No One Fights Dirtier

“No one fights dirtier or more brutally than blood; only family knows it’s own weaknesses, the exact placement of the heart. The tragedy is that one can still live with the force of hatred, feel infuriated that once you are born to another, that kinship lasts through life and death, immutable, unchanging, no matter how great the misdeed or betrayal. Blood cannot be denied, and perhaps that’s why we fight tooth and claw, because we cannot—being only human—put asunder what God has joined together.” ―Whitney Otto

Darkness, Light, & Slowing Down

My precious…

Hi everyone! I apologize for being too tired and too sick to write this earlier in the week. I’m trying to get used to being back online. I legitimately hadn’t turned my computer on since my post on the 13th. I saw no point in tormenting myself. My phone allows me to check what’s going on here, but it does not allow me to login and/or post anything. I haven’t figured decided if it’s something I’m doing wrong or if I’m simply too stupid to figure it out. Anything, even a combination thereof, is a strong possibility.

I’ve battled a lot of Fibromyalgia pain and migraines since arriving up North. Every single time the weather was supposed to be a certain way, my body was the indicator that things were about to change. The pain index is slightly higher here, so adjusting to that is going to take some serious getting used to. Factor in some super cold days/nights that have occurred since my arrival, and I’m lucky I’m not in the emergency room.

I’ve truly spent more time in pain than anything else. At the moment, walking is the single most excruciating thing I can do. I don’t have out-of-network benefits, so I have to get my insurance squared away here ASAP, lest I end up with an epic emergency room bill due to my traitorous feet. 😦 I will be shocked if I don’t have fractured or slightly more damaged bones in both feet. Well and truly shocked. To add insult to injury, I’ve had some pretty brutal migraines. I am torn between desperately wanting to eat everything in sight and not wanting so much as a bowl of soup because I’m constantly worried something will trigger a headache that I cannot cope with. I’ve been slowly nursing coconut water to rehydrate, but I keep asking myself how many rounds of medicine I need to take to be rid of this insidious creature. 😦

I feel much like I imagine a caged lion feels; pacing back and forth in an enclosure at the zoo. I suspect I feel this way partly because Cat & Kitten are currently in a separate room to give OGK (Original Gangster Kitty, which is clearly not his real name) time to adjust to having “roommates”. They need time to adjustment too.

The first run-in had Kitten jumping up onto a windowsill to gain higher ground from him chasing her, but she was so brave and I was very proud of how she handled herself. She did not try to hurt or attack him. During the process of that moment though, he scared Cat so badly that she slipped under a spot in a closet that led to the insulation in the roof. I had no idea if it led to other places within the house, so I was deeply concerned, but trying not to panic because cats can pick up on your anxiety and I did not want to make Kitten panicked as well. After less than 48 hours (which is a LONG time because she doesn’t meow), a handyman had to be called to remove panels so that she could be safely located. I was SO relieved after she came out of that hiding spot. I needed to hold her close to me and let her know that she is loved, safe, and that I have not abandoned her. Unfortunately she spent a few days hissing and spitting, so I had to move her to a safer location with a blanket, after getting her out from beneath a dresser and blocking all other access points to dangerous hiding spots. I lured her out with a few treats (I figured after not eating for several days, she had to be starving.) and a small bowl of food. I gave her some space and now she’s not hiding nearly as much. In fact, she’s coming down the stairs and checking the place out. Mostly, she is marking her territory and making sure everything I own still smells like the person she knows belongs to her. No one is cute enough for me to cheat on Cat and Kitten. 😉

The second run-in was the other morning when Cat went flying down the stairs while I was trying to go into the room to feed them and spend some time giving them love and attention. I decided the worst that could happen was her running back to me, which she’s done many times, only because I had things in my arms and couldn’t scoop her up as I normally would. Of course, my “worst case scenario” is not what happened. They met in the kitchen, which I only managed to witness by dropping everything I was holding and going after her. Initially he was calm and laid back, but in the blink of an eye, everything changed. He chased her from the kitchen up the stairs into the room and there was a major growling, hissing, spitting period between both of them. He wouldn’t let up, even once she was quiet. I tried breaking them up so that she wouldn’t freak out (she was hiding under a different dresser where he’d cornered her) and he turned around and whacked me. Normally, he’s pretty laid back, sweet, and loving, but as an older cat who hasn’t had to share his domain at all since being rescued, he’s über territorial, which is understandable.

