There’s A Difference

2015-09-27 Miss Poison Advice, Being Real, Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Social Media, Words, Writing Advice, Communication Skills, Criticism, Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, There's A Difference, Writing

Of late, I’ve noticed people feel incredibly safe behind their computer-based bubbles, but I often wonder how real people are being. Sometimes, stories don’t add up (You can’t bullshit me, I have common sense.), and other times, it takes about two seconds for someone to get offended by the simplest thing. What is that you may ask? Honesty.

Here are the facts: Not everyone is the world’s greatest writer, try though they might. Not everyone is talented, funny, or smart. However, there is seemingly a niche for everyone. To each their own. Everyone is entitled to be themselves, but please, be authentic.

When I say something, it’s not for shits and giggles, unless I’ve managed to make you laugh (I don’t go out of my way to be funny, but I know when I’m being a goofball. In print, not everyone’s sense of humor translates because you can’t hear the tone they’re saying something in). I come from a place of genuineness, and I think that resonates in my work and my words.

I’m not here as a “blogger”. I am here as an experienced writer and editor who, as of next year, will no longer be editing other people’s work. I am moving on to another creative endeavor, something I should have done ten years ago. I will continue to write, as I have an unfinished series of novels to complete for publishing, but I am tired of the bullshit, the drama, and the never-ending attempt to outdo one another, because no one wants to see you do better than them, no matter what they might say. Instead of people being happy for one another, people will go behind a person’s back and tear them apart, as if we’re all trapped in high school. That is not, and has never been, acceptable to me.

One aspect of my brusque honesty is that people often mistake it for me being “mean” or “having a bad day”. For starters, I tend to reserve meanness for people who deserve it and two, I keep my bad days/moods to myself because that’s rude in my eyes, so understand that if I say something, it is meant to be helpful, not cruel. Why would I take my valuable time to comment and be mean to someone I don’t know personally? That makes no sense. While I realize there are people who would jump on that and do precisely that to as many people as possible, because starting fights with strangers is what keeps their days and nights “interesting”, I have absolutely no need to be less than who I am. If you lack the communication skills to deal with my honesty, I have to wonder how you will handle the inevitable criticism you are bound to receive on your work up the road.

Every writer has been criticized. I am not immune to that, but I have risen above it. I have been told a handful of insulting things over the course of 28 years as a writer, but you know what resonated most with me? All the genuine, positive feedback from absolute strangers who had no vested interest whatsoever in my success. If a person said “Take that out.” or “That’s not funny.” or “What did you mean by that?”, then I answered them. A huge part of writing is being able to properly communicate with your readers. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t just flip people the bird and tell them to have a nice day. If you ask me a question, I will give you an answer. You may or may not like it, but at least it will be genuine. Also, if I have something personal to say to you, I will say it directly to you, I will not embarrass you on a public platform (if you’re the shy type), nor will I be mean for the sake of being mean. That’s not how I roll.

I am not everyone’s cup of tea, nor is everyone my cup of tea. We don’t have to be. I’d rather have mutual respect as opposed to catty bitchiness behind my back, but the fact of the matter is, I cannot control other people’s reactions or behavior. I, however, can control mine.

If you have something to say to me, by all means, say it to me. There’s no need to be fake about it or passive-aggressive (two things I loathe with every breath I take). Try being real.

There is real criticism in this world. It is vindictive, hateful, and mean-spirited; it is meant to dissuade you from your goal(s). And then there is constructive criticism that is meant to help you and make you better. If you don’t know the difference between the two, precisely who is responsible for that? You are. One should roll off of you, you should know in your heart who you are. The other is to be positively absorbed in order to help you grow. If you decide to turn that into something more than what it is, so be it, but it just goes to show the intelligent speaker that you’re immature and not prepared for what’s to come.

And this is one of the reasons I do not want to edit for fledglings any more. If you cannot handle my honesty, which is meant to help and guide, then what the hell do you think you’re going to do when bad reviews pop up on every book web-site from here to eternity? Amazon, Goodreads, and a plethora of other sites will not delete bad reviews. As a reader, I’ve seen a million of them and many times, they have saved me money. Other times, there was one bad review, but 500 reviews explaining why you should read/buy the book in question. Bad reviews are going to happen, but they will not make or break you. Just like constructive criticism will not break you, but it WILL make you better. Take that to mean whatever you like. I speak from experience.

sethgodin — But for the sake of all that is Holy, know where to put commas and periods in your work. Every time you don’t, an editor bleeds to death. Do you really want that on your conscience?

One Of The Cruelest Things…

Image 2015-09-18 Miss Poison Honesty, Images/Photos/Quotes Care, Cruelty, Douglas Coupland, End, Fake People, Friendship, Honesty, Images/Photos/Quotes, Pretending

Which is precisely why the word “END” is in the word “FRIENDSHIP”. I’ve never ended a friendship out of bitchiness, jealousy, pettiness, or malice, but anyone who has shouldn’t be allowed to call themselves a woman.

