Honesty

Letting It Pass

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People make an awful lot of assumptions when you keep the majority of your thoughts private. They desperately try to read your body language and facial expressions, but they don’t know what any of them mean, so again, they make assumptions. I’m not the kind of person anyone should be making assumptions about.

I have a very close-knit group of friends who I’d do anything for. I have a handful of family members I value, and sometimes even that is iffy. Beyond that, I keep things extremely quiet. It doesn’t mean I don’t think, feel, or love. It just means I keep things contained. My brother calls it “extreme cop face”. He will often joke that I’m working for the CIA because I keep my private life SO private, it’s basically a mystery. Growing up the way I did, I felt like I had to. It was a way of protecting myself. We all have coping mechanisms that, on occasion, follow us through life. It doesn’t mean they’re wrong or that you need to change, it’s simply how you keep yourself in check.

This is the second year in a row where I was invited to Passover functions. My entire life before this, I either spent the holiday with my parents and Grandmother, or I didn’t celebrate at all. I was sick in bed last year, so I did not attend anything. I’m not that far from it now, I’m in horrific agony, but this year I just flat-out said no. No to someone else’s friends, where I can’t go through the interrogation I know is coming, and no to my cousins, because I’m not schlepping thirty minutes away two nights in a row for something that isn’t all that important to me. Sad, but true. I love my cousin and I’d kill for him, but not enough to sit through something that is basically traumatic for me.

Because I said no, assumptions were made and accusations flew. I was accused of being “socially phobic”. Not true. I am not AFRAID of people. If I were, I’d never leave the fucking house or speak to anyone! I dislike people. I dislike inane conversation, things that do not matter to me, conversation I have no business taking part in, bullshit, falseness, disloyalty, petty, catty crap, and knowing in advance that I don’t belong. What smart person puts themselves into situations where they already know they do NOT belong?! I don’t. I have better things to do with my time. It’s valuable.

I am not one of those people that believes that good exists in everyone. I’m smarter than that. That’s like saying prisons aren’t full of murderers and rapists. Yeah, I bet they all have hearts of gold, too (Yes, I do enjoy my sarcasm.). If people want to meet me, they should be able to do so on comfortable terms. A holiday is not one of them. That’s my feeling on the subject. Besides, I lack the ability to pretend I’m enjoying myself when I am in pain, annoyed, or intolerant of those around me. I like so few people, it’s not even funny, but I am by no means phobic of others. I’ve made more new friends in the past year than I’ve made in the last ten. If I was indeed “socially phobic”, those friendships would never have made it as far as they have. Those I am now super-close with never would have gotten as close as they have, either. So let’s call it what it actually is: Socially selective. I’ve always been this way. I’ve always picked and chosen my friends because I am the type of person that doesn’t have to accept the crumbs of life. My mother always told me “Choose your friends wisely.” She was right. I’ve been burned by friends I did not choose, so there you go. I am socially selective. It’s not a fucking crime against humanity.

I don’t feel the need to attend every single thing I am invited to. Let’s face it; there aren’t a lot of things to begin with and sometimes, when I’m not sick, I just want peace and quiet to focus on the work I’m doing.

I have a religious function coming up in late June/early July that I will indeed attend, but I’ve known about it for months and that’s different than last-minute mentions. I have time between now and then to put an outfit together, and even if I feel like shit, drag myself because I promised my cousin I’d be there. It’s a special moment for him, and since I’m the only family he has here, I’ll go because he asked and because he told me how he felt about me living so close.

I have a friend coming to visit this summer, as well. We’re trying to plan a day or two where we can just hang out and have fun. I’d NEVER agree to being out in the sun during the summer for just anyone, so she was thrilled when I suggested we make solid plans. For me to know in advance that I have something to look forward to is really nice. But these are things with my peers. If I’m going out, I want to have fun. I don’t want to be pissed off, miserable, depressed, unhappy, in pain, or have my plans made for me by someone else. Life is short and I want to enjoy the time I spend and who I spend it with. I want to be able to be myself, knowing I’m not being judged. I want to be around people who appreciate and respect that I am imperfect, goofy, inappropriately hilarious, sarcastic, witty, smart, and that I don’t take crap from anyone. There’s a softer side to me, too, but very few people get to see her and that’s exactly how it should be. I believe in reserving pieces of myself for myself.