Once I separated them into different rooms, I did go back and calm Cat & Kitten down because, quite frankly, they’re still babies and have never dealt with such aggression. I barely even raise my voice around them (I once yelled during a sporting event and somehow managed to scare the crap out of Cat. Neither of them responds well to loud noises or voices, and I don’t blame them.) and once they both reached the proper size, they had free reign of their home. Separation, while for everyone’s best interest, is clearly upsetting all of us. Despite the Feliway diffuser (Thank you PetSmart for giving me 20% off because it was on sale and you only had one left. I was really impressed by the gesture, and I appreciated it.), things are not okay in “cat land” and it’s making me sick on a daily basis. While I do not expect perfection, I do need to reach a point where my girls are no longer being bullied and kept in one room where they spend 90% of their time without me. He doesn’t have to love the girls, they simply have to co-exist. Trust me, the little one can take him (She’s an Alpha.), but if you’re still growing into yourself and a big, black cat that isn’t your sister chases after you, your little butt is going to run for safety. I don’t like it though, not one bit. Plus, it upsets him and makes him sick, and as a diabetic cat, I have to watch out for his health too. At first he simply wanted to smell them, which is natural cat curiosity, so I gave him their blankets and some other things to help him acclimate to that, but now he’s feeling froggy and wants to intimidate. Not acceptable. They have another week or so before I will start to allow the girls out more and more so that he learns to share and adapt. They’re doing their best, despite setbacks. Me? Just this aspect of disruption to my daily life is making me ill. I have raised Cat and Kitten since they were tiny, so my love for them is borderline obsessive. I am happiest with them and they are happiest with me.

I have been horrible on a work-level over the past ten days or so. I’m stressed and sleeping horribly, so my creativity ebbs and flows in weird ways. Here’s one thing I have noticed, over time, about being a writer: I use my laptop damn near every single day. Last week I decided to pick up a pen and take some notes for ideas for things I wanted to discuss. I have no clue when my handwriting became damn near illegible, so I wonder if anyone else has this problem? Do you find writing a few pages by hand to no longer feel “right” and/or cause you physical pain? I only had one person to consult on this matter and he agreed that due to constant computer use, his handwriting has become worse and it actually hurts to hold a pen for longer than it takes to make a grocery list. I imagine this is more common than one might think. I do hope I am able to get more work done next week. I’m going to take an hour or so this weekend and map some things out for myself. When in doubt, PLAN.


So, that has been my life for a while. I know things will improve. Without darkness there cannot be light, but it’s also okay to slow the fuck down and focus. That’s what I intend to do. I’ve been dragged down by a lot of horrible shit for far too long and I want things to improve. Part of improving means fully disengaging from that which has caused me agony.

On occasion, a person does not believe me when I say I’m done, but this time my words, my text messages; they’re the end. You cannot help everyone and you cannot save the world. Not everyone wants to be saved. Some people want to drown in a terrible abyss and you have to let them so that they learn their life’s lesson, whatever it may be. Good luck and G-d Bless. I’m done, you’re on your own. For the record, none of us are horrible people for expecting someone to have their shit together and not fuck up in horrible, irrevocable ways. But when they do, it is okay to set a limit and walk away. You do not deserve to be dragged down with someone who refuses to realize that everything they do is wrong. Slightly cryptic, I know, but this is something I needed to say for me.

I hope everyone has a fantastic Friday.

copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, in an extremely bizarre reality, I was in a relationship I should not have been in. The warning signs were there, but some people burn so brightly that you don’t seem to notice you’re going up in flames and turning to ash. Immensely large red flares of danger were being sent up so I wouldn’t get burned. Did that stop anything? Not so much.

He was the quintessential “bad boy”, complete with motorcycles, fancy sports cars, tattoos, multiple drug addictions, and a boatload of issues. Maybe the maternal, nurturing aspect of me wanted to fix or heal him. I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’m thankful every single day that it is no longer a part of my life.

Initially there was no reaction or emotion from me towards him. He was just a guy, a guy all kinds of women fell for, but I prided myself on not adding myself to the throng of fools. Until one day, when I was seemingly drawn in like a moth to a flame. Except I wasn’t a moth, I was a butterfly, and yet, I suddenly had to have him. The pull was intense. He was crazy about me; The only person who challenged him, who questioned everything, and who was not impressed by anything. The problems though, they were simmering under the surface, just waiting to come out, one by one.

