From One Chapter To The Next

I wanted to pause and take a moment to thank all of you for being here. We live in troubling times and our worlds are fast-paced and driven my headlines and social media. Taking a moment out of your busy day to read whatever it is I have written or shared means so much to me. The likes and e-mails do not go unnoticed. I find the e-mails especially touching because they are so unexpected.

I know my social media aesthetic is quite different from that of most people. This month marks my tenth year with WordPress, and I have actually had many of you as friends in real life from day one. That is special and I have immense gratitude for it all. I take nothing for granted.

This year was challenging for me, and for so many others. At times, I didn’t write here because I was so focused on manuscripts. So determined to tell beautiful, complicated, fantastic stories. My attention has since shifted. Don’t get me wrong; I have plenty of drafts for a lifetime, millions of thoughts, and a trillion ideas. That’s simply how my mind works. In a little over two months, I have found myself wanting to return to who I was long before I ever started out by taking print format online.

In late October, my closest friends heard me say, “I feel like myself again. I feel like New York City Lisa.” She is a different beast, indeed. I missed her. She is truly a force to be reckoned with. I missed having a purpose every single day. Even if it meant making enemies, instead of friends. I was my most unapologetic self, but I have grown. The same person exists, but I am stronger. I missed the real me, who often felt neutered by society and over-dramatic, unimportant nonsense. This person sounds like an alter ego, but that’s not it at all. It’s the real me.

When I first took my work online, my goal was to remain authentic and true. I do feel I’ve done that and I am proud of pretty much everything I’ve written, no matter how difficult or painful it may have been. There were many days and nights where I typed beautiful things through hysterical tears.

I am not a crier. I am deeply private. I love my autonomy. I love writing. I love putting ink to paper, but find it harder to pick up a pen these days due to early arthritis from repetitive typing. Other writers know what I mean; we feel it when we take a break. I love Blonde Espresso in my Cold Brew, but I also like simpler things. I love rainy days. I love snow days that don’t last too long, but just long enough that I’ve had a massive cup of Earl Grey. I love first edition books, music, and well-made films. And most importantly, I LOVE having a passion for what I do. It’s crucial to my existence.

I’ve been a writer longer than I care to admit. The majority of my life has been spent in front of various computers, typing all kinds of prose. There is power to using words properly, and while I will absolutely continue to write, I have also decided to go back to doing something I love. Something I am amazing at. It’s all about the right time and the right opportunity. There’s one of my intentions for 2023. It’s time to take back what’s second nature to me. Stay tuned!

Wishing you all a very safe, happy, and healthy New Year! Please don’t drink and drive.

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Don’t Come For What You Don’t Understand

Authors Note: I don’t want to write this. It’s way too personal, and deeply private, but I feel it is my responsibility to punch this subject matter in the face. I have to speak up. I am omitting the names of the innocent. I am protecting the people I value most. But I’m also speaking up for everyone when I say that a lot of what I’ve come across would break most people. That’s why this needs to be said, especially during a time when we talk about suicide prevention. No one is immune. I am doing my best to be culturally sensitive, but ultimately, these are my feelings and views. Thank you for reading.

For the past six months, if not longer, I’ve heard a lot of ugly, racist, hateful, sick negativity targeted at someone I love. It is not my first experience with this (The criticism, itself.), but it is from a purely racial standpoint, and I’m not here for it. It makes me rabidly ill, which quickly turns to anger. Anger fuels me to be a better, smarter person, and I’ve mentioned this before, but it can easily get out of hand, too. I am extreme, and you will see that here. I’m not apologizing for it. In fact, as I move forward, I make no apologies for my honesty.

In situations like this, where someone I value is being attacked, you’re dealing with a dragon. I go from zero to one hundred in such a tiny sliver of time, and I legitimately don’t care if the person talking shit survives my wrath. You run your mouth, and I’m going to shove your foot back down your throat until you’re choking on your hip bone. I do not come to play with assholes, so check yourself before you start anything with me. This girl will not eat insults politely with a knife and fork. I’m far more inclined to put the fork in your hand.

(Potential Spoiler Alert for Homeland)

Has anyone seen the second season of Homeland when Quinn sticks a knife in Brody’s hand? First time I saw it was with my brother. He turned to me and said, “Oh, my GOD, YOU would totally do that!” It’s true. My patience level is always on thin ice, and right now, it’s barely present. I openly admit that recent events have caused my hostility and filter to break free. Something triggered this to happen. Under normal circumstances, I am not quite as vicious. Regardless of what occurred, I know precisely who I am. I will not be shamed in speaking my truth, or in using my voice and platform in the correct way.

I am the nicest, most loyal, rudest, meanest person you will ever meet, and when you come for what you do not understand, and it happens to be someone I love, I’m going to come at you HARD. You’re not going to see the sniper, because you’ve already underestimated her. That was your second mistake.