Actions & Words

2015-09-15 Miss Poison Family, Friends, Friendship, Honesty, Love, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Support, Writing Compassion, Empathy, Family, Forgiving, Friends, Friendship, Honesty, Love, Miscarriage, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Support, Writing

Last week I was struggling pretty hard and opened up to a friend. Most people run for the hills when you’re blatant in your honesty with them, especially about anything difficult, but this friend showed me that I was not going to be kicked while I was down, that her arms and heart were open for me. Actions speak louder than words. You can say you’ll always be there for me, but actually being there? That’s far more important to me. Words, it turns out, are often meaningless when it truly matters. So, thank you for being there for me, B. I won’t forget that. XO.

When you’ve spent most of your life being abandoned by people, you come to expect that it will continue to cycle, regardless of what you do to try to break the chain. Forgiveness isn’t an option for me in most instances. I will let something go…for me, but I don’t allow the same people back into my life to continue to hurt and harm me. Once I no longer feel anything for you, be it love or respect, I’m emotionally done. I used to think that was odd, but it turns out it’s not. The heart, mind, and soul have boundaries too, and it’s okay to accept and honor that.

I’ve been contemplating for some time now getting in touch with family I haven’t spoken to in several years. Ultimately I have decided not to call until Thanksgiving, because I truly don’t feel as though I’ve ever been part of the family, and there’s only so much effort I can make. In my mind, this is their last chance and I’m not going to make any bones about that. Not everyone you share blood lines with is going to be true family. Thankfully, you can choose your friends, which makes up for everything you find lacking in your family. If you met 99% of mine, you’d never know I was related to them. My best friend Marion suggested a DNA test to make sure they’re actually my relatives. She was appalled by the differences. I spent my entire life thinking there was something wrong with me, but it turns out, it’s not me, it’s them, and she helped me see that.

This morning I learned of a friends’ miscarriage, and it put a lot of things into perspective for me. My heart breaks for the loss of the twins they were expecting. Yes, miscarriages happen every day, but if any two people deserved to be parents, it was them. I know in my heart that the right children will be gifted to them at the right time, and that they need time to fully mourn, but it knocked me down with immense sadness. An absolute stranger could tell me about a miscarriage and I’d feel sad for their loss. It’s called empathy. It never ceases to amaze me how much people are lacking in this department. I have moments where I only need to know the facts and how to fix the situations presented to me, but I’m not self-absorbed. I don’t ignore other people’s pain. Other people may ignore mine, but the humanity in me doesn’t allow me to ignore theirs. I don’t require a pat on the back for paying attention or looking deeply at other people. I’m simply being myself.

Take a moment during your busy day or week to look a little deeper at someone and a little less at yourself. You might be surprised by what you find.

This Is One Of My Lines- Do Not Fucking Cross It

2015-09-13 Miss Poison Anti-Semitism, Judaism, Knowledge, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Anti-Semitism, Compassion, Concern, Differences, Hatred, Honesty, Ignorance, Judaism, Kabbalah, Knowledge, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Religion, Rosh Hashanah, Writing

I don’t write about religion often. Usually I mention it in passing, not as core subject matter. I believe that we are all entitled to our personal beliefs, so long as we aren’t hurting anyone. However, when I DO write about religion, it’s because something has pissed me off, which brings me to why I am writing this. There’s a reason.

Nine times out of ten when people meet me, the first words out of their mouth are “What part of Italy are your parents from?” or “What part of Puerto Rico are you from?” (My brother also gets pegged as 100% Italian or Puerto Rican, except he has olive skin and I can totally see it in him, especially when he’s tan.) I stare at them, dumbfounded. For the record, my Italian ancestry is from Rome and Venice and my Spanish ancestry is from Spain and Argentina. To read about additional aspects you can read more here Ancestry, or ask me. Not that I think it is important, it’s not.

For clarity, let me set the stage for you: I am the palest white girl you might ever meet. My natural hair color is a dark brown that I call espresso (It is currently blue-black because I wanted a change.), and my eyes are hazel-green that are predominantly green. They change color depending on what I’m wearing and the mood I’m in. There is not a single thing about me that is distinctively any racial ethnicity over another, but I always get pegged for one of the two, and occasionally people assume I’m Irish (I think it’s my complexion.). I have no problem with any of that, but when I say “Actually, I’m Jewish and my ancestry is blended.”, people audibly gasp as if I just announced I am the reincarnation of Hitler and Stalin and I’m planning on world domination.

There is an awful lot of inter-religion racism that I find deplorable, and I discovered it within my family last year. While we might be related, however closely or distantly, we don’t all have the same facial features, for obvious reasons. I was talking to a cousin and her exact words were “No one thinks you’re Jewish because you don’t have the Jewish nose that walks into the room five minutes before you do, like mine.” My jaw was on the fucking floor at the disgust I heard in her voice. She openly admitted that she thinks it’s ugly, but that she doesn’t believe in spending the money on plastic surgery or she’d do something about it. All I could think was “There are things I don’t like about myself too, but I don’t look at my face that way.” I mentioned it to someone else and they told me “You don’t know what it’s like to go through life as an ugly person.” Again, I was floored. I have NO IDEA what they see that I do not.