They started relatively early. I had never been told I was “too skinny” before. Even as a former gymnast that had experienced bouts of bulimia on & off for about two years after realizing that I’d never be an Olympic anything. I did not consider myself “too skinny” or “too” anything, really. I had the mouth of a Marine on leave, a writing career that had taken off in an amazing way, and a guy who told me he loved me, but to this day probably doesn’t know the meaning of the word. You’ll find him in the dictionary, somewhere between the words “Douchebag”, “Hypocrite”, and “Liar”, providing you’ve opted for a Webster’s upgrade.

His career allowed me the independence and space that I like in a relationship. I can’t have someone in my face 24/7, nagging, or standing over my shoulder like a watch dog. It drives me insane. He respected that, until the possessive behavior became more than just one or two phone calls a day. At first it seemed like he was going out of his way to surprise me and brighten aspects of my life, but that wasn’t it. Not at all.

The man could spit out promises just as quickly as he broke them, I just didn’t know he was trying to break me in the process.

The criticism I endured throughout the course of this relationship was harsher than what I dealt with from my family, and even though I had a comeback for everything he said, the words still haunt me…

I went from being vibrant, smart, confident, & 100% in control to depressed, unhappy, paranoid, angry, & jealous. I was reduced to questioning why I was somehow not good enough for him. It was irrational and insane. There was always an inner voice telling me “He’s not good enough for you. What are you doing? This man is poison. Tell him to go to hell and walk away.”

I remember crying one night to my best friend at the time, after a particularly shitty thing he’d lied about. Here I was, the strongest, toughest, most direct chick people knew, asking “Why would he lie to me like that? Why would he lie about something so important? Why am I not good enough for him?” I was devastated by the pathological way in which he’d lie.

My best friend consoled me quietly, basically saying she didn’t know why he had lied or why he would, but months later she told me I was “Too smart, too pretty, and all around way too good for the likes of him!” She was furious that he would hurt me in such a manner and then behave as if all was right in the world, and her anger continued to fuel when he showed up at a work event we all attended with a married woman on his arm. “A friend”, he’d called her. More like a drug supplier he’d hooked up with. He was spiraling and wanted to take me with him, but I would not allow that.

For the record, I was already ass deep in alligators when I realized how big an issue the drugs actually were because they weren’t an issue at the onset. It went from being an old football injury to being an all-consuming, problem-inducing, complete lack of grip on reality. It started out small, as many addictions do, and escalated until it had to be confronted. I did not condone it in any way and refused to support the habit. I was not going to be in a relationship with an addict, period. I was the catalyst to get him into rehab, explaining in list formation all that he would lose if he did not get clean. But as most people can tell you, 30 days in rehab will detox you, it might even get you to talk about why you got into it in the first place, but it’s every single day after leaving a protected environment that matters most. If you have people who love & support you, you have a greater chance at remaining sober. You might slip up, recovery is going to be a constant for the rest of your life, but the effort you put forth is SO important. However, if you immediately return to the same lifestyle and friends you had during the height of your illness, it will revert you right back into it at some point, especially if you have no real desire to be clean, no willpower, and no real desire to live. It’s a way of committing suicide slowly, secretly hoping that one day it’ll all be over and you don’t personally have to do the heavy lifting, or deal with the aftermath.

Part of what saddens me about the relationship itself is that I defended, protected, and shielded this man. I was the epitome of devoted and loyal to the Nth degree. My love was genuine, and yet I was constantly criticized, going as far as to be told that I wasn’t good enough to be introduced to his parents, who for years, he told me were dead. I’d later find out he only wished they were. Our differing religions was the reason given when I questioned why I was somehow “not good enough” to meet his parents. Who the hell were these people? England’s Monarchy?! How isolated and ignorant were they to think their religion was the only one that existed in this world?! This was not the first time someone had taken issue with my religion and tried to make me feel guilty for it. I was considered “not Jewish enough” by one guy’s family, and now I was being made to feel like I was somehow inappropriate and shameful. And the worst part? He wasn’t religious, AT ALL. 

Suddenly, after years of knowing our religions were different, it became this big issue, and we fought about it a lot. Would I be willing to convert to Roman Catholicism? HELL NO. Would I sign a pre-nup? Whoa, where the hell did THAT come from?! You want to marry me. You’ve asked, I’ve accepted, but now you’re afraid I suddenly want to be with you for financial gain? Are you serious?! Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve always taken care of myself. He knew that. I don’t expect a man to pay for my lifestyle. I’m fully capable of making my own money, buying my own clothes, jewelry, etc.  I think you should want to take care of your partner and be a provider, but relationships are give and take. I did not expect to sit on my ass and be given anything, so I waffled back and forth on that little tidbit. It is a deal breaker if it’s not a document protecting both of us.