A while ago, I came across someone who made a completely unjustified comment. It was NOT an opinion; it was wholly racist and untrue. Please, don’t make public comments on social media when you’re not sure who will come across your words in five minutes, or in this case, four years later. You bet your ass I went in for the kill. I was angry, and I didn’t care how the other person might or might not respond; he needed to be put in his place.

I waited for the hostility to come back at me, because I had actually been warned not to say anything, do anything, comment, or fight. “Just let it go.” 🙄 Excuse him. He’s new here, and doesn’t realize I shoot to kill; he will adjust. The same way I have to, except this isn’t my first rodeo. I know what I’m doing.

There was silence for a while, and a few days later, I received an apology. The person actually said, “Looking back on this, I am cringing so hard right now. It was completely uncalled for and borderline racist.” Borderline?! No, it was presumptuous and one hundred percent racist AF. That’s precisely why I called him out on it. He apologized to me multiple times, but the gist is, calling someone a, “drug addict who will just sit around and not do their job”, is not okay to say about anyone, but it’s especially wrong to say publicly about someone you do not fucking know.

I pulled no punches. I said, “This comment is completely baseless and untrue.” Putting the words, “drug addict” into a sentence with no verifiable proof, and using it to describe a specific person, is slander and character assassination. Dude was lucky-ish. I don’t care what device you’re hiding behind, the right person can get an IP address so that you are issued a cease and desist on a comment of that magnitude. This is genuinely not my first experience handling things of this nature. You can’t make a dangerous statement and pretend it’s a fact. There are rules.

The Internet makes people fucking stupid, because they are hiding behind a false sense of security which makes them truly feel powerful in how they talk about anything, except they are fucking up in epic ways. People like to claim it’s freedom of speech. Libel is not freedom of speech. Slander and character assassination is not freedom of speech. Our forefathers didn’t have the foresight to include the words, “Freedom to be a fucking douchebag.”, written into the constitution. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I know full well there’s a limit to freedom of speech, and I always have because, as a writer, I have to shut the fuck up sometimes, too. I could very stupidly name-drop and lose everything, and good writers know NOT to do that. For those who don’t understand that there are limits, I feel sorry for you.

I politely replied to this person, “I am glad you are seeing the error of your ways, even though it’s been a few years. Thank you for owning how awful what you said is, without making excuses. I appreciate it and your desire to correct it. I hope that, moving forward, you will think before you make a comment like this again. Since it bothers you now, it can be deleted.” A few days later, it was gone, but this girl kept the receipts. My mother didn’t raise a fool.

Every single day, I say I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to look, and then I do. I began writing this after walking away from some of the worst things I’ve heard and seen. We’re talking many months building up. I was deeply hurt. Incredibly angry, and ferociously protective. I was ready to scream.

These are not my automatic reactions in situations of this nature, but after so many months of this crap, I was outright ready for war. In my head, a lot of people no longer have vocal cords with which to vocalize their fucked up, racist crap, and they are also missing their hands, so they can’t type heinous shit about a human being who they think they have some ownership over.

I’m not sorry to say this, but slavery is fucking over in this country, and anyone who thinks people should be kept as slaves in any way, shape, or form should be shot on sight. I’ve never made my aggressive personality a secret. I am genuinely tired of this, and yes, I’ve been asked, “Don’t do this. Let it go.” If I sit here loving someone and I say NOTHING, then I am just as bad as everyone else in this world who will ignore a racial attack and/or hate crime. I am many things, but I’m not a fucking hypocrite.

At the core of who I am is incredibly fierce loyalty. My closest friends and family benefit from this strength. I’m not outwardly hostile, until you push me, and don’t realize there were boundaries in place, and then, out of nowhere, the New York comes out of me. You watch me morph into a person you might not know. Sometimes, I’m not sure I know her, either, but I can feel and hear the difference. My body language changes, and so does the tone of my voice. People are generally too stupid to realize a shift has occurred, which is part of the problem. If I allow myself to be silenced, then the hate wins. I refuse to be the kind of person who allows it to win.

I’ve had to tone it down a lot in this particular situation because I am protective. Irrationally so. I’ve got no chill left because it’s not a shitty comment or two, they are all racially charged, hateful, and so negative that you can’t pull back from that. I try. I do. I would love to block it all out, and sometimes I can, but other times I will see key words and my brain lights up with rage. Why else would I be awake after three o’clock in the morning writing something of this nature? It wasn’t because my response to hate is positive; that’s for damn sure.

In October, I read something completely unrelated to this, and just about lost my mind with anger because the comment was so racist, I couldn’t stand it. And yes, I defended the person who was targeted because it keeps coming up, and I don’t deem it respectful or fair.

