Emotional Support

Emotional Support?

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At the beginning of last month, my world began to cave in on me. There’s nothing like finding yourself on a city street feeling confused, disoriented, and so stressed, you couldn’t even figure out where you were, or why. I was unsafe and needed to quickly get to safety. Once I did, my brain couldn’t catch up. I was able to communicate via text and written messages, but I couldn’t fully express the shape I was in, or how much help I needed, and still need. Even now, the realization shocks me.

The worst part was the following day; sitting early in the morning as my body and mind began to collapse in on each other. Shooting pains from head to toe. Swollen eyes, joints, and this excruciating non-stop pain in my body. I couldn’t be calm. I had a vicious migraines, a foggy mind, and I was scared. I reached a point where I couldn’t walk. Stress was beginning to break me. I kept thinking, “You’re going to have a heart attack or a stroke. You NEED your mind. You cannot let this happen.” And so, I decided to press pause and take care of myself. I needed rest, and I still do. When you are a survivor in fight mode, you do not know when to stop or slow down. Stopping means death. In this particular case, it genuinely was almost the end of my life from complete burn out. Even as I type this, I am not okay. Not even close.

Obviously, it’s been a difficult time. I had to set so much aside to try and heal. To truly rest my body and mind. I’m not quite there, yet. I am struggling daily; most especially with sleep, pain, and keeping my brain calm. 2023 has been one of the hardest years of my life, and that’s saying something considering all I have been through, thus far. This was not the kind of year I anticipated or planned for.

I wish I had been able to come here and say all of this. I told practically no one what I was going through, and that includes people I am extremely close to. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my pain, and to this day, I feel like the very concept of emotional support is laughable. I have never felt more alone, despite having people in my life who *might* be willing to help. Most people have their own shit to deal with, and they lack the ability to listen. They don’t want or need my problems on top of their own. No, that’s not martyrdom; this is what it’s like when you’re an unselfish person. You help others, but you never receive what you need in return because people look at you and fully believe that no natter what, you’ll be fine. I can’t tell you how many people say this at funerals. “I thought she was fine.” She wasn’t. She isn’t.

I would have written more this month if I had felt better. I don’t, and I have no idea what July has in store. For so many years, I posted daily in some capacity. This year is not a “daily” kind of year. I wish it were. I wish things felt normal. They don’t, because they aren’t anywhere near normal. I can only hope things will get better and normalize, with time. How much time? I have no idea. It is better to be honest, as opposed to pretending you have all the answers.

As Americans move into a holiday weekend, please aim for safety. It’s hard to feel good about the 4th of July as we watch important things be decimated, like affirmative action. We are just slightly over a year from Roe v. Wade being overturned, and a large amount of states standing behind it. Women trying to dictate to other women what we can do with our own bodies; it’s fucking disgusting. I’m proud to be from a state which chooses to give the Supreme Court a gigantic middle finger. and protects women’s rights.

More will happen. God only knows what, but it’s coming. The world is changing, and not necessarily in good ways. Remember to register to vote and do so accordingly. A lot of sycophants need to be removed from office via your vote. Others need to be voted in. I will be voting out hate, and voting in change. If you’re not sure where to start and would like more information for your state, please go to A Starting Point.

May July be a greater month for us all. Enjoy something, and thank you for sticking with me. Bright Blessings.

copyright © 2012-2023 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark.

No One Wants To Suffer

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“No one wants to suffer. No one wants to be lonely. No one wants to live in fear. No one wants to lose everything. No one wants their heart ripped to shreds. No one want to be sick. And, no one wants to die. But these things happen in life. So the least we can do is be there for others, as we would like others to be there for us.” —Bryant McGill

All too fitting after the last few months. 😦

Trying To Cope

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Have you ever wondered if you’re trying too hard? If you have to question yourself, then you probably are. But what if you’re being told that you aren’t trying hard enough? It’s incredibly confusing, and downright counterintuitive, to have someone tell you you’re not trying hard enough when they don’t actually see how hard you try to begin with. When they only see a small percentage of your daily battle. Alas, welcome to my world where I’m never good enough, not unless I’ve somehow done something magical to meet someone else’s approval for the week. And even that is never truly “good enough”. I’m constantly met with a disapproving face or attitude, or something to let me know what a complete and total letdown I am. If you can explain to me how that is “being supportive”, I will buy you a fucking lottery ticket.

