In The Face of Trauma: Fatherless Daughter

Last month, my doctor asked if anything specific was triggering me. At the time, I couldn’t think of anything. Until a specific day came, and I broke down in tears for hours. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself to do that. 😦

The majority of my breakdowns are quiet. Real quiet. As in, no one else ever knows they’re happening or suspects anything. They have no idea what to look for, either. They have no idea you’re struggling, and they say nothing to help you.

These breakdowns started in late 2002 when my father was in the hospital doing an experimental kidney cancer treatment. At the time, it was still a very rare type of cancer that few people had. He had already lost a kidney to cancer ten years prior. The treatment was via IV and he had to spend weeks on end in the hospital. The key side effects were that it could cause heart problems and/or worsen the cancer you already had. It did both. It took a pea sized tumor and turned it into a constant spread, which eventually became bone and brain cancer. One day, as he was leaving a doctor’s appointment, he turned to my brother and said, “Can you go upstairs and let the office know I’m going next door to the emergency room. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

I remember that phone call like it was yesterday. My whole body tenses up because I truly remember every word. My brother was so panicked and freaked out, and he needed me to do everything. He was frozen and upset, and those are normal reactions, but mine were the polar opposite. They still are. I remember speaking to doctors and surgeons, and making last-minute decisions because my father would have died if I hadn’t known what to do.

The reason my father put me in charge of everything is because he knew my reactions would be in correlation with his wishes. He knew I wouldn’t fall apart or be utterly incapable of speech, leave alone making important decisions in the moment. On occasion, I wish he’d thought I was a moron and laid the responsibility elsewhere. I remember someone implying that he’d made these decisions from a selfish place. I don’t feel that was it at all, but do I resent it at times? A little.

No matter how put together you could ever be, and I have always been wise beyond my years, making medical decisions on behalf of someone who is incapacitated is difficult. Even if they’d laid it all out for you, making the verbal calls is not easy. It’s emotionally taxing. Today is fourteen years since he passed away, and I can say this much; I’ve grown, I’ve changed, and I’m a different person. But am I healed? No. I’m scarred.

Interpersonal relationships are extremely difficult to navigate. To this day, I still don’t understand people the way I feel I should. I constantly find myself frustrated and disappointed in people. The more I feel this way, the less I want to interact with anyone, and it probably shows. I just don’t have a lot to offer certain types of people anymore, and I am learning to be okay with that.

After my father’s funeral, I couldn’t get out of bed for almost three months. I had always known he’d die young. I had always known he would not be present to see the celebratory moments in my life, or my brother’s. I knew he was leaving, and I even told him not to do the IV treatment because it would kill him. He told me he had to try, or he’d be sending his children the wrong message regarding how you fight to live. I still disagree with him, and always will. Intuition doesn’t lie, and when he first told me about it, I knew it was the beginning of the end. I just made sure I didn’t say it to my brother, because that would have been wrong, at the time.

All of this knowledge allowed me to write a eulogy which really paid tribute in an honest way. This sense of knowing failed me, though, because it distracted me from the fact that my mother was dying, and didn’t care. That’s a story for another day, but when I compound the mental and emotional trauma on top of the next set of trauma, which was more sudden, I wonder how I get out bed at all. I question myself daily, and far more than anyone else ever could. I legitimately have NO idea why I’m alive. I just don’t see a real purpose to it.

My mother raised two extraordinarily different children (I was easier; my brother tried to break her.). As adults, you can tell we’re siblings by the way we laugh at the same things, in the same way. My brother says I laugh like a villain, and I’ve also been told I have my father’s laugh. You can see us automatically know what the other is thinking by a mere a glance. On bad days, I will say I look exactly like my brother, except that I have hair (He’s going to be SO pissed when he sees this. He only laughed once when I sent him a hilarious photo which made us both laugh for days.), but in reality, that isn’t true. We’re as alike as we are different. He genuinely passes as ethnic, and it takes people a while to see that in me.

I promised myself a long time ago that I would break the sibling curse which I’ve watched plague my family. Some days, I think I’ve done a pretty good job, and other days I feel taken advantage of. On my end, the effort is present. I try. I know my parents and Grandparents can see that. I know I’m not bringing shame down upon them. Or at the very least, I try damn hard not to.