Let me be supremely clear, assuming all biracial or multiracial men are the same person, look the same, think the same way, believe the same exact things, speak the same way, grew up the same way, etc., that’s completely off base. Why do people feel the need to go there? It’s UGLY and disrespectful. The biracial man with blue eyes is not the same person who is biracial with two white parents, and who rarely points out the fact that he’s biracial at all. If you’re making a stupid remark, you’re reaching, and it’s not acceptable. Why does this need to be talked about? Because it’s racist; that’s why! I’m not the person I know I am if I don’t call it out for what it is.

The exact comment that pushed me too far was, “They’re both biracial, predominantly white, so they’re the same person. They’re half-human.” There was another sentence in there which I will not repeat because the mere thought makes steam come out of my head. My, “WHAT THE FUCK?” radar went OFF like a bullet in a gun. I stepped back, because I knew full well I was going to be meaner than a hornet’s nest. And even in my calmest moment, my words still hit the target with intended precision.

Whenever I step up, which I do constantly in my personal life, people think political references are offensive. They’re actually pathetic. They show me your character.

“You’re just a white liberal. You’re what’s wrong with this country.” Yes, this was said to me. No, this person had no clue what I look like. It’s presumptuous, at best, and highly inaccurate.

“White people have hero complexes.” Really? Tell me more, you racist scum bag.

“Okay leftie.” was another ridiculous comment made to me, and completely off-base. Do people realize you can stand up for others, and simply be a decent human being? Race does not have to get involved when it comes to right versus wrong, and rarely will I make something political. It’s unnecessary. People say it to incite, most of them probably don’t even vote and likely never have. Honesty does not make you right or left, it just means you’re intolerant of bullshit.

Do all the non-Trump supporters think using the term, “illegals” is acceptable? There were people running for office in the state of Massachusetts who were actively using this word like it’s socially acceptable, and several of them are black. Color me mortified as hell! Let’s get really honest here: We live on Native American land. Raise your hand if you’re native to America. If you’re not native to a tribe, you’re not native. You were born in America; and we need to address that, too. You can research this fact. You want to talk about colonization?! Let’s start there. My family came here for a better life and they helped build the better part of New York City; but they did not colonize the five boroughs of New York.

Unfortunately, as I began writing this, I noticed things in my own life which I definitely have enormous questions about, because I see it as part of the problem, as opposed to part of the solution. To start, my core friend group doesn’t have a diverse group of friends around them. I noticed this a lot over the past two years, and it galls me. Probably because I grew up very differently and conduct myself in a different fashion to this day.

My white friends don’t seem to have people of color in their lives, and if they do, they will often brag about it like it makes them less racist. Someone I know was dating a person of color, and she kept mentioning where he was from, almost as if he represented something to her. I know he did, because within a few weeks, she was suddenly pregnant and having a shotgun wedding to a white guy. I am not kidding when I say it was weeks, either. If you have to announce where a person you are in a relationship with is from (Let’s use India, as an example.), then you’re harboring some racist tendencies and should look into that. Otherwise, your friends are your friends, regardless of where they come from, or the color of their skin, and the people you’re in relationships with are people. I don’t use labels. I never say, “This is my African friend.” That’s completely inappropriate, and highly disrespectful. “This is my friend,” along with their name, is how you introduce someone. If people want to get to know one another and there are follow-up questions, that is completely different. Yes, if their questions are rude, I’m going to bat for whoever I just introduced you to. I don’t stand for ignorance.

Second, my visibly black and brown friends sort of stick together, but not necessarily, and they will occasionally exclude others as if they might become contaminated. I am accepted into the circle of trust because I am an accepting sort of person. I’ve always fit in with diversity, and as someone who often stands out, there are good and bad aspects to this.

The majority of my Asian friends (Not all.) only seem to have Asian friends, and that scares me. I know it stems from growing up in a very specific cultural level of acceptance. I know they are looking to their parents and the tight-knit community in which they grew up in, but it’s such a stark contrast that I couldn’t help but see it clearly. You’re adults now, and should broaden your horizons. Learn from one another and grow.

I am the odd person out in my friend group because I am not one thing, and one thing only. I use the word, “multiracial” because it is the most accurate description I can give. I also use the descriptor, “multicultural”. More than twenty flags make up my ancestry, with approximately five countries coming up as the most dominant in my genes. I know what you’re thinking; she’s Jewish and Jews are not a race. Someone didn’t do their homework if they’re reading this and thought it, if even for a second.

Jews are an ethno-religious group, a people, a nation, and an ancient bloodline descended from Kings. We are indigenous people of color. Some of us are white-passing. Millions, really. Others are distinctly brown, black, Asian, Middle Eastern, etc. My brother is constantly asked if he’s Puerto Rican or Italian because he inherited my father’s olive skin. I don’t know if he even answers people when faced with that kind of ignorance, but he and I are different on that level. Where I come from matters to me, because it shapes who we are, whether we’re aware of it or not.