I am a firm believer that if you truly love and care about someone, you use your words. When someone is going through something horrible and you can’t be bothered to check in with them and see how they’re doing, but you can be bothered to talk to them about nonsense, there is no way in hell the person feels loved, cared about, heard, etc. They will NOT come to you with anything serious because you’ve already proven to them that you don’t take them seriously; that their life, their pain, suffering, etc., is a fucking joke to you. If you want your love and concern to be taken seriously, you have to bring it to the table. It cannot wax and wane like the moon.

I absolutely HATE hearing anyone tell me they “don’t know what to say to me“. Good. Say NOTHING. Be silent. It tells me everything I need to know, truly. By being silent, you’re reaffirming what I already know.

People who never ask how I’m doing, but are happy to come to me with their issues drive me INSANE. It makes me feel even more invisible. There’s never even a polite “Hey, how are you doing?”, it’s just “Let me tell you what I’m going through.”, because apparently the world revolves around other people and their idea of “problems”.

Here’s my take on this: If you’ve got a roof over your head, money in the bank, a good job, a working vehicle, food, health insurance, clothes in your closet, money to buy medicine if you aren’t well, and can pay your bills each month without ever being broke, and you’ve got the majority of your health (or all of it), then I genuinely don’t want to hear your “privileged people problems”. If you’re sick, suffering, struggling, truly battling something real, and understand how hard it is to survive in this world, then I am more than happy to listen, but I can’t do the privileged bullshit crap. If your wealthy family can bail you out of a problem in a New York Minute, then I have a hard time relating because if I need to be bailed out, it’s probably because I’ve finally killed someone. My “family” has made it clear that they enjoy seeing me suffer and do not care about my pain. That my losses are basically icing on the cake for them. Does that sound loving to you? That’s because it isn’t love; it’s hatred. I genuinely hope that one day, one of them needs a bodily organ and I am the ONLY match in the world that could save their life. I’d rather give that organ to an inmate on death row.

Call me crazy, but I prefer to be spoken to, not AT. I honestly need to start charging people for the “therapy sessions” I am providing because it’s gone too far. If they respected my time, then maybe by receiving a weekly bill, the 10:00 PM-5:00 a.m. texts about bullshit would stop. The hours of Facebook Messenger nonsense would stop. If a pop-up message comes up while I am writing, you’ve just cut into my hourly rate as a writer, which is quadruple my editor’s rate. If you interrupt me while I am writing with dramatic bullshit, I should be able to bill you. Unless you’re my brother, best friend, a doctor, or the two women I call sisters, then you probably don’t need to be contacting me after a certain hour unless there’s a death-defying emergency (and how many doctors would be calling after ten o’clock? None I know.). Truth be told, I’ve lost my ability to care.

My cousin had the audacity to tell me that he & his wife are “always here for me because ‘that’s what family does for family'”. I wish all of you could have seen the look on my face when I read that message. The one time I asked him for a favor was well over two years ago. He made excuses and said no, all after having given me the “I’ll do anything for family” rhetoric many times before. Clearly this is a selective thing. “I can be there for you when it’s CONVENIENT to be there for you.” That’s what it really means. That’s why it annoys me and that’s why, ultimately, it pisses me off.

A lot of his invitations over the past year or so have been super last-minute and I’ve had to say no. You can’t give me 24 hours notice for anything and expect me to show up. You’ve got to give me a month or so. I must have the physical, mental, and emotional energy, and you have to know a holiday gathering of 50+ people is NOT how I want to spend my time. I’m not married to you, or your wife, and I am not obligated to be a part of these gatherings. I’m family, yes, and thanks for including me in your thought process, but I’m pretty much always going to say no when you ask me at the last-minute.

Now it may have bothered him that while I did not attend his son’s Bris after being given four days’ notice (I was sitting Shiva), I did turn around the following weekend and meet up with my sister, Britt, in Boston. He didn’t say anything and quite frankly, Britt and I had those plans for MONTHS. However, not once has my cousin even offered to meet me halfway. He could be in a neighboring town and not even say “Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee.” If I did that to him, I’d never hear the end of how I was in his part of the city and didn’t stop by. Drama, drama, drama.

I firmly believe that if you really want to be there for me, you will be. He speaks for both of them (I HATE when couples do that. It nauseates me. I can’t speak for someone else; it’s rude. That person has a mind and opinions of their own. I’m also smart enough not to stick them with my family! Escape while you can!) and I wanted to respond and say “There’s no way in hell I am going to ask either of you to be there for me! You have a new baby and while your heart might mean what you’re saying, we both know you’re not going to show up for me, so thanks for the sentiment, but you won’t be hearing from me.” Like, EVER. (To quote Taylor Swift.)