There will always be days when I question how you move past all of this. Not everyone is built the way I am. There are personality types which I will never understand as long as I live. They aren’t passionate about much, so death means very little to them. They don’t place a lot of value on life or the people in their lives, and it’s obvious by the revolving door I see in their relationships. I’m not like that. I have bras older than some people’s friendships, and many still have the tags on them. 😉 I’ve had some of the same friends for over twenty-five years and I don’t usually ditch people out of the blue. I’m loyal and honest to a fault, if nothing else.

The whole point of what I’m trying to say, and failing miserably, is that healing is different for everyone. I stopped talking about this day with my brother because then he’d stop speaking to me for a few months and that’s not conducive to any relationship. My closest friends really don’t care to listen (I get it; you’re busy. I, too, will be busy the next time you want to talk for five hours about anything. Blowing a friend off is NEVER cool, especially when you would flip out if I treated you that way.), and if someone does, they certainly haven’t communicated that to me. That’s fine. Truly. One of the good things about me is that I work a lot of shit out on my own. I’ve had to. So when my doctor tells me, “You show up for 99% of your appointments. You do the work. You’re growing and improving, and working on yourself for yourself. What’s great about you is that I don’t have to explain a lot to you, because you’re already ahead of it. You see it and you self-correct.”, I have to take that as a compliment. Usually I think he’s trying to boost my self-esteem, but then I look at the actual work and realize that yes, I did it by myself. He’s basically complimenting me for being a self-starter, but I would say some of that is my personality and the rest is nature versus nurture. It goes back to being the responsible party for things, to some extent.

If you know someone is strong and smart, most people will automatically worry less about them. I will never forget my mother saying, “I don’t worry about you because you’re strong, you’re smart, you’re intuitive, you work hard, and you’ll always land on your feet. I worry about your brother. He’s smart, he has great work ethic, but he doesn’t have your common sense or street smarts. I really worry about him.” All these years later I can assure her he finally has a modicum of common sense and a different set of street smarts. He’ll figure shit out on his own. Despite feeling like I’ve been an excellent role model, my brother has the personality type that wants to learn the hard way. It drives me insane, but you cannot change the core of most people.

I’ve done my level best to look out for my brother, and my family in general. Not everyone listens to me, so I’ve decided to stop giving advice and focus on myself. I’ve invested in myself a lot over the past year and that will continue into 2022 and beyond. I am taking my business sense and everything I was taught, and aiming for more.

Ladies, it is perfectly okay to want more out of life. It is okay to do things differently. It is okay to do things in your own time and space. It is okay to say no to things you don’t want because you see what you do want, and it’s all well within your reach. Stop letting small people tell you your worth, or that you can only achieve great things by doing it the way they think it should be done. Fuck that attitude! Not everything in life in forever, but your achievements will always be your own. No one can can touch that, so please, don’t let them.

Please speak for yourselves. Speak loudly for those who are afraid, right now, to use their voice. Don’t let situations or people diminish you. Remember who you are at the beginning and end of each day. There will always be days when you don’t want to be strong, because you’re exhausted. Allow yourself to rest, to rejuvenate, and give yourself permission to heal from anything and everything.

Go forth, trauma and all, and make someone proud. Even if it’s your deceased father who probably wouldn’t care that much. But in truth, know that you’re really doing it for yourself. The future truly IS female.

copyright © 2021 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark.

Fourth of July Caturday

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This year was extremely frightening and traumatizing for my cats. They were terrified in a way I have never seen before and I pray I never see it again. I am outraged by the crap my neighbors pulled. The streets were full of smoke, cars couldn’t get through, and it was a major problem waiting to happen if, G-d forbid, an ambulance or fire truck needed to get through. Visibility was extremely poor. Whatever people are using that sounds like an explosion going off was awful for my own trauma history. I’m actually relieved I have a phone appointment with my doctor next week. This was BAD and continues to be worse with every passing moment.