I don’t possess that level of self-hatred for quirks of nature that make each of us unique. I treasure the fact that I inherited high cheekbones that both of my Grandmothers had, that I am the last of the hazel-green eyed women in my family (for now), and that I got my maternal Grandmother’s and mother’s full lips and widow’s peak. I am an amalgamation of three different generations of women, perhaps more, all with distinctive genetic blends. I don’t see myself as any one thing, but I do see myself as me.

But I digress.

About ten days ago, a friend of a friend sent me a Facebook request. Unlike most people, I do not accept friend requests simply because A knows B. I decided to do a little research. It took less than a minute to learn that the woman who wanted to be my “friend” is a 27-year-old Filipino woman, friends with someone I’ve known for a long time, who is married to a 70+ year old British man who is 100% anti-Semitic. Strike One.

His Facebook wall is full of BDS posts, anti-Israel posts, and all kinds of hate messages against Israel. Apparently every Jew on this planet “needs to be eliminated immediately” because “they’re all terrorists”. WOW! I stared at the screen, utterly speechless. This is who a young, pretty girl is married to?! Surely she can do better. I mean really, she’s stunning and appears to be sane. What is wrong with her?

He posts this crap in England and she’s asking him, in the Philippines, if this stuff is “true”. (That’s right, they don’t live together. Does this sound familiar?) His answer is “YES!”, along with additional colorful hate speech. Strike Two.

Instead of educating herself (There is NO reason anyone in this world should be THAT uneducated so as to believe such vile hatred about a country or a religion. You don’t have to be a Ph.D. candidate, you simply have to have a brain you utilize daily and not be ignorant.), she doesn’t question it. It’s coming from her husband, so she believes it. Strike Three. And get this: He’s a philosophy professor. Any university I know would revoke his tenure and fire him for that shit.

I immediately deleted her “friend request”. It would have resulted in an epic fight and I do not have the time, patience, or the inclination to educate someone who should be shipping off to an old age home sometime soon, as opposed to newly married to someone old enough to be his daughter who is either way too good for him, or maybe way too stupid.

If you want to believe that “Israel is plotting terror.”, do your fucking homework. It’s a tiny democratic country in the Middle East, home to Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike, surrounded by countries that all want to wipe them off the map because Israel is the only country in the world that is Jewish land, given to the Jewish people, so decreed by God.

I messaged my friend and explained the situation. She’s “friends” with both of them and I didn’t want to step on any toes because I didn’t know how close the relationship was or wasn’t. I’d never intentionally disrespect someone else’s friends. She agreed that I did the right thing, that the husband is crazy and that his hate messages bother her too, and she said she doesn’t understand his hate or where it comes from. And yet, her answer to dealing with him is to hide his posts on her Facebook wall, as opposed to outright deleting them OR telling him he’s wrong. That’s way too passive for me.

If someone says something derogatory to me because of my religion (or anything else, really), I call them out on their shit immediately. I have freedom of speech and I know how to use it. If you’re going to hide behind a computer and say stupid shit, I dare you to say it to my face. That’s the thing; these cowards NEVER actually come out from hiding and say a word to your face.

Sadly, the most hatred I have faced in terms of direct anti-Semitism has been from my own people. My own family, and other Jews. I suspect that a lot of that is because I “don’t look Jewish”. I have no idea what that even means, because it is a wholly racist comment. I wouldn’t tell a white woman that she “doesn’t look African”, despite the fact that she just told me that’s where she’s from, so why would I brand anyone else as not looking like an image someone else is putting in one’s mind? That is incredibly ignorant.

Would you tell Behati Prinsloo, wife to Adam Levine, that she doesn’t look like an African woman (She is Namibian. I do my homework.)? No, I didn’t think so. Because not only is she white and a supermodel, but the last time I checked her English is better than most people born in this country.

In my mind, I don’t see color. I see people. Everyone is different, everyone is unique. There are religious differences, yes. The difference in Judaism is that we do not believe in Jesus or that Jesus is the son of God. There are dietary laws and some other historical and biblical differences, but the differences aren’t so enormous that one needs to argue about it. I can argue the two different Bibles with you until the cows come home, but does that really matter? No. To each their own, so long as you aren’t hurting anyone.

However, any form of hatred hurts us all. Hatred is taught. We are not born knowing hate. I grew up surrounded by other religions and cultures, never once thinking anything of it. As I’ve gotten older, I realize how incredibly sheltered some people are, and that is scary and eye-opening to me.

I don’t often wear a symbol of faith because it feels redundant, but the other day a woman came running up to me to ask about my Triple Goddess pendant. I had it custom-made about five years ago. In between the three phases of the moon that represent Maiden, Mother, and Crone are two Stars of David and a very large gemstone in the center represents the full moon. It was my first time wearing it. That is precisely who and what I am. I believe in duality of God and Goddess (this is represented in Kabbalah, but is represented as male and feminine aspects of God as opposed to duality.), but I am also 100% Jewish. And as a Jewish woman, there is no room in my world, or the world on a whole, for anti-Semitism or hatred. Make an off-color, stupid, or rude remark to or in front of me and we’ll see if you’re sitting and/or eating tomorrow. I am supremely polite, I believe we all have the right to practice whatever we believe in so long as no harm is coming to anyone, but I will never be polite in the face of hatred or ignorance, nor will I tolerate it.