Have I mentioned I can’t stand his wife (I’d NEVER say this to him and hurt his feelings. For some unknown reason, he thinks she walks on water and performs miracles. Ad nauseum.)? Now that she’s not pregnant, she’s behaving differently towards me, but I will probably never be able to get over her bitchy rudeness directed solely at me while she was pregnant. I checked with other family members to see if it was her normal behavior or an isolated incident and apparently she fits in with that side of the family really well because it was directed only at me, which makes me extremely wary of her. I have made all of my close friends promise to have a “Come to God” meeting with me if EVER I behave like that towards the kindness of others while pregnant. One of my closest friends said to me “You’re not a piece of shit, so I can’t imagine you ever being so ungracious to someone. She was really fucking rude to you.” Sometimes, it’s good to get that extra feedback so you know you’re not crazy.

I’m going through all of this disturbing, upsetting misery day in and day out, and I legitimately hear from three people daily because they actually care about me, and my best friend e-mails me on the weekends. Everyone else is purely radio silent, until THEY have a problem and then it’s all about them. And like I said, they don’t ask how I’m doing, they just start talking at me. Not only am I invisible, apparently, I also have zero emotions or emotional needs to be met. It’s always nice to know this is how others perceive me. As a sounding board. Or a door mat for people to wipe their feet on, so they can walk away feeling better about themselves.

Over the weekend, I ducked into PetSmart to grab a bag of cat food. There was the most gorgeous green, orange, and yellow parrot there. Birds don’t normally come up to me, but this one did. They don’t usually make noises and do tricks for me, but this one did. It made me emotional, because I felt like this bird understood me. I wanted that bird. I’ve met so many birds over the years, all different types, all different sizes, but I’ve never wanted to take one home before and have a new friend.

I feel completely abandoned by Cat and Kitten. They used to spend time with me and care for me, or they’d hang out with me and be loving, but now they eat and sleep, and at three PM each day, they come downstairs and start staring at me, waiting to see how they can con me into giving them their dinner early. Mind you, they do NOT starve and they have food and fresh water all the time, but they’ve become regimented in their meal-times and it’s seemingly all they care about. They have their separate spaces, their cat beds, and zero interest in what I am going through. This, I am certain, is why people have dogs. Alas, I’ve got no energy for one, or the room. Or the patience and tolerance levels required. At this point, I’m best suited for a pet rock, and even that is a stretch. 😦

I’m quickly becoming one of those people who is going to spend the rest of her days talking to herself, getting answers back. Oh wait, I already do that! Excuse me while I go back to producing a flood of tears.

American Horror Story: Lisa’s Life

copyright © 2017 Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Incurable

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                                            ***Potential Trigger Warning***

Friday night, I stupidly read my new diagnosis for the first time. And then I sat here in tears. The old diagnosis, which I’ve had for a long time, is clearly nowhere near as serious as the new one. My doctor isn’t even sure how it ever even fit because he doesn’t see it, and I do think it’s a case of having fresh eyes and a fresh perspective, as well. He did NOT try to box me in, but he answered me because I asked. I needed to know what the hell this was.

The new diagnosis basically states that nearly 60% of sufferers, or more, as it ranges from country-to-country, die by suicide, regardless of age. I was stunned into terrified silence.

I have always said I didn’t want to be a statistic, but reading the documentation; I feel like one.

As I stated previously, there are no treatment options left. I can wait ten years and hope a medication is approved by the FDA, but mostly, I am on my own. I cannot fathom ten more minutes like this, leave alone ten years, or longer. Hope is kind of futile at this point for me.

There’s a person in my life (heretofore to be referred to as “The Idiot”) who cannot think about anything but the future. I suggested they take things one day at a time during a stressful period, so as to help them help themselves focus, and they told me their “brain doesn’t work that way. That they must constantly look ten, twenty, and thirty years ahead”. I was astounded by the insanity of that. Especially knowing that there is a strong possibility they might not live that long. I take everything one hour at a time. It helps keep me focused. It keeps me in the moment, because I don’t have a crystal ball and quite frankly, I am not looking that far ahead. Nor do I care to do so. For me, life just doesn’t have that level of longevity any more. Truth be told, it never did. I always knew that.

