etc., because I’m well-aware of my intent when I’m being human. If you don’t know my tones, then you don’t know how I’m speaking, how I sound, or precisely how I am behaving. I’m not two, and I don’t require psycho-analysis by people who really ought to save that for those who need it. You’ll only piss me off, and at the moment, I’d shy away from that if at all possible.
I believe that life, and people, has/have highs and lows, but what do you do when you’re stuck on LOW and don’t know how to rise, and cannot find a reason why you should? I’m hardwired to get up each morning, feed Cat and Kitten, sometimes feed myself, but of late, I’m so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained that I don’t know how to do it any more. “It” being “anything”.
I adopted Cat and Kitten to help keep myself alive. Cat was a foster from a kill shelter, so I felt like by rescuing her, I was saving my life, along with hers. Win-win. Kitten is from a no-kill shelter; and I love to support no-kill shelters because they’re crucial to the survival of so many animal’s lives. Unlike Cat, who has divided love/loyalties (I’d like to say she has a big heart, but I’m genuinely not sure she even likes me most of the time.), Kitten is my faithful companion. Even when I move her off of my blanket at three in the morning so I can get comfortable or grab a few hours of sleep, she forgives me in minutes. Cat holds a grudge if I move her or rearrange her on the bed. In fact, as I am typing this Kitten is making little sounds in her sleep and giving me her belly, instinctively knowing that I am by her side. She is named in honor of my original Tortoiseshell. I’ve noticed over the past two years that she is basically a gift from her; a true companion sent to go through life with me. She’s not a “replacement cat”, she’s a piece of my original cat that I know in my heart was sent to me. But lately, caring for both of them each day has been physically and emotionally taxing.
I have reached out to organizations to try to get emergency help in order to feel better, but after applying for insurance MONTHSago (which should be underlined ten times), I still haven’t been approved, nor have I received anything in writing from them, which they’ve repeatedly promised each time I’ve called. The answer I’ve gotten is “You’re in the system. You should hear from us in approximately 2-3 weeks by mail.”, before I’ve been hung up on! There’s a reason they call them Massholes, and it’s NOT because they’re all perfectly well-mannered (a small percentage, yes. The rest? Not so much.). I believe they had roughly 30-45 days to approve or deny me from day one, and that I’d then have a period of time to appeal, if denied, but at this moment I feel like I’m stuck at square one. In turn, after giving them one final call this coming week, I am reapplying. I’m utterly tired of the bullshit, because this is clearly a runaround, so I am going to fill out the application they deigned to send me (I have my original documents from last year, all I have to do is insert the same answers), attach copies proving that I’m a legal citizen with a bank account, and fax it instead of mailing it. That way, I’ve confirmed receipt of the documents and won’t feel jerked around, as I have clearly been for all these months. I’m sick of paying for medication out-of-pocket when that $20-$35 (it ranges based on the discounts I’m able to find) could feed me, or my cats. Overall, I’m sick of the struggle of trying to live, and failing miserably. I need to be able to see doctors without cringing over out-of-pocket costs that frankly, I can’t do.
Everyone’s definition of “failure” is different. Not being able to take care of what is most important in my life; that is true failure to me. Not being able to protect my loved ones and keep them safe; that is failure. Thankfully, I care, I am emotionally present, and I’m not a vile human-being, so on that front, I am NOT a failure. I’d hate to be a heartless, cruel individual who only cared about herself. Thankfully, I was raised by two wonderful women (My mother and Grandmother) and selfishness wasn’t a part of their make-up, so it isn’t a part of mine. I miss them both more than words can say. Everything feels like yesterday in terms of loss; at least for me.
This evening I merely want to survive the mind-numbing migraine that exploded on me this afternoon in the grocery store, to the point where I had to run to the ladies room to be sick. 😦 That has never happened to me in public before (except after having blood work done, and that was one time), but after that I quickly made my way to the register and went outside for some fresh air, despite the fact that it was indeed freezing and took over forty-five minutes before I could feel my ears again. The smells inside the store were making me violently ill and the noise wasn’t much better. This afternoon I indulged in silence, darkness, and a nap, but it only made the migraine that much worse. At the moment, I am praying that three ibuprofen will kick in, along with caffeinated tea I’ve been nursing since three o’clock this afternoon. Some people need coffee to feel human; I need strong Earl Grey with real sugar.