I can’t recall the last time someone asked me what I wanted to do instead of telling me what was being done and asking if I wanted to tag along. There’s a difference between the two, and for me, it’s an immense difference. If someone wants to spend time with me, it can’t be all about them. That’s not right, nor is it fair. If “going out” is going to leave me stressed, angry, in pain, or worse, all three, then I’m not going to engage. I’d gain more by staying home and learning something as opposed to making myself sick.

This year, I just need the holiday to pass. I am trying to focus on my health. I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled and I want to go into it with a list of issues to cover. I want to hit as many points as humanly possible because no one should have to suffer like this. I always tell other people to make lists before they go to the doctor, and I find myself doing that now, too. I know it will result in x-rays, lab work, MRIs, and a referral to a neurologist, but that’s better than nothing. I’d rather look forward to all of that as opposed to continuing to suffer. I can handle starting fresh, but I can’t handle the pain for another second. I shouldn’t be struggling to walk or feeling like someone has put rods in my spine. I am tired of feeling like I’ve been beaten or run over by a truck. I’m tired of looking at my back and seeing nothing but bruises. Hell, I’m tired of finding bruises on my body, period.

Not celebrating a crucial holiday has nothing to do with my faith. G-d knows who and what I am. I am imperfect. I pray. I hold doors for people. I let people ahead of me on line in stores. I give to charity and help people whenever I am able. I call people and check in to make sure they’re okay. I write letters, e-mails, and send cards. I try never to forget a birthday or an important moment in someone’s life. Celebrating a holiday doesn’t make you a good or bad person. Being emotionally present for people is more important to me. Not being cruel and hurtful is more important to me. Being able to look at myself in the mirror and know I do more right than wrong is more important to me.

I’ve said it before, but life is indeed short. I don’t get to spend a lot of it happy. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I was happy or what it felt like, but at the beginning and end of each day, at least I’m real. These things don’t have to be important to everyone, but they do have to be important to me.

Wishing everyone a Happy Passover and/or a lovely week ahead.

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

Doubting Myself

Miss Poison Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Reading, Writing , , , , , , , , ,

All writers have moments when they feel unprepared. Me? On occasion I will say “I wish I were talented.” or “I can’t write this.” In other words, even the best of us have bad days. Or weeks. We all have a little doubt, or we’d be completely full of crap.

I hold it in really well, but I have a lot of doubt when it comes to material I haven’t been writing since day one.

When I first began writing, I did toy around with some fiction. I spent about four or five years writing it for FUN, and when I moved from one state to another, I trashed every single printed page and everything I’d saved it to. Why? Because I took a look at it, saw my growth, and realized that even though it had been fun, it was infantile compared to what I truly wanted to be writing. I didn’t ever want to come across it again because it was nonsense. I decided then that it was okay to read fiction, but it wasn’t in my best interests to be writing it. I did not personally excel in made-up worlds.

Fast-forward and I’ve since created a Dark Urban Fantasy series, which I will be refocusing on at some point in the future (Meaning not today, but soon.), and I am currently working on something I’m not completely comfortable with. However, it is allowing me to explore my emotional depth, and maybe that’s the entire point. Maybe that’s why this story haunted me for months. Maybe it is a reminder that I’m human, and that not every part of me has to be put into storage under lock and key. There are certain lines in the book that are straight out of my own life.

More than once I’ve caught myself saying “Do I have to publish it under my name?” Yes. Yes, I do. I cannot worry about the thoughts of others. I can only tell the story, and move forward. There will be good reviews, bad reviews, and middle of the road reviews. I’m used to that, because not everyone likes my writing style and plenty of people like me even less. Regardless of what people think or say, I still have to tell the story.

For the last few days, I took it upon myself to do some research. I read a lot to see if anyone had anything similar out there, as a precautionary measure. Even if I didn’t know about it, someone could still accuse me of a form of plagiarism. My determination after a few books is that after a certain point, a lot of stories start to blend into one another. Everyone tells their stories a little differently. Some are good, some aren’t, but ultimately I need to stop worrying. Comparing and contrasting isn’t my job. Writing IS.

And so I sit here today, as per usual, with a lower back and left shoulder that are in desperate need of medical treatment. Just walking yesterday killed me, and by walking I mean 3 ½ miles worth. I have no idea how I’m functioning today.

No, I’m not being stubborn. The insurance I had doesn’t cover the doctor I want to see, who is local, so I switched temporarily, just to be able to get in with ONE doctor until I can find someone to see me on the other plan. They told me it wouldn’t go into effect until May 1st, but that I am still covered regardless and not to worry. However, when I went to pick up my medication yesterday, I was already covered by the new plan. I stared at the pharmacy tech and she said “They’re SUCH liars. You can speak to five different people in a day and they’ll all tell you a different story. This happens every day, all day long with these people.” It isn’t the first time I’ve thought that in regard to this company, she just got it out of her mouth before I said something equally as honest.