There’s something very difficult, and exceptionally disheartening, about reading something on paper and realizing that every hope and dream you’ve ever had has been impossible to achieve because it’s likely never been meant to be. All the things you’ve wanted for yourself aren’t going to happen because something serious is interfering with all of it. It’s NOT you, it’s an incurable illness you never asked for and it’s destroyed your life immeasurably.

Thus far, I’ve only managed to tell two friends. One told me I needed to fight so I could stick around and “help keep her sane”. She means well, but that wasn’t the answer I needed to hear. I intentionally withheld the info from someone who I am afraid will be triggered by this. She has been through enough and I cannot be responsible for my health affecting hers. Other people might be triggered by this information, so while I am not disclosing what the actual diagnosis is, I am telling each of them in my own way.

I will not be discussing this diagnosis with close family members. I know that none of them care. I have slowly started to see their selfish, self-absorbed, self-righteous natures and I find it utterly despicable. I am grateful that I do not resemble a single member of my family and that we possess almost none of the same character traits. They live on their own planets, and I live in reality.

It hurts me deeply that out of everyone in my family, I would be the one afflicted like this while everyone else is allowed to live a normal life, or as close to a normal life as possible. It feels like the cruelest curse in the world. That’s not jealousy talking; that’s honesty. One illness is enough of a burden, but for me to have spent the majority of my life suffering is pure evil. To have to battle all of this alone makes it so much worse.

I have chosen to take a pass on all things temporary. I don’t need that in my life. If someone cannot be permanent or semi-permanent, then I don’t need them right now. I need solid support all across the board. I don’t have time for games or bullshit. I will be informing my doctor of that before he leaves. He can pass that message on because I know after we talk, he’s going to be very concerned. I don’t care how I sound or come off this time because I’m not here to worry about his feelings. He can contact my primary if he’s concerned, or whomever, but that isn’t going to make a difference at this point. I refuse to see the doctor he wants me to see. I’ve had terrible experiences with certain types of physicians and while this doctor might be wonderful, I don’t have any trust to offer this person. I will look for someone else when I’m ready. There’s a six month wait for anyone permanent, so I am going to inform the “temp” when she calls me that until she finds someone permanent, I am not interested. I cannot sit with a temporary person and build anything with them. That’s not how I operate. It’s an absolute waste of time. I’d rather talk to Cat and Kitten, both of whom pretty much ignore me these days unless the treat bag shakes or they hear me in the kitchen and think food might be involved. I could leave for six months, they wouldn’t notice, so long as they were fed twice a day.

I don’t think anyone cares to notice how unsupportive they are being. If you’re a shiny, happy person, you want to surround yourself with others like you. You don’t want to delve into the darkness and look deeply at someone with depth. That’s fine. I am better off without your bullshit. What you send out into the world comes back to you threefold. I listen to people and I give with my whole heart. I care, even when no one else bothers to do so. Faced with something that cannot be cured or fixed in any way, I am able to fully see how cruel and hateful people really are. And I am closing ranks in terms of my friendships and the people I consider to be anything in my life at this moment. I cannot imagine not reaching out to someone and offering support, but as I have noticed, people truly DO live on their own planets. I am walking around with the pin from everyone’s hand grenade. They just don’t know it yet.

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For the record: I’m not stupid, or blind. I noticed the drop in subscribers the second I was super honest in my last few posts. When am I NOT honest? I’m not going to apologize to ANYONE because there IS a trigger warning for those who cannot handle anything too deep. I get it; we all have our issues, which is precisely why there was a warning. If you see a trigger warning, STOP READING. Come back when I’m discussing something funny and lighthearted. In all fairness, it was the first time I’d ever used a trigger warning in four years, so please, give me a break. This is MY safe space and I am going to be as honest as necessary here. You can stick with me or you can unfollow or unsubscribe. I’m not going to chase you down the street. I’m not desperate. I know who my readers are.

For every two people that disappear, twenty more show up and thank me for being honest and sharing my story so that they don’t feel ashamed in sharing theirs. I have received more love from Twitter followers than from any other social media platform I use.

I’m going to keep being me. I’m going to keep advocating to the best of my ability for change and I am going to keep speaking my truth and telling my story. I’m not going to allow others to stigmatize my pain or what I have been through. You can read my work, but ultimately, you don’t know me. You know a small percentage of what I share, but the people who’ve been with me for years and years, those are the people who know just how real I am. The people who’ve met me and spent time with me know who I am. The people who text me daily know who I am. The people who can call me at three a.m. for anything know who I am. The select few who get to share certain aspects of my life are the people who have made an effort to be a real friend to me, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.