This week and this weekend, I am definitely out of sorts, but don’t worry… I’ll be back soon with something I’ve been dying to write, but have kept under wraps for years. No more. The Beast Is Back.
I’m on the verge of letting go today. There’s no way to pretty it up or sugar-coat the amount of pain I am in, both physically and emotionally. I’ve had enough. Reached the boiling point. Feel as though I am trapped in a maze of never-ending bullshit, and I cannot take another second of this.
Over the past two days I’ve accessed my life and come to this conclusion: apart from my responsibilities and loyalties; my life is meaningless. Well, and truly, meaningless. If I were bleeding on the rug, someone would attend to the stain, but they wouldn’t even notice that a body was present. That’s the truth, whether some people are willing to believe it or not, or admit to it. I’ve witnessed too much to feel or believe otherwise.
I have been in a bad place for so many months now and not a single person has so much as noticed. The selfishness in my presence knows no bounds. There’s zero warmth, care, concern, or love present. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it.
I’ve been in tears on and off for almost three days. No one has noticed, said a word to me, asked me if they could help, NOTHING. This is what it feels like to be “the invisible girl”.
While preparing a salad Saturday afternoon, I banged my right hip into the handle for the drawer next to me. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it hurt as if I’d just had the bone yanked out of its socket. I actually bit back 95% of what I truly felt physically in that moment, but I was admonished for being “dramatic”. Please, feel this pain for a week and then tell me how “dramatic” I’m being. Clearly, you don’t know true pain.
I am genuinely experiencing the whole “Princess & The Pea” phenomenon, which is not uncommon when you suffer from an autoimmune disorder that revolves around pain. This particular issue is killing me. I can feel every spring in a mattress in such a painful fashion that I want to hurl it out a window. I “wake up” each morning in stiff, agony. Nine out of ten nights, I haven’t truly slept, I’ve simply given up and taken to lying still, in tears, praying for the pain to stop.
I’ve taken over a hundred Aleve in the past month in the hopes that it will provide some small measure of relief, but it never does. I’ve also taken nearly an entire bottle of Ibuprofen because every flare-up makes me feel like an anti-inflammatory MIGHT help “this time”. The pain is maddening, and constant. I hurt so badly each day that I contemplate walking into the middle of traffic, not caring if I get hit or not. My only issue there is that I’d likely survive and remain in worse pain, if that’s even possible. I don’t want to know, I just want this to stop.
I struggle each day to cope with the pain, with my emotions, with stress, but most of all, the pure isolation and loneliness I am forced to carry with me, because I truly am “the invisible girl”.
When I can’t do laundry, take a shower, and do five other things in the same day, I sit here in tears over the loss of life I am experiencing. I have to set alarm clocks and timers to remind me to do things, or they will never get done. I fall at least once a week. No matter how careful I am, the pain brings me to my knees.
Occasionally, I feel okay. But here, in this moment, I’d gladly take death over this agony. Just make sure Cat and Kitten are adopted into loving homes. Cat is aggressive and a bully, so I think she’d do better in a single-cat home at this stage of her life. Kitten is a sweet little angel who loves her Mommy, but doesn’t understand why I have no energy to play and run around with her. Alas, I can’t explain these things to them. All I can do is pray for better days; just not today. Today is Hell and I am burning alive.
I wish I had fabulous things to share here as I look back on 2016, the year itself as a complete “body of work”, as opposed to how I genuinely feel about it.
Here’s the unadulterated truth; I’m filled with mixed emotions, anger, pain, and the more I think about it, additional anger on top of the original anger, which is never a good sign. I make no apologies for my honesty. I’m many things in my imperfect human way, but dishonest isn’t on the list.