Technically, I should be at Urgent Care instead of sitting here writing. Alas, this might be another one of those weeks where I don’t get to prioritize my health because of outside circumstances beyond my control. The doctor can’t see me until the end of the month/early May, so Urgent Care seemed like a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, they have bankers hours and I don’t want to show up only to be told they don’t take my insurance. I’d probably lose it on someone. As it is, I have until June 29th to change my insurance AGAIN and then start over with a whole new set of doctors that will be G-d only knows where! What’s the point of having health insurance when no one is accepting new patients OR they’re so far away, it’s utterly pointless?! It’s extremely frustrating to me.

And so, I write. I write through the pain, I try to write it out of my system emotionally, and I desperately try not to sit here in tears when the pain is too much (which is 99% of the time).

There are days I’d like my original life back. One where very few doubts entered my mind, and where being able to walk, sit, stand, think, etc., were not issues because my life wasn’t chock full of agonizing pain.

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

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“Who Are You?”

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A few days ago a family member offered to read my new manuscript. It was a very “Alice In Wonderland” moment. I damn near said “Whooo Are YOU?” and everything, just like the caterpillar asks Alice. I turned my face to the right, in utter mortification.

“I can be objective.” was their argument. Um, I’d rather you not be.

Then they asked “Don’t you have anyone you trust who you would want to read it and give you their honest opinion?” I said no. I wasn’t kidding. “How about your best friend?” My best friend Marion is not a big reader, mostly because she reads at work all week long and can’t stand it when she’s on her own time, which is completely understandable. I could write the worst crap and she’d tell me it was fantastic. Not that I’ve EVER written crap in the 20+ years she & I have been friends, but you get my drift. Bestie #2 suffers from Fibromyalgia with terrible brain fog, so asking her to read 100,000 words, or more, would be akin to asking her to lift a crate of dynamite over her head while setting a match to it.

I then had my writer’s moment of realizing I have no Beta Readers. None whatsoever. And in truth? I don’t really trust anyone with my work. As if it’s been a well-kept secret; I’m a fucking control freak. However, experience has taught me to not only protect my work fiercely, but NEVER to hand it over to someone I haven’t thoroughly vetted.

A friend isn’t always the right person to ask. If they don’t want to hurt your feelings, they’re not going to be 100% honest. As the person “most likely to be intimidating”, I don’t think a single friend of mine would say boo to me when it comes to my work. A few would be honored to read it, and others? Not so much. It’s putting pressure on someone. Plus, most people who aren’t writers themselves can’t point out issues. As an editor, I can point out issues in every single thing I look at that is written, from a restaurant menu to a real estate flyer. I self-correct as people speak; I’m THAT bad.

I don’t worry that what I’ve written isn’t good. I know it is. However, it’s not finished. Until you know the story is done, why would you say “Here, can you read this unfinished manuscript?” Seriously?!

Yesterday I hit 91,000 words on the umpteenth rewrite. The decision to either make this story a one-shot deal (which is what I originally intended) or to turn it into 2-3 books, is an ever-present issue. The longer it gets, the more you have to realize it has branch-out potential. The characters are strong, interesting, and I’d hate to lose them. They’re lighter than what I normally write. Freer. More enjoyable because they’re easier to tap into. It’s a lot like knowing your hands, or your own heart. These characters are pieces of me in a very different way, and I am protective of them.

One day, I will have to let them fly out into the world and be judged. That day is NOT today, in their current state. They need time to blossom and flourish, and that’s normal. I refuse to feel pressured to complete something when I know in my bones that it’s not done. While I was able to get past that feeling of being stuck around page twenty-five, I no longer feel that way any more. I do, however, feel like the story needs a break from me looking at it fifty times a day. Progress does not occur when you psychoanalyze and criticize your own body of work for ten hours, or more, each day. That’s not productive.