Tonight is the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. It marks the end of the year 5775 on the Jewish calendar and brings in 5776. It is one of the holiest holidays we celebrate. Many people have told me that this year, their temples have notified them of police presence and/or security for services, partly due to all of the anti-Semitism that has occurred all over the world over the past year. I think it’s smart, but it’s sad.

I, personally, don’t attend temple unless I am invited to something that calls for it. It has nothing to do with anything other than my attention span. Services are long, are almost predominantly in Hebrew or Ladino, and my brain can only listen for a certain amount of time before I space out and/or start to fall asleep, which is rude beyond words, so I prefer to pray throughout the year, light candles on my own, and take time to reflect and work on myself. It is emotionally heavy for me, so I feel it’s crucial to know my boundaries. Part of that is knowing myself. The holidays are tough on me, and going to temple isn’t going to ease that. I don’t have to be among other people to be what I was born, or to be what I believe. That makes sense for some people, but for me, it doesn’t help matters, so I tough it out.

Here’s hoping the new year will be prosperous and sweet. Let there be more understanding, more compassion, more concern for others, more helping people in need, because at the end of the day, there is no room for hate. It benefits nothing and no one.

L’Shana Tovah!

Reflecting

2015-09-11 Miss Poison Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, September 11th, Writing Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Reflecting, September, September 11th, Writing

This morning is one of immense reflection. Those of us who lived through 9/11 and the aftermath have all lived through a monumental aspect of human history. A friend suggested it was merely American history and I said “It affected everyone, no matter where one may live. You don’t have to be American to empathize.” Try clearing customs at an International airport anywhere in the world and tell me it’s not different now than it was before 9/11, because it is.

I was one of the lucky ones. At the end of the day, I was able to count my family members and friends safe. But I will never forget crossing back into the city, watching truck after truck on the other side of the highway bringing in debris and body parts to be sifted through at a landfill. It was disgusting, creepy, and appalling to see.

The smell in the air was sickening. You could still see smoke, you could still smell smoke, but there was more than that. I cried, I could feel spirits in the air. That might seem crazy to people who aren’t sensitive, but it was like being smacked over and over with torturous cries. The emotional pain was palpable. Getting closer, seeing the destruction of the skyline in person… There are no words.

One Word Trade Center, which was fully completed roughly a year ago, offends my mind. I understand my city wanting to come back and come back strong, but there are better ways to do it. Another skyscraper wasn’t the way to go. It’s like putting a target on the city itself.

But New York was not the only city affected. Washington D.C. took an immense hit, and people often forget about that. There is a memorial garden in the area I currently live in for the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania. They held a candlelight ceremony last night, there was a memorial this morning beginning at 8:30 (which is going on as I type this), and Sunday there will be a 5K. I used to listen to the named each year, but I’ve since stopped doing that. Not because I could ever possibly forget, but because I can no longer listen on an emotional level.

I was asked to take a meeting today. Despite the fact that it will delay my life for about a week, I said no. I tried rescheduling and could not get through to anyone; I couldn’t even leave a message. In my mind, today is not the day for meetings, it is a day to show respect, to be introspective, and to remember. It’s a day to be grateful for life, and a day not to take anything, or anyone, for granted.

National Suicide Prevention Week

2015-09-10 Miss Poison Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Suicide Prevention, World Suicide Prevention Day

I am quite extreme in my openness and honesty in regard to suicide. The more it bothers someone, the louder my voice will become. This is not a subject to be shy, passive, or hush-hush about. It requires a powerful voice. No one has ever accused me of subtly.

In 1993, I lost someone very dear to me to suicide. To this day, it affects me deeply. His battle altered the course of my life, steering me in directions so that the same mistakes would not be repeated. I couldn’t have done anything to save him, but is there a way to save someone else by being me; by listening with both ears, as well as with my mind, and heart? YES.

Four years ago one of my best friends lost her brother to suicide. I knew something was very wrong as soon as i saw her e-mail. There was something about the lone message sitting in my inbox, a quality to it that shimmered with agony. Having not opened it immediately, I was sick to my stomach the instant I saw it. Reading it and having the realization hit me was mind-blowing. I was, and will forever be, devastated for her and her family. I still see her brother in my mind’s eye as being full of life.

I, myself, struggle with the idea of living every single day. It is not, nor will it ever be, an easy battle. I have very little support to help keep me going or to help bring me back when I am ready to end it all. In fact, I have been told “Just do it already, I’m sick of hearing about it.” I have also been told “No one gives a shit if you live or die.”

There is an exceptionally long list of things you do NOT say to someone who is suicidal, or who you suspect is hurting so deeply that the wrong words might send them in a direction you are not personally ready to be responsible for emotionally. We all have a responsibility to look after one another.

You can claim to care about a person until the cow’s come home, but when you’re truly there for someone, you don’t let them go over the ledge. That’s REAL. That’s CONCERN. That is HUMANITY. The rest? That’s just someone trying to make themselves feel better or make themselves seem like a good person when they aren’t.