You can sit and judge me ’til kingdom come for being honest, but the fact of the matter is, you have NO fucking idea what it takes for me to get out of bed each day, so please, judge yourself first. No matter what I face, you’re probably not as strong as me. I’m not ashamed of my reality, and I won’t allow anyone to make me feel bad for things outside of my control.

copyright © 2017 Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

A Broken, Pretty Mess

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When I came home Wednesday afternoon, after being at the doctor’s office for HOURS (You know your doctor is good when EVERYONE wants to see her.), I didn’t realize how awful I felt.

I remember coming inside, hanging up my coat, taking in the mail, feeding Cat and Kitten a little earlier than usual, changing my clothes, washing my face multiple times (Turns out, vegan mascara really likes my lashes and doesn’t want to come off. For the record, I have NO IDEA why I chose to wear a full face of makeup to a doctor’s appointment. I looked like I was going on a date, minus false lashes, which I can’t apply to save my life. It looked subtle and clean when I applied it that morning. It wasn’t really a “full face” by Kardashian standards, but when I got home it was the exact opposite of subtle and clean. I stared at the mirror and said “Holy shit! Is this how I left the house?!” It had that “bombshell” look to it and that’s not what I was going for, obviously. I was genuinely appalled with my own idiocy.), eating salad, and suddenly I felt overwhelmingly AWFUL. I was in bed at exactly 7:05 PM, only waking up to hydrate. I somehow had the audacity to sleep over eleven hours. No medication, no influence, just pure exhaustion mixed with physical pain.

I feel broken. I realized that when a different doctor called me to have a discussion about what my needs are moving forward (my first referral to someone else for specific reasons). I heard myself explaining the summarized version of what has occurred to make me feel the way I do and as I eventually heard myself speaking, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. It felt incredibly sad, depressing, and honestly, the list could go on forever. It slammed down on me like a tornado coming out of nowhere. I caught myself, mid-conversation, thinking “This is what your life has been like. Holy crap! You need a hug.” But a hug isn’t what I truly want or need. I want to come away from something someday and feel healed. I’m tired of being a broken, pretty mess. I’m sick of it, because it feels like I’m somehow reduced into victim mentality, and I don’t like that feeling. No one does. For the doctor’s assistant to meet me for the first time and say “We’re here for you and we care.” was overwhelmingly emotional for me. I have family and friends who NEVER say that to me. And by never, I mean NEVER.

Do you know what it’s like to never hear a kind word spoken to or about you? I do. For longer than I care to admit, I have been reduced to being one of three things “Pretty.”, Talented.”, or “Smart.” Occasionally someone will say I’m all three, but generally I only hear the one, and that could be from anyone interacting with me on any given day. It could be a perfect stranger thinking they’re paying me a compliment, and maybe they are, but it leaves me feeling reduced to three boxes, and nothing else.

The people closest to me (my friends) would probably say much nicer things and would not reduce me into a trinity of superficiality. A friend recently told me I was “super-smart and had so much depth that most people never even realize it’s there because they don’t look”. I remember hanging up the phone after that conversation and thinking “I’m glad someone gets me.” It’s a short list.

I was at the vet one day and a guy complimented me on my skin. I wasn’t expecting it. It was one of those “Wait, what?” moments. You had to be there. He went into great detail as he explained that my skin is so flawless, he could tell I never go in the sun, that I don’t drink or smoke, that I take really good care of it, and that I’ve never had anything done on a plastic surgery level. All of those observations are correct, but I look in the mirror and I do NOT see flawless anything, I jokingly replied, “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”, but his compliment was quite genuine, and the back and forth went on for about twenty minutes. It was one of the nicest compliments I’ve gotten, but it was also an observation verbalized. I told him I was going to take him everywhere with me from now on because he’d made my day, but that’s precisely how I felt; I hadn’t heard a kind word or a compliment in so long, I would have listened to any compliment, however genuine or not, because it wasn’t negative. I don’t live my life for compliments of any kind, I just try not to be a piece of crap. I sent my cousin a photo about a month ago and she said the same thing “Holy shit, your skin is flawless. Are you wearing makeup?” There are some very lovely, sweet, blind people in this world. I am CLUELESS as to what they see.

Have you ever been in so much physical, mental, or emotional pain (possibly all three) and simply not seen anything when you look in the mirror? You reach a point where you don’t look too closely, or you don’t look yourself in the eye because you’re hurting too much.