The ever-present “Would you please eat?!” grated on my nerves. He’d bring me food for several years of our relationship, but not in a loving, caring, concerned way (I do like it when I’m sick and a guy has the sense to bring me soup or Italian food. There’s something very nurturing about that.), but in an extremely controlling manner. As soon as I gained about 15 pounds from this constant influx of food, I was suddenly told the exact opposite. Now I wasn’t thin enough, I was becoming the woman who he didn’t want anyone else looking at. What was so shameful about being curvy? He’d have a fit whenever we’d be somewhere and someone else would check me out. I was not the one doing the looking, yet he was suddenly paranoid that anyone who checked me out was somehow going to end up in my bed. It was eye-rollingly ridiculous.

He’d do something shitty, and I’d be “rewarded” with jewelry or flowers, sometimes both, depending on the situation. It got to a point where I began to loathe the pink & purple roses I loved so much. To this day if someone sends me roses, I cringe inside. He would promise to be somewhere I needed him to be, but was almost always off feeding his drug habit, or as I would later find out through a friend, a habit for other women.

It was demanded upon me that I be 100% faithful. That was not an issue because I’d never cheated on someone and wasn’t about to start, but because he was the one doing all the cheating, he started having people follow me to find out what I was doing every time I left the house. Stalker much?! It was sick. It was also an excuse.

I’d had enough after confronting someone he often had tail me, and I put my foot down. I’m not big on ultimatums, but he needed to hear what his behavior was doing, that it was unhealthy and damaging, and completely unwarranted and unacceptable. It came down to this: He needed to return to rehab, fully commit to it, and he then needed to be clean & sober for a year before I would agree to marriage. It was time for him to prove that he was worthy of me, not the other way around.

He went to rehab for a few months, coming back apologetic, and for a while things were simply tense. We talked, but clearly he was refusing to hear me. He was about to do something he’d probably been considering for quite some time, and simply hadn’t been man enough to say to my face. With marriage promised, it probably made me believe a slew of lies I was too smart to actually buy into in the first place, but there was something slightly blinding & intoxicating about it. But the truth of the matter is, it was just plain toxic.

The problem with relationships slowly turning abusive is that, initially, we think we’re in the right relationship with the right person, until suddenly, we’re not.

For years after this relationship ended I’d hear “Oh, LET IT GO!” whenever I mentioned how hurt, angry, or betrayed I felt; as if emotions could be turned on and off like a faucet. How could I not feel all of those things?! Saying “I love you” is not a cure-all. Actions speak louder than words. His actions were atrocious.

With a ring solidly on my finger, he married someone else, just weeks after saying we were good and moving in the right direction, that he was trying. I had to find out via an announcement his new wife was sending to friends & family. She was pregnant before they even said “I do.” He would go on to have several children with her, each time choosing names we had decided on for our future offspring. That was the icing on the cake. I seriously worried about my ability to be around him in any capacity after that, so I disengaged. I made sure that whenever he’d be around, I would not be present. Hurting someone you claim to love in such a manner is vile, but to then go on living your life as if said loved one never existed is even worse. I started to think I was losing my mind. If it had not been for the fact that I knew the relationship had occurred, and exactly what I had endured, I’d have felt like I was being erased, or replaced.

Up until a few years ago, he & I continued to have mutual friends. I finally got tired of hearing the lies and cut everyone off. “He asked about you.”, “He hopes you’re all right. He just wants you to be happy.”, “He cares about you.” PLEASE! He never cared in the first place, it was a fucking game to him. No matter how many times I would ask these friends not to relay anything he said about me, it would come up in conversation, until I finally changed my phone number and said “No more.”

Not one to eat bullshit politely with a knife and fork, I have gone out of my way to avoid him since all of this went down. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn’t do anything wrong, except believe in a person I shouldn’t have given the time of day to, but hey, we all make mistakes. Avoiding him is my way of remaining a healthy, non-toxic human-being.