Minipress (Prazosin) for Stress Nightmares in PTSD

https://www.verywellhealth.com/prazosin-treats-nightmares-in-ptsd-3015222

The other day, a woman started a fight with me over this drug. Yeah, I know; it was completely obnoxious and she acted as if I was forcing it down her throat. Obviously, that was not the case.

Her major issue is that it didn’t work for her, so she was blasting it and claiming all kinds of things that simply aren’t true. Your experience and the experience of thousands who take it is not the same. Please don’t bash a drug that helps people.

This drug was created for combat veterans so that there was an inexpensive option to help with nightmares and flashbacks, major side effects of PTSD and Complex-PTSD. Every person’s body is different and requires a different dose, providing it works for them. 19 to 20 mgs in my norm, but I am currently on 2 mgs and building back up to the higher dose. I would not do that if it didn’t offer some relief.

I’ve taken this medication for almost three years. I have zero side effects, except a slower wake up period in the morning if I’m on a higher dose and haven’t given myself an additional thirty minutes to fully wake up and shake off the sleepiness. For me, that is no big deal. It has not made me more depressed, more suicidal, or any such thing this person was claiming “That’s all it does.” Untrue. If it works for you, it will work, period. Your dosing may be different than mine, but that’s a discussion to have with a highly trusted psychiatrist. Period.

I’ve said it before; I am grateful for my doctor. Out of the handful I am forced to deal with, he is the most stress-free individual to talk to. He often e-mails me back within 10-15 minutes of a question. He calls to check on me when he has spare time and hasn’t heard from me in a while, especially when he knows I am struggling. I’ve never had a doctor who actually cares, so I firmly believe that all the horrible shit I went through for so long lead me to the right doctor. I am extremely grateful for that.

When he first presented me with this medication as an option, he let me know that if it didn’t work, no harm, no foul. He also didn’t force it on me; it was my decision completely to start taking it and give it a chance to work. He let me know that it leaves the system quickly (within a few hours) and could not harm me. Who am I going to trust? Some psycho who is attacking the drug or my doctor of three years? Yeah, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

This medication helps me, but it is not an exact science. If you are suffering from either form of PTSD, or both, talk to your doctor about it. I endorse it, but obviously, I am not shoving it down anyone’s throat and forcing them to take it. And I am NOT paid by Mylan or Teva Pharmaceuticals to say I stand behind this medication.

After A Traumatic Experience…

“After a traumatic experience, the human system of self-preservation seems to go onto permanent alert, as if the danger might return at any moment.” ―Judith Lewis Herman

Sadly, this quote speaks to me today. I had to take medication for an insane panic attack that popped up out of nowhere, and I’m trying not to break down in tears because I have to hit the pause button on my life for the remainder of the day, AGAIN. This has been happening a lot over the past few months. I am so completely freaked out and this was made worse by waking up with some paralysis in my neck and upper back. In trying to reduce inflammation in my body, other issues moved to the forefront. I wish people understood and could be compassionate about what I am going through, but the truth is, I don’t know too many people who give a rat’s ass OR who encourage me to do what I always do, which is the best I can from hour to hour.

If there’s one message I would share with other sufferers, it’s this; You’re doing the best you can. Sometimes that means going back to sleep because your drowsiness cannot be fixed with caffeine, it’s too bone deep. Sometimes it means taking a short walk, or cancelling everything and focusing solely on your own needs. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re lesser because you’re suffering. They should walk a thousand miles in your shoes before passing judgment with their mouths.

Sharing Color

I’ve been having a terrible, rough time of late. I started writing about it, and was too sick to finish what I was writing, but I’ll get there.

As we head into this excruciatingly hot weekend (115 degrees with heat, heat index, and high humidity, as well as a few nights in the 90s), I thought I’d share a bit of brilliant, nature made color with you all. The lilies are unique and you won’t see them in anyone’s yard in random fashion. The purple one is called “Bela Lugosi”. I thought it was going to be more on the brown side, but as you can see, it isn’t. Most of these were just 4-6 flowers initially and now there are tons. The petals are thicker than you’d expect. I did my best to capture them the same day they bloomed.

Be well, everyone.

Hugs,

lisa1