When I woke up Thursday morning, the first thing I thought was “You look like a broken, pretty mess.”, and it hurt to think that, even though it’s precisely how I feel inside. So now, I’ve boxed myself into a category that I don’t particularly like, but it is what it is.

Someone recently told me that I’m a great person because I embrace the imperfections that make me, me. I don’t see how that makes me a great person. Embracing your flaws and your ability to know when you’re fucked up doesn’t make you good or great, but it does make you human.

When people in your life who claim to love you constantly remind you that you’re a failure, it’s NOT acceptable to allow them to get away with it. When they blame you for things you had nothing to do with, or they turn their own internal issues onto you, you need to step back and say NO. It’s virtually impossible for you to single-handedly be responsible for other people’s issues. I don’t look at anyone and blame them for mine, because that’s inaccurate.

People get offended when I disengage, either by walking away so I don’t murder them or by remaining silent. Silence doesn’t mean I’m not listening or that I’m ignoring you, but it does mean I am not going to accept negativity. I’m not going to allow myself to be harmed by words that don’t hold a whole hell of a lot of truth, and I’m not going to allow myself to be hurt by anyone who is merely lashing out or placing blame because their first instinct is to place blame. If you have issues like that, hit a heavy bag at the gym for an hour, but don’t take your crap out on me. I’m enough of a mess, I don’t need your shit on top of it.

I spend a lot of time talking other people off of their emotional ledges. I can’t tell you the last time someone even made an effort to talk me down from one of mine. The most condescending thing you can say is “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie.”, and then proceed to talk about yourself and nothing else. I could be bleeding out of an eyeball and I’m certain someone would try to one-up me with somehow being in more pain or dealing with something far more excruciating. I catch myself at times feeling extremely annoyed by that, and yet, people don’t correct themselves. They go around believing the world revolves around them. I genuinely have no idea how they function in society.

I’ve felt invisible for a long time, but I’ve reached that point where I’m starting to believe that only certain types of people can see me. From here on in, if a person cannot truly see me, then I don’t want to be around them. Plain and simple.

So for today, and possibly this entire week, I’ll remain a broken, pretty mess. I’ll write and I’ll struggle, and no one will even glance in my general direction. My hand to G-d, no one will fucking notice because no one gives a shit.

copyright © 2017 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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Head Meet Sink

Miss Poison Honesty, Life, Musings, Pain, People, Poison In Lethal Doses, Uncategorized, Writing , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I detest going from graceful human-being to absolute klutz. Try explaining cuts, burns, bumps, and bruises to people without looking like a battered woman. It’s damn near impossible.

A few months ago my right wrist was covered in scratches of varying lengths. To the average passerby, it would have looked like I’d tried to harm myself. All of them were merely superficial idiocy, except for the cat scratches. The unhealed scar is, thankfully, far from any veins or tendons, so if someone was looking, hopefully they wouldn’t be thinking anything untoward.

However, explaining the stupidity of hitting my head not once, but twice in a day, is much more complicated. In attempting to organize something in the powder room the other day, I didn’t realize how close my head was to the sink and whack! It was a stupid accident, with me somehow thinking I had a lot more space than I did. The second was pure stupidity minutes later when I turned to move a rug (Because hey, I already had my head down. Don’t be disgusting, I was straightening something.) and my forehead smacked into a metal toilet paper holder. Not the kind attached to the wall, the kind that sits in a bathroom and is both a method of storage and “in use”. Believe it or not, that hurt far worse than the sink. 😦 Perhaps it was the angle. I debated going to the ER for an MRI or a cat scan, but it’s too soon to know with any certainty if I have a concussion. I don’t want to ask someone to go with me for very personal reasons. Yes, I could have called 911, but it’s not a true emergency. However, as I sit here writing with a headache I cannot get rid of and a spot on my forehead that hurts pretty bad, to the point where I hope it bruises, I am concerned. I’m trying not to be though, because focusing on it too much will only result in stressing myself out. The headache is bad enough without additional stress, and Lord knows this has been an eye-opening week. 😦

I’m in the process of making an appointment to apply for insurance in this state. I’ve already waited over 72 hours for the person who handles this to get back to me. I am hoping she is on vacation and/or extremely busy because I hate having to call anyone twice to make an appointment for something that is supposed to take “about an hour”. Call me crazy, but returning a phone call with dates and times of your availability and writing one down isn’t THAT difficult. It’s less than five minutes of your time. My previous insurance is not accepted here, so I have to begin the application process from scratch. I’ve never dealt with a more asinine online system in my life, and that’s saying something. I tried, I really did. My patience level went below 100 and that was the end of it. Unless you have the patience of a saint, getting the forms filled out online is going to make you throw things, curse, etc. Here’s hoping it only takes a few months because I am still paying off a medical bill from last year when I didn’t have insurance.