I know eventually, at some point, we will run into one another, and I pray that I am not carrying a loaded weapon that day or wearing particularly high heels because even though people tell me I’m not a damaging, harmful person to be around, and that I’d never willingly hurt someone, I cannot promise the desire to harm him won’t be there. Some of the rage goes away with time, but any time the relationship is mentioned or I come across something from that time period, I am flooded with everything I thought I’d already moved past. For me, that lets me know the damage runs deep. It does not, nor will it ever, mean that I care about him. I don’t. I wouldn’t spit on this man if he was on fire.

Once I no longer love/respect someone, my emotions will often turn to pity, anger (at myself & the other person involved), & my anger is a burning rage that can simmer and bubble for years until it is truly out of my system. If the anger is unjustified, it eventually dwindles and the flames put out, but if it IS justified, stay the hell out of my way. I can go from zero to bitch in about half a second.

Unfortunately, there are so many different kinds of abuse in the world, that it’s sometimes hard to pinpoint if you are the abused or the abuser. Sometimes you are simultaneously both, even if you don’t intend to be.

Writing this makes me feel a bit like I’m back in Psych class, but I’ve been revisiting certain things lately, which is why I am writing about such a personal, private matter. If what I’m saying helps even one person get out of a toxic relationship, then that’s important and necessary.

If you’re in any kind of relationship where your words and feelings are being defined in an incorrect manner, where you are constantly insulted and berated, it is time to take a closer look at this relationship. Thinking this person is “the best you can do”, having low, little, or no self-esteem, or coming from a “people pleasing” type of family are all potential signs you’ve probably overlooked. Most people do. When you’ve been taught that everything around you is “normal” and a part of your daily life, you stop questioning things. You begin to lose your inner voice. Once you lose your inner voice, you start to become everything the abuser has defined you as. Your thoughts, feelings, actions, everything is now completely defined by someone else. Moreover, you question yourself and promise yourself you’ll be better for them, that you will do everything right, not realizing that your life is your own, and it is not owned by someone else.

I am a product of abuse. Not just from the relationship I am talking about, but from my childhood. I am very forthcoming about that fact when approached, but generally I keep such things to myself. However, when a person comes to me and needs help, I am the first person to listen, and the first to say something.

For many, many years I handled the abuse (verbal, emotional, and physical) by throwing myself into my writing and my singing. One day I snapped; I’d had enough. I was 100% committed in the fact that I’d kill the other person and spend my life in jail, but I believed in my cause because I was protecting two other people. I took the brunt of everything so they wouldn’t have to. To this day, one of those people denies that 99% of the abuse ever occurred. It must be nice living in such a warped bubble of false memories, but I know what I lived, I know what I saw, and it is sad for me to see this person deny the abuse and become the abuser themselves. If you correct this person, or disagree with them, they will say YOU are abusing THEM. It’s a vicious cycle, however, I know that by standing up and saying ENOUGH, and being committed to putting a stop to it, that I did the right thing. If I hadn’t, I’d be in jail now. Or worse.

People are often shocked to learn that I’ve been through such things. I don’t deny being strong and confident, and I don’t deny that I will say something is wrong when it is wrong, regardless of who is saying it. I will admit to being wrong on the rare occasion that I am. But I will not allow myself to live a life of abuse. I won’t allow someone to define me, to disrespect me, to use me, to tell me what I think, to tell me where to go, or tell me what I am allowed to do. When someone behaves that way around me, I am very happy to show them the door. I know I deserve better.

I look for different things in people now, and I always pay attention to my intuition. It is an immense part of who I am. If someone or something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. If something feels innately wrong, re-evaluate it and follow your instincts. Intuition will never lie to you, but the heart will. If your relationship involves young children, get out NOW. You do not want your child/children to be affected by the abuse inflicted upon their mother in front of them. I know people who have stayed in these relationships because they believed that taking their children out of the home during the formative years was the worst possible thing they could do. It’s not. The worst thing you can do is stay and allow them to think that what they’re hearing, seeing, and living is normal. If you get out early enough, you will save yourself and your child/children a fortune in therapy bills.

Once upon a time, I was a moron. It won’t happen again, because I am firmly committed to not allowing it. No one defines me, except me.

*If you need help getting out of an abusive/unhealthy relationship or are living with domestic violence and don’t know where to turn please go to any of the following organizations for assistance:,,,, etc.

Do not be afraid to search the Internet or the Yellow Pages for additional resources available to you in your area/country. If your abuser uses the same computer, always be sure to delete your browsing history to protect yourself from additional harm, or go to the library if available and search for information there.*

“Once Upon A Time”, and all material herein, unless otherwise indicated and credited to its owner(s), is copyright © 2013-2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.