I take no issue with the company in my life, or lack thereof. I am a firm believer that we all go through hard times and that hard work, love, and prayer will get us through it. I take no issue with surviving (Life should be more than that though, right?) and having a few good days here and there (Though I am determined to not allow people to ruin my days when I’m feeling good and their moods aren’t meant for me. However, this is a process. It will not happen instantaneously.), but I do take issue with things outside my control.
I am a self-admitted control freak when it pertains to a lot of things in my life, and with other things, not so much. Overall, I’m tired of my best not being good enough, and having people remind me of my failures. Never look down upon someone unless you’re helping them up. Asking for help through tough times is not a grave sin. It’s honest, it’s real, and it’s admitting something vulnerable and scary is occurring that you cannot figure out how to face on your own. Why do we diminish that?!
I was raised to believe that as long as I do my best, it is always “good enough”, because it shows effort. And then I moved to another state where I know very few people, where “my best” is NEVER “good enough” because some unattainable level of perfection is expected at all times. It makes me feel like a bad Stepford Wife. 😦 I would not know what happiness was if a radioactive spider bit my ass. I haven’t known happiness in so long, it scares me. I feel emotions, yes, but happiness is almost never among them. How’s that for honest?
My brother has been through a torturous, evil kind of hell this year. I highly suspect that whatever was done to his heart set off a myriad of other health issues because I cannot recall a time when he wasn’t under the age of ten and on antibiotics as often as he’s been this year. He has been in and out of the hospital so many times that I’ve damn near had a multitude of nervous breakdowns every single time. I am currently waiting to hear back from a surgeon as he embarks on surgery number five in just slightly over a year; which is more surgery than he’s ever had in his entire life. It worries me on such a deep level, it’s difficult to convey.
I am immensely disheartened by how uncaring and unkind people are being towards him. At the beginning and end of each day, we only have so many family members in life, and as we’ve established, life is as short as it is long. My brother & I don’t have a lot of family, so we’ve had to rally around each other and be each other’s biggest support system through what has been, in essence, the gates of Hell. I may yell at him and get frustrated, I may say nasty things to him in the heat of the moment because he pushes my buttons, but ultimately, I’m not ignoring him or pretending he doesn’t exist in the hopes he’ll simply go away. I might not respond to a phone call or a text message when I’m sleeping, and sometimes I am guilty of ignoring him for a full twenty-four hours because I can’t handle the stress, but I do speak to my brother. I might not admit this to him, but he’s one of my best friends.
I say a painful goodbye to 2016, a year that has made me suffer in ways I can’t discuss; physically, mentally, and emotionally. I hope and pray that 2017 offers me more opportunities, better work, better pay, the same high-quality friendships I’ve maintained since day one (I’ve gotta say it; my friends are the BEST friends. They’re the first people to ask if I’m okay, to see through answers when I’m 100% NOT okay, and be as supportive as they can through crises. I would not have made it through parts of this year if it weren’t for the relationships in my life, both old and new, that have helped reinforce who I am as a person.), a real directional shift that leads me exactly where I need to be lead, and a year that allows me to achieve goals I have set for myself. The big goals, because at the moment, small goals aren’t cutting it.
I’d like to see some medical breakthroughs to help me better manage my pain and overall health. I was hit in the back with a shopping cart today at a local grocery store. This woman was on her cell phone and obviously thought she had enough room and/or didn’t even see me. I swear I am invisible to 99% of the “human race”. Initially my response was “Excuse YOU!”, but the lunatic just kept on walking, loudly debating stupidity on her phone. I did not feel it was worth pursuing in the moment, but now I am sorry I didn’t. I’m not sure if she did any real damage that wasn’t already there, but the level of pain I’m in is not something I want to take with me into the coming year, or any other year. I truly think CBD oil is in my future, as the “war on opiates” in this state is far too ridiculous to pursue with a doctor. I will, but I, like so many others, need a backup plan to help manage the pain in my life. No one should ever have to live like this.
Blessings to you all, as we say goodbye to 2016 and welcome in what will hopefully a bright New Year!
Written by LISA MARINO-Molchanova 