For anyone to say to me “But that was last year…”, as if they know how much the bill was and/or what was done is courting disaster. If you actually care, ask me what happened. Have you ever looked at what doctors charge people without insurance? It’s astronomical, because they don’t make enough via insurance companies per patient and they absolutely pass that down to the uninsured by making us suffer in a myriad of ways. It was more than one visit and more involved than I’d like to discuss. I will need to find a new dermatologist as soon as I have insurance because other issues have come to the surface and I have every reason in the world to be concerned. The whole “discuss this with your primary care physician” crap gets old when you need referrals for everything. I’ve never been a fan of the referral system. I feel we should be able to see the participating providers we want to see within a reasonable time-frame. When you say something is serious, you don’t want to be told they have an appointment for you in January of next year. It’s reached a point where doctors are overbooked and completely full of themselves. Especially the ones that are always “on vacation”. Monthly?! Perhaps you’d like to adopt me.

People who have relatively decent health, and those who go to the doctor for every wrong turn, do not understand the trials and tribulations of those of us who are suffering, especially those of us who suffer chronically. They might temporarily empathize and/or sympathize, but I can tell you from personal experience that being aggressive with me about anything will get you absolutely nowhere. Unless I’ve asked for your medical opinion, I’m perfectly capable of figuring shit out on my own. Always have, always will. I’m many things, but I am NOT a moron. And if you don’t truly care about me, I don’t need your “medical opinions” on health issues you don’t personally have.

A migraine sufferer would prefer to discuss migraines with another migraine sufferer. A Fibromyalgia sufferer would prefer to speak to someone with an autoimmune disease than someone who openly debates why you are “always sick” or “always in pain”. Seriously? No, I’m not truly in agony. I just like to say that I am for shits and giggles, especially when it keeps me in bed for days at a time! 😦 Pain is pain. I’d appreciate mine not being denounced by anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. Mind you, I would not wish this on anyone, but I do wish people remained compassionate instead of having an expiration date on their feelings. I don’t roll like that. My loyalty is everlasting, and it’s something I am proud of. I would rather hold someone’s hand and weather the storm together than pretend the storm does not exist and walk past them multiple times a day, as though nothing is wrong. I cannot be fake like that, and I won’t be. My tolerance for false behavior is nil.

I find it unsettling that many people don’t understand the difference between someone being real and a person being some sort of manipulative mastermind. Since this has been implied to me, I have to question the sanity of anyone who knows me and could think such a thing. One, I don’t have the time to mastermind anything that isn’t intelligent, creative, and going to benefit my life and future happiness, and two, I pride myself on being real. Being a manipulative bitch takes up time and effort I don’t have in my daily life. It is also a sheer waste of energy.

Whenever I have an issue with someone or something, I go directly to the source. I don’t act like a child and behave like a psycho when it is far easier and more mature to sit down with the other person and discuss the problem once cooler heads have prevailed. I expect that kind of behavior from a teenager, but when an adult does it, it’s a turn-off. Be they male or female, it’s ugly, and not something I can respect. If you have an issue with me, please come and talk to me about it. Things can always be discussed without resorting to nastiness. However, if nastiness keeps you focused and content, by all means, stew in it. I genuinely want to see where it gets you.

After being treated so viciously this week, I made sure a close friend knew that I’m here for her no matter what, 24/7. I would rather listen to you and support you through the good and the bad, as opposed to pretending all is right in the world. When my friends and family suffer, so to do I, but as someone reminded me this week, it is important to cut negativity out of your life for good. By proxy, I am a realist. I can be negative to and about myself, I have moments of pessimism and optimism, but I am not walking around with a negative attitude to direct at the world. If I did, people would not respond to me the way they do. I wouldn’t receive messages of encouragement, people would simply say nothing or discuss me solely behind my back. I am certain the latter does occur, I simply don’t care. To each their own. If that brings you genuine comfort, so mote it be.