Each day, we make a choice as to what type of person we are. Me? I’ll save you from a ledge, EVERY SINGLE TIME. Even if you’re a stranger. And no, I don’t need anyone to think well of me for it. I’m just being me.

“Get Rid Of Your Americanisms”…

2015-09-082015-09-08 Miss Poison Being Real, Friendship, Honesty, Life, Men, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Relationships, Women, Writing Acceptance, Friendship, Honesty, Life, Love, Men, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Relationships, Submissiveness, Women, Writing

I am a firm believer that no matter where we’re from, it is always a part of who we are. The place where we grow up and spend our formative years is instilled in us, no matter how far away we may move.

As a Native New Yorker, you will never, ever hear me say I am from anywhere else on this planet. “Concrete jungle where dreams are made of…”

I’ve lived in other places over the years and to this day people still stay “You’re not from around here, are you?” I will never get rid of my subtle accent, and I refuse to allow anyone to make me feel self-conscious about it. I didn’t grow up easy, but I’m proud of where I’m from.

A friend of mine, after several years of “marriage” (I have a hard time calling it that), is immigrating to the United Kingdom. Her husband told her she had to “get rid of her Americanisms” because she will be “British”. I was utterly appalled reading her Facebook post, as if this was something cute. “Yes hubby bunny, I’ll get right on that.” I had a thought that went with that bit of submissive nausea, and I totally blame Jodi Ambrose for it. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 😛 (I’m kidding, slightly. It just goes to show you our minds are both in the gutter, and thank GOD for that! Make sure you read Jodi’s awesome Eulogy post. It is a work of art.)

I was quick to inform her that citizenship, which will take 2-3 years, as she will be there temporarily on a spouse visa, will not make her British-born. She will never stop being a native of the country she was born in. That’s like me dying my hair blonde, moving to Finland, and claiming to be a native. No one would EVER believe me, so why pretend? Why would anyone ask you to change how you speak and how you think in order to make you something you’re never going to be, except on paper? It blows my mind.

She’s not American, but she was raised to speak American English and taught to aim for a better life. I told her she’s being brainwashed, and she is, because she’s willing to let someone a good 20 years older than her tell her how to think, write, spell, what to wear, eat, etc. Five years ago, she may have been single, but she knew how to think for herself. Now she has a “husband” with all of her passwords (If you’re one of “those types”, I strongly question your I.Q.) who is very quick to jump down anyone’s throat for reminding her that she has a mind of her own. I suspect there’s a reason he’s so controlling; and I don’t find anything cute or attractive about it. It’s worrisome, to say the least. Have we been over the fact that if you use the word “hubby” in my presence, I might lose my lunch? He’s British, shouldn’t she just refer to him as her “old man”? It’s what he is, let’s be technical.

Every friend I have that isn’t American born, but has dual-citizenship in this country, is the first to say “I’m Italian.” or “I’m Swedish.” They are proud of where they’re from, they’re proud of their U.S. citizenship, but that doesn’t stop them from also being themselves as people. They haven’t stopped saying “In my country…” no matter how long they’ve lived here. I find nothing wrong with that and I’d NEVER correct them or tell them to “adapt” or to change their method of thinking or their speech patterns. They are who they are, and I respect that. They can lapse into any language they want to speak in front of me, I do not find it offensive, its merely force of habit. They do it in front of husbands, wives, children, etc. It is what it is. But when someone is controlling you, it’s a whole other ballgame and it’s NOT okay. There’s a reason men don’t talk to me like that; it’s because they value their natural teeth and the family jewels.

Maybe submissive women is a thing I’m unaware of. I was not raised to be a passive, submissive, unquestioning, brainless, giggling little fool. If being a wallflower spouse/partner does it for you, well good for you, but it repulses me. Even when a man is super quiet and lets someone run roughshod over him, it’s repulsive to me. When people make their relationship your business by publicly discussing their life via social media, they should expect people to chime in. Her husband attacked me once for being honest with her and I told her if he ever did it again, he’d be sorry for it because her friendships aren’t his business. I’ve been friends with her for over 20 years. I’m not going to blow smoke up her ass. Good friends tell you the truth.

He got her a puppy about ten months ago and she is leaving three animals behind in another country to be taken care of “by family”, with no intent to bring them to England whatsoever. That too, is absolutely disgusting and heartless to me. I suggested re-homing all of them so that they could have good lives and her response was “This will be our vacation home, we’ll be back here when we retire, so we’ll see them when we come back.” I have NO IDEA what dream world she’s living in, but in my world, you don’t leave animals behind. That is cruel and evil. She has no guarantees whatsoever that her “family” is going to take care of her home and animals. I do not want to hear how that ends, but I’m sure I will.

When you truly love someone, you don’t tell them they need to change, unless it’s for health reasons via doctor’s orders. When you truly have someone’s best interests at heart, you realize that they’re uprooting their entire life to live in a foreign country for you and that it’s an immense sacrifice. They’re not “visiting”, though I already know the outcome of this story.