So instead of staying up until 3:30 in the morning writing, which I’ve been doing for weeks and weeks, I went to bed early last night and actually got under six hours of sleep (which is the new norm post-Spring Forward). If I hadn’t hurt a toe in my sleep (No, I have NO idea how I did it. I just know it hurts and I had to take care of it immediately.) and been searching for the Neosporin, thus letting Kitten know that Mommy is awake because I was rummaging around in the dark, I might still be asleep. Instead, her Majesty thinks it’s breakfast time. It’s not. I went into the kitchen and food bowls are still filled, water bowl is good, and breakfast isn’t until about 8:30 a.m. If she keeps being aggressive, I may have to feed them earlier, but this usually results in the death stare at 3:00 in the afternoon while I’m trying to work. Once you’ve got two sets of eyes on you, it’s harder to say “You have another hour before you’re getting fed.” They’re not being starved. I actually just switched them over to a new grain-free food this weekend. I do think she wants attention because the rain is coming down hard and it makes her nervous, but mostly, I know my cat. She’s all about the food. LOL.

Today I feel like I can look at the manuscript with fresher eyes. I can get the Lexicon prepared for the beginning of the book and maybe do a few other things that until recently, I just haven’t had the head for.

The freedom of working with personal deadlines, instead of rigid ones, it that I’m answering to myself. I’ve already achieved a LOT by writing this multiple times, and writing three different alternatives to the beginning of the story. I’m not patting myself on the back, but I’m not sitting here in shame, either.

If the average reader understood how long it takes for a quality book to be written, edited, and published, they’d be shocked. An author friend of mine, who is currently dealing with copyright infringement lawsuit (someone stole her work and didn’t credit her for it), is paid fifty cents  (U.S.) for every book sold. She’s a very interesting writer, spiritual, thought-provoking, and her take-home is fifty cents per book. Years worth of work put into each book she writes to share with the world, and that’s the paycheck. I was BEYOND insulted for her. And yet, this is often the norm. If she sells 20,000 books, her take-home is $10,000, before taxes. After taxes, it’s a grave insult, but this is such a common theme. It’s why so many people have turned away from traditional publishing and have started self-publishing. And yet, most self-published titles (not all, just most) are poorly edited, riddled with mistakes and major errors, and read like first drafts that were rushed. So when a close friend asked if I thought my manuscript would sell “this month”, I had to explain to her that it is a lengthy, oftentimes frustrating process to get anything sold.

Moreover, I have committed myself to writing a spec piece on Chronic Pain disorders and actual pain patients’ experiences from diagnosis to now. I will be interviewing people by phone and e-mail to get their stories into a series of articles. I write this in the hope that our voices will be heard, but I’m also not selling it for pennies on the dollar, either. It’s an important story that needs to be told, and who better than a pain patient to tell the story? People are reading, and believing, an awful lot of bullshit produced by the media on this particular subject. Patients are outraged, and yet, few of them are willing to stand up and speak up. Venting on message boards and in groups is a waste of time, but participating in something bigger? That’s how you get the right people to listen. If any reader would like to be a part of this, please feel free to leave me a comment and let me know you’d like your story told. I will be changing names for those who aren’t entirely comfortable with their business being put out there for the world,

Today is a brand new day. There’s work to be done, laundry to be washed, phone calls to be made, but if anyone is going to be reading my work this week, it’s gonna be me.

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

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Friday Night Rewrites

Miss Poison Writing , , , , , , ,

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I started rewrites on this novel late last night/very early this morning. I’m fifty pages in and I’ve never felt more like crying for a protagonist in my life. For the record; she’s never made me feel like this before, so I feel protective and unsure.

I thought a new introduction to the story would be better, or at the very least, give me a third option to present. Instead, I find myself struggling. I get the distinct impression this is what April is really bringing me; stress. 😦

I love this story and I’ve enjoyed writing it, but this rewrite is making me doubt myself. I hate to admit it, but I’m not a born writer of fiction. It’s not what I cut my teeth on day in and day out. My brain doesn’t function in alternative realities or universes, unless written by others. However, I AM determined to get this written. I just have to be realistic about my time and energy. I have to cut myself some slack and not expect perfection. I’m at that point where I just have to write and write well. No bullshit, no filler, no nonsense. Just pure story.

I’m exhausted and burnt out. Every time I take an hour to distract myself, I find myself back in front of the damn file, trying to work out the story and get it back on track. The problem with this rewrite though is that the others were completely on track, and this one is a new direction. The direction is scary, but I have to allow it to play out before I decide if it’s good or if it belongs in the scrap yard.

Yesterday someone told me I’m “an amazing writer”. I politely said “Thank you.” because what else was I supposed to say? However, today is one of those days where I wish I was a little less something and a little more something else. I’m not entirely sure what though. 😦

Wishing you all a peaceful, relaxing weekend. If you get stressed, keep in mind that I’m sitting in front of the screen with a migraine and neck pain, wishing this story would unfold instead of cause me emotional heartache. To add insult to injury, I need a new heating pad for my neck. I’m not sure how I killed mine, but it hates me. Bleh!