My life has changed drastically in the past year, and in truth, the past nine years haven’t been a fucking picnic. I have been through absolute HELL, and therefore I have compassion for those who have also suffered. Those who know that about me, but continue to hurt me by spewing venom, hatred, lies, and twisting the truth to make themselves feel better are only hurting themselves. I find myself embarrassed for you. Simply by existing, you are not superior to me, just as I am not superior to you. You can work with me or you can beat a bloody horse for all I care (that’s literal, I am not promoting the abuse of animals), but I won’t accept emotional and verbal abuse in a polite manner.

I have found that when people attack you, it’s mainly because the issues lie with them. They refuse to look at their own shortcomings in the mirror and face facts, so they lash out at those closest to them. Someone ought to study people like that. I can’t decide if they’re fascinating to watch (kind of like a psychological thriller) or if they’re simply psychotic beyond words. I don’t find mental health a laughing matter, but I do wish people who can take medication and feel better by doing so would stay on the damn stuff. When they don’t, I feel like they blink red within my life. “Danger! Stay away!” But then you see them talking to someone else as if they’re perfectly normal and you question sociopathic behavior much more closely. When a person shows no capacity for love, that’s a sure sign for me.

My doctor once explained to me that we ALL display traits of personality disorders (Personally, I was mortified.), but it doesn’t mean that we indeed have one. I test at 5% or under for all major personality disorders, so I feel confident that while I am reactive, and not the first person to join and/or play well with others, that there is a reason behind my methods, and being hurt is at the top of that list.

As I stated previously, my tolerance for false behavior is nil. I know when someone isn’t being 100% honest with me and while I will occasionally allow that to slide if it’s unimportant, I will absolutely call someone out on the big things. I may not do so right away, as everyone responds differently to your approach, but I am done being hurt and lied to. It is an unfortunate inevitability that it will happen again between now and the end of my life, because life is still life, but much like this bump on my head, I don’t have to accept it.

I promise to be more careful with my head if other people promise to drain the endless negativity within themselves in the God damn sink.

Wishing my American cohorts a pleasant holiday weekend, as we celebrate Memorial Day. For all my other readers, make sure you enjoy your weekend, too. Don’t drink and drive and wear plenty of sunscreen.

copyright © 2016 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

therapist
I highly doubt it. No one knows all about me.

Long Days, Short Nights

Miss Poison Chronic Pain, Fibromyalgia, Friends, Help, Honesty, Introverts, Judgment, Kittens, Life, Migraines, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Time, Work, Writing , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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The days are way too long. The nights are too fucking short. Sleep is hard to come by, but man, I’m trying. I was raised to believe that doing your best is “enough”, providing it is truly “your best”.

I suffer from “Superwoman Syndrome”. This is a real thing. I’m an overachiever that has this unbelievable difficulty asking for help. Perhaps it stems from constantly being stabbed in the back when I HAVE asked for help in the past, or because people like to throw things in your face as if they are owed something. “I was there for you when…” are probably not wise words to hurl in my direction. If I’m there for someone, it is genuine, and I don’t have to say “I told you so.” years down the road. If you don’t want to be there for someone, don’t be, but that’s on you.

Fibromyalgia makes life harder than it needs to be. I used to be able to walk for miles on end, doing countless things along the way, and then walk back. It was never a big deal. Now, I actually have to gather strength to run errands and take care of very basic needs. It’s pathetic. And the last thing in the world I need is for anyone to point it out to me, as if I don’t already know that I’m slow. “We just went without you because we didn’t want to wait three hours for you to get ready.” NICE. Yes, that’s sarcasm.

Even without Fibromyalgia, I was already a pretty isolated individual. I had (and still have) a very small group of close friends and my family. I spent my days writing and editing, and I still do. It’s not the kind of thing I do in public. I’m an introverted extrovert. The people that see me work my ass off are cat and kitten, they know Mommy’s working. Pretty much everyone else thinks I do absolutely nothing, because I’m very quiet and they rarely see me. When you don’t do what everyone else does in terms of “normal”, people automatically make wild assumptions. It would be very nice indeed to do absolutely nothing. Attach a six figure salary to that and I will sign up immediately. Shit, I’d love to do “nothing” by spending my days at the mall, or the bookstore, or any number of places that I haven’t been in the last four years, or longer.

The most important thing to me now is having emotional support. I’m going into some horrific, tough battles and all I really want is to be heard, understood, and cared about. I’d rather a person not have the right words, and say a prayer for me.

There are no heroes in this. I have my Superwoman cape and I’m not giving it back, but all kidding aside, being supported means a great deal to me. The simple fact that I’m asking for it shows me that I’ve grown. Help and support, that’s all I need at the moment.

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

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