I am not good with “yes people”. It physically makes me ill when women behave like that in relationships, especially when they genuinely mean it. It’s not like the sarcasm of “Yes, dear.” that many American women use. Most of us say it, but we don’t actually mean that we’re going to wash, fold, and iron your underwear for you. If you do wash, fold, and iron someone’s underwear, I hope he’s paying you incredibly well, or he’s your son and you want him to look his best. Whatever floats your boat. <rolls eyes>

Wherever you are from, BE YOU. Don’t ever let anyone, not even a spouse, tell you there’s something wrong with that. My best friends are almost all overseas, and I love them like sisters. I would never tell any of them they have to change their speech, thoughts, views, etc., to be anything more than who they are as people. One of my best friends does hope to achieve American citizenship at some point in the future, which I will support, encourage, and assist with in terms of helping her study American history so she can pass her tests (She’ll probably learn way more than I ever did, or more than I can remember.). I want her to achieve that dream and be able to live out her days with an American passport if that’s what she desires. Why not? In my mind, if a friend has a dream, you help them to the best of your ability if they’re unsure if it is attainable or not. You support and encourage. Moreover, as a life partner, I cannot ever imagine turning to a man and saying “Could you not be Welsh, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Swedish…”, etc. and don’t speak the language in front of me “because you’re AMERICAN NOW!” Not only is that rude beyond words, but it’s disrespectful.

If you’ve been with a person for a while and marry them or live with them, then you pretty much know what you’re getting into. Yes, they’re going to have odd little quirks that will drive you crazy, but if someone is going to be a psycho control-freak, you might want to re-think how you’re treated and have a major discussion about respect and boundaries because being told you’re not good enough unless you do A,B, C, D, and E is utterly unacceptable.

When I hear crap like this and a woman accepts it like that’s what you do in a marriage, either to avoid conflict or to be a submissive dumbass, it 100% makes me want to say “FUCK NO!” the next time someone asks me to marry them.

No matter where I go in life, no matter where I live, no matter who I’m in a relationship with, I intend to continue being a badass bitch. Take it or leave it, gents.

Pass The Hammer

2015-09-02 Miss Poison Musings, Noise, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Being Real, Honesty, Migraines, Musings, Noise, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Rudeness, Writing

In the suburbs, it seems that people are always trying to “top” one another by adding on to their homes. In this particular area we all have about the same amount of physical land, but the houses range in size ever so slightly. Most of the homes are pretty standard 1-3 bedrooms with one bathroom, some also have a half bath. Those that have been remodeled within the last 1-15 years are larger internally and/or externally, depending on who did the design.

For several years I had to listen to the racket of two neighbors having work done on their homes. If their contractors were on a deadline, there never appeared to be one based on the daily influx of noise that made me want to hurl hammers at the workers up on the roof. It didn’t matter what the temperature was outside, they were always making noise the second there was a glimmer of light in the sky.

A month or so ago, a house a few doors down began an add-on. I honestly thought it was on the opposite street behind me because the noise felt THAT close to my head. Every morning the banging, drilling, etc., would begin and it doesn’t seem to cease until about 4:00 PM, sometimes later. There are days they’re done at 2:00 and those are the days I praise God for the silence because sometimes, a woman needs to think in peace, ya know?

Last week I noticed that this add-on is seemingly an entirely new wing to the house. I hadn’t noticed before because I don’t go up that side of the street often enough. I have NO IDEA how they intend to actually achieve this before I murder someone.

This morning, on a viciously cloudy day, I had hoped the weather might keep them away. Nope. At 7:15, the nail guns and hammers started. I wasn’t asleep, but it is taking every last ounce of self-control to not go two houses down and tell them to get the fuck down before I go up there myself and thrown them down.

The noise drove me utterly insane yesterday. I was in so much pain that I did what I promised myself I would not do after working until after 9:00 a.m.; go back to bed. However, it took about three hours for the Aleve and the herbs to kick in to the point where I was able to fall asleep comfortably (I took them before I stopped working because, again, the pain was brutal.). When I woke up, they’d stopped working and I was THRILLED. I also prayed they weren’t screwing with me and didn’t plan on returning to work until it got dark. With some people, you never know.

The noise made me want to die during that horrible migraine period, every second of it is like a train going through your skull, but now with less headaches, I am still auditorily sensitive. The noise physically makes me ill. My body is still in “migraine mode”, ready to protect my head at the first sign of attack. I still expect bright lights and loud noises to cause me pain. And at any given moment, they can. I still have to be careful and aware of my triggers.

Call me crazy, but I find it rude to take over the entire neighborhood with noise and not say a word to anyone about the fact that all of this is going to occur. Let people know in advance. It’s called common decency!

Do you want to listen to a drill-saw at 10:00 a.m. when you’ve got a screaming newborn and haven’t had any sleep yourself? No. Do you want to listen to this shit all day long when you worked the entire night and have to sleep during the day so you can get up and go back to work each night? No fucking way. I find this type of behavior unbelievably rude and inconsiderate. It shows me, once again, how many people have their heads up their own ass.

I once had neighbors who would make noise 24 hours a day. Their TV’s were always on, blasting. Between video games in one room, music in another, and movies in a third, I was half a step away from committing murder. No matter how many times I asked them to take it down a notch or lower it all, that would only last a day or so before they’d go back to their usual behavior. They were never NOT at home, so I never got a reprieve from the noise.