Back to the grindstone…

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

Square One

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Square One

What happens when you’ve written multiple drafts of the same novel, in a month, and you find yourself liking both versions that are relatively complete? I suspect this doesn’t happen to a lot of people, but it has happened to me.

After staring at each of them on and off for a full day, I had a little breakdown I will call my “What The FUCK?!” moment. How was it possible that I wrote two versions, each one taking a different course of action, only for me to really like both of them? I stared at all the work done and said “Okay. You can start over, taking the best of both worlds and re-fashion the story into something stronger, and or you can do another rewrite from scratch.” And then, I bitched and moaned about having to rewrite it from another perspective.

Apparently, I don’t really know how to take a break from writing when the work is good. It’s frustrating. I feel a strong sense of responsibility to these characters and I want to tell their story the best way I know how. But honestly, I’m not sure how to do that at the moment. It makes me feel like I just wasted a month of devotion and effort, when in reality, the fact that I accomplished it at all was a combination of fortitude, stubbornness, and luck.

No one ever publishes their first draft, or even their fifth. Hell, an agent won’t even touch it if it’s not the very best version you can present. Both of these were number seven, I believe (I could be wrong, statistically it happens on occasion.). So, I am opening file number eight in the hopes that this time, I nail it. However, I’m going to stop pressuring myself to write every single day. I am going to let the story shape itself and take flight. I’m giving it a pair of wings.

This time, the story is going to be permitted to take me on a natural journey. I genuinely hope this one is the winner.

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

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Page After Page

Miss Poison Musings, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing , , , , , , , , ,

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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.

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

Sick Writer

Miss Poison Migraines, Poison In Lethal Doses, Thoughts, Writing , , , , , ,

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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.

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

constantlytorn

 

1 in 3 Americans Blame Doctors For National Opioid Epidemic, STAT-Harvard Poll Finds

Link Miss Poison Articles, Opioids , , , , ,

https://www.statnews.com/2016/03/17/stat-harvard-opioid-poll/

The “epidemic” was created by the government. It’s another way to try and control patients. The pharmaceutical companies are jacking up their prices left and right, and I know a lot of people who are fighting their insurance companies to pay for their medication each month.

When you’re telling cancer patients that you’re not going to keep them comfortable, it’s a legitimate problem. Anyone who is terminal or in chronic pain should not be told that there’s nothing that can be done for them.

When you’re drug-testing your patients who have not signed a pain contract, you’re violating some serious laws under the guise of “medicine”.

I make no apologies for blaming doctors who are refusing to be doctors. The Hippocratic Oath states “Do No Harm”. In the past year, it’s become “Do No Harm To Me Or My Bottom Line”; because people are no longer being treated like patients. I had a doctor cut my pain medication off five years ago. I’ve struggled terribly ever since. There was no weaning process (It wasn’t a narcotic.), but I’d taken this medication for Fibromyalgia for fifteen years. I took it as needed. Between that medication and a muscle relaxer, I was better able to function most days. Five years later and I find myself in a place where the disease has progressively gotten worse and there’s no relief in sight. My options are Kratom and CBD oil. Over time, both can become extremely expensive. The CBD oil recommended to me is $224 a bottle. I know it’s something that will last six months or longer because the dosage is tiny, but then I wondered what the hell I’d do if it didn’t help me. I’d not only be out the cash, I’d be back at square one.

I would love to see doctors fighting back against this insanity. Prescribing monthly medication to someone to ease their suffering and give them a slightly better quality of life is far different from legitimate addicts who choose street drugs. Are Vicodin and Percocet the problem? No. Is heroin a problem in North America? Hell yes. It’s a problem in many countries, we aren’t special snowflakes. But let’s not accuse sufferers who are going to doctors for help and call them addicts. People with pain matter.

Doctors are leaving this country to practice medicine elsewhere. This will inevitably lead to less medical school enrollment, leaving us short on potential doctors who could actually do some good.

In a time where the government is fucked beyond words, pain patients MUST support each other and stand up. Voices make a difference when they’re powerful enough to be heard.

Living With Integrity

Quote Miss Poison Quotes , , , , ,

“Living with integrity means: Not settling for less than what you know you deserve in your relationships. Asking for what you want and need from others. Speaking your truth, even though it might create conflict or tension. Behaving in ways that are in harmony with your personal values. Making choices based on what you believe, and not what others believe.”
―Barbara De Angelis