No one should have to willingly leave their domicile for silence unless the work is being done inside their own home, and won’t take months. If something needed to be done, I’d respectfully let my neighbors know exactly how long it would take and I’d apologize for any inconvenience in advance, because I was raised with manners and decency. I’m not perfect, but I know how to be respectful.

Yes, I could be at Starbucks (how obnoxiously cliche’), the library, or a plethora of alternative places with free WiFi, but that would require an entirely different wardrobe than what I had in mind for today. It would also require patience, which I do not have, and dealing with people, which isn’t on my agenda on a good day, leave alone today.

It seems like every other person is “writing a book” and quite frankly, I’m sick of hearing about it. When you write in public, you leave yourself wide open to criticism. The few times I do write in public, it’s in a private room at the library where no one can see the screen and no one can ask me insipid questions.

At Starbucks, where every other person has a laptop open to their ‘book’, the idiots are also present. “So, you’re writing a book, eh?” “What’s that you’re working on there?” Every other question feels like the cast of the Pirates of the Caribbean have walked in and are nosing in everyone’s business. And naturally, I have no desire to sit there for eight hours listening to this shit and even less interest listening to people ramble on and on about “their novel”. You’re not eavesdropping, people are just that loud when it comes to bragging. Which, in turn, makes me want to scream: “Come to me when it’s finished, because then it’s “written”. Come back when it’s completely edited, cohesive in the storytelling, error-free, and sold, then it’s more than a pipe-dream. Until then, shush.” That’s not a slap or a jab at anyone, it’s simply how I feel.

I have three portfolios that are larger than you are tall and they are full of my work. I get to call myself a writer because I have systematically completed more work than I’ve started . There are many different types of writers. Not everyone writes a book, some people choose to, but I think it’s crucial to write and complete something before bragging yourself to death.

But hey, what do I know?

Pull The Covers Up And Leave Me Alone

2015-08-312015-09-02 Miss Poison Being Real, Depression, Emotional Pain, Exhaustion, Honesty, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Care, Darkness, Depression, Emotional Pain, Family, Friendship, Frustration, Honesty, Isolation, Life, Loneliness, Love, Medication, Mental Health, Misery, Musings, Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Support, Unhappiness, Writing

I’m a pretty dark person. I have a wicked sense of humor and I’ll say anything goofy to make someone laugh, but when it’s my life, there isn’t a lot I perceive as humorous. I’m not the kind of person who laughs at someone else’s pain or who enjoys hearing about someone’s breakups, divorces, illnesses, a death, etc. Laughing at other people’s pain is evil, in my eyes. When someone mentioned losing their Mom last week, I sat on my couch and cried. I’d already endured a rough week and hearing the words “My Mom passed away, but she’s at peace.” made me ill. I felt SO bad for this person. I was relieved that they had support from a spouse, friends, and family. That made me feel better for them, despite the fact that losing a parent at any age is one of the worst things one can go through. I should know; I’ve already lost both of mine. I’d give a lot to have even just one of them back. I spend every day of my life feeling like an absolute orphan.

I am good at listening to others and giving exceptional advice, but I’m not very good at listening to myself in an advisory capacity. The last thing I want to hear is the sound of my own voice. I spend a lot of time trying to shut the inside of my head up. I don’t do drugs, so that means I pull the covers around me (usually because I’m cold) and close my eyes. After a few minutes, kitten comes to check on me and she’ll cuddle in, which always makes me feel cared for. She’ll look at me with such loving green eyes and I know that she is conveying her concern for me. “Why are you sad, Mama? Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. ” And she doesn’t leave my side until I leave the room. She is the epitome of loyal, and it is gratifying to see so much love from such a little person.

Cat also checks on me. These last few weeks she has been very observant of my unhappiness and has spent a lot of time watching me, cuddling with me, sitting on my lap at times, and looking for me. If I leave a room, she’ll trot after me to make sure I’m okay. She stares at me with her deeply knowing little face. I can almost hear her thinking “Mommy’s not okay. I always hear her say ‘I’m not okay.’, why doesn’t anyone listen to her?” I don’t know.

I’ve been so miserable that I’ve struggled emotionally in deep, dark places. Very few people have noticed and even fewer have shown me that they care. That’s okay, because it only proves what I already know; Most people live on their own fucking planet and aren’t aware that other people exist. Good for them, but please, stay the hell out of my lane or I will mow you down for shits and giggles. I have absolutely no tolerance for anyone who has their head that far up their own ass, though I am slightly impressed with their ability to physically aim so high. Since their heads never come out, there is no need to stock up on Listerine for the “great hose down of 2015”. I’ve decided to ignore assholes, douchebags, and vicious souls for the foreseeable future. I don’t care who the person is any more, I don’t need the stupidity and heartlessness.

Oftentimes people forget that all forms of depression can strike them down at any given moment. They can be the happiest person in the happiest place, and suddenly feel as though there are no words for their internal pain. Lying about it, pretending it does not exist, and blowing off the pain of others to make yourself seem stronger doesn’t make you better, it makes you afraid of being stigmatized. It’s 2015. Get the antiquated thinking out of your head and stop being an asshole to yourself, and others. It takes strength to treat a chemical imbalance. It takes strength to talk about it. You should be ashamed if you’re lying about it and hiding it. You should be even more ashamed if you’ve hurt friends that suffer because you can’t handle the fact that they’re stronger than you are. Yelling at someone who is suffering is not helpful. Screaming at them is even less helpful. You either want to help someone because you genuinely love and care about them or you scream because you lack proper communication skills.

I will yell when I’m frustrated, I will tell someone to back off or leave me alone when I am frustrated and need space, but the only person I abuse is myself.

I never know with any certainty if I will emerge from these dark places. Medication isn’t an option for me. I wait for new drugs to be released every few years to see if something new will be the answer. And by new, I mean NEW, I do not mean reformulated with a new name, which is what most pharmaceutical companies do when a major money-making drug is about to go generic. They will re-release it under a new name, having slightly tweaked it. If you’re not proactive in researching these drugs, you will spend years taking the same fucking crap, experiencing the same horrible side effects, wondering why you never feel better.

I am the exception, not the rule. Many people do find medication that works after some trial and error, even if only for short periods of time. I am chemically sensitive and I have been written off as “treatment-resistant”, which means that my brain doesn’t respond to all sorts of crazy chemical cocktails. No drug has ever worked for me on a long-term basis. Every time I “go dark”, it is up to me, and me alone, to try to pull myself out of the deep, dark hole before things get worse. I’m really tired of everyone’s opinions in regard to that. When you’re hurting, you want to be understood. You don’t want to hear hypocrisy or “That’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Um, NO. I will have this for the rest of my life. That my friends, is fucking permanent.

I will never be a perfect, blooming flower for anyone. I wish people understood that depression does not diminish who I am, it does not detract from what I bring to the table. It does not make me less talented, less intelligent, or less anything. If anything, it makes me the more interesting person in the room with a little more vibrancy at times because I hold a lot back daily. I don’t shine all of the time, but when I do, I highly suggest wearing sunglasses.

Here’s hoping I will soon shine again.

Trolling

2015-08-30 Miss Poison Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Blogs, Cyber Stalking, Facebook, False Friends, Honesty, Hypocrisy, Instagram, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Pinterest, Poison In Lethal Doses, Trolls, Twitter, Writing

If you’ve excommunicated, dismissed, rejected, “broken up”, “divorced”, or tossed a person from your life, no matter who that person may be, then I see absolutely NO reason in hell for you to troll their Facebook page, Twitter account, Instagram, Pinterest, website, blog, or any other form of social media looking for updates or insight as to how their life is without you in it. In fact, I find the behavior utterly pathetic. Why am I mentioning this? Because I’ve got a few trolls and I can’t stand the hypocrisy.

If you don’t want me in your life, that’s fine. Don’t let the door hit you where the Good Lord split you, but don’t think I don’t know when you’re reading my work. I have tracking software and I know your IP address. Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling?!

When I let someone go from my life, that’s it. Done means DONE. It doesn’t mean I check in on them via social media, it means I’m DONE. I will always keep what they’ve told me private because that’s how I roll, I will not discuss them by name to anyone, but do I feel the need to cyber stalk them? No. I mourn the loss of the relationship and I move forward. I was fine before you and I will be fine after you. Eventually I might even forget their name (Okay, that’s not true. Their name goes on a list to send to my Bolverk. Anyone who understands that reference gets ten points.), but I stand firm in my decision. Some people are meant to pass through your life and show you things, they’re not meant to be a permanent staple. Live and let live.

I find it disturbing when people, even in a minor way, feel the need to troll another person’s life. When someone treats me like shit and then disappears, I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with their own shortcomings and issues. I don’t see the point in a person like that continuing to read my work. What the hell are you expecting to find? Because if you’d like your name, address, phone/cell number, and/or Social Security Number listed on my header, I have news for you: No one is important enough for me to be so bothered. I have a life. It’s not the life of Jennifer Lopez or Bill Gates, but it is still a life and I do not feel the need to be vengeful because you’re deranged. Once again: Life was fine before you and it’s moving along at a steady pace without you. Unlike your imagination, the world does not revolve around you or your role, or lack thereof, in my life.

I respect and value my friends/friendships. I hold them in very high regard. If you blow the opportunity to be a part of that, it’s 100% on you. I let it fly because you cannot keep friends who don’t want to be kept and you cannot force people into friendships when they have ulterior motives or they come into a friendship with trust issues stemming from the past. I can only be myself. Loyal, present, and real. I am not going to change to make other people more comfortable. I don’t need to put myself in a small box because a few people can’t handle the fact that I am a strong personality who won’t eat shit politely with a knife and fork.

You either want me in your life or you don’t. I let you make your own decisions, and then I decide if I value you enough to allow you to return. If you don’t want me in your life, but you’re entertained by my pain, stop fucking trolling places you have no business being. That’s not “being a good person”, that’s being a hypocrite. May God explain the difference to you because you clearly have the common sense of a beach ball.