When I look at my friends, I don’t lean towards where I may or may not be accepted. I pick and choose who I will be friends with because I know my worth and value in any relationship I am part of. Your skin color matters far less to me, as opposed to how you treat me and how you treat others. I’m not blind; I see our differences, but you’re also not going to hear racial slurs come out of my mouth. I don’t find racist jokes funny. I never have, and that’s because I know what racism really is, what it looks like, and how it sounds. Why do I know this? Because I grew up with a racist parent, and it was NOT my mother.

Our closest family friends are Puerto Rican and Columbian. That’s how I grew up. I had friends from everywhere you can think of, and I still do. I lived in a melting pot, and while there was definitely racism present, I did not take part in any of it. The unfortunate part is that I spent half my life being told I was white, which I knew in my heart simply wasn’t true. People take specific looks and match them up like dominos, but it is completely inaccurate in today’s society, and it must change. How we view others must change, and change sometimes starts with one person saying, “Enough is enough!”

With my father’s family, I would hear Yiddish, Russian, Ukrainian, Belarusian, Polish, Greek, German, Ladino, Catalan (Spanish), and two different dialects of Italian spoken when they thought “the children” weren’t paying attention. They thought we were too young to understand a language change. My mother’s family spoke Yiddish for the same reason; so “the children” wouldn’t know what was being discussed, as did my parents. I would also hear Mandarin, French, Creole, Farsi, Hebrew, Portuguese, and other languages in the homes of my friends and extended family. I can close my eyes on any street in any major city, and pick out the different languages with accuracy. That’s what I want my life to be and it’s what I choose for myself and my future; colorful, vibrant, sharing experiences, recipes, cultures, music. This isolated bullshit is not cute. Please break out of your shells! Gain some perspective and stop being part of cliques.

The reason I began writing this was not to talk about myself, obviously. It was to talk about how I am watching racism smack someone I love in the face. This individual could be the most flawless human-being to exist, and someone will still find fault with something. I am grateful he is a person of strong mind, or I’d be deeply concerned about the trauma of it all, because it is traumatic. When I hear someone say, “I just want to go somewhere where I blend in.”, that is a sign of repeated trauma.

One night, a few months ago, was such a proud time. I was ecstatically happy, and even happier because he was smiling. It was such a great shift, and an important one. I kept thinking, “This is good. This is fantastic. The shit will stop. The comments will calm the fuck down.”

Only, it didn’t stop. It shifted, but it did not stop. Because no matter how good you are, some people are still determined to rip you apart based solely on your skin color. and I am sick and tired of it. I know where these comments stem from. I refuse to engage with it moving forward.

The one person I’ve confided in about all of this (The broader story, as opposed to the tidbits I feel safe enough to share.) has repeatedly told me that if I tell someone off, then they had it coming. I’m over here trying not to be a crazy bitch, but I’m so sick of it all. I can handle it professionally and personally, but I am definitely fiercely protective on a personal level.

This past week, there was rampant criticism, but it was no longer racially charged. The focus had shifted. The wording changed, but I’m not an idiot. I know at any given moment, for any reason, the hate can, and will, come back. I know blame is going to be part of it, too. It is shameful and embarrassing to me that anyone would think their hatred has a safe space. There is a dark web subculture of deeply rooted hate that must be addressed and rooted out. We cannot hide behind, “freedom of speech”. That’s bullshit. There are boundaries, and it’s important for us to establish them, or we’re no better than the haters.

It comes down to these basic facts; THINK BEFORE YOU FUCKING SPEAK OR TYPE. Check yourself. Go to therapy, Grow the fuck up. Remove deeply rooted hate and misogyny from yourself. Do the fucking work in order to be someone you can be proud of. Do it for yourself and for those who you most influence. Do it for a better tomorrow.

I practice what I preach. I show up, and I do the work. I don’t shake my head and ignore it. Essentially, if you want to make a difference and impart change, then it starts with you. Be the example you wish others could be, for you and yours. Be an inspiration for others to see.

I said what I said.

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author. Excerpts and quotes from author material also requires consent. This authors’ work and personal photos are protected under U.S. and International copyright laws. Further protection is under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Breathe Through It

I’ve always wondered what the hell is wrong with the majority of the people in this world. For some unknown reason, they believe caffeine, sunshine, fresh air, a glass of water, or a cup of tea will magically solve ALL of your problems. If only it were so simple!

Have you ever felt better when someone says, “You need to calm down?” Of course, not. It’s so rarely said with good intentions. Usually, it is said to stop you from talking, or to shut a situation down. FUCK THAT.

I recently had a panic attack that was so bad, I had to keep telling myself, “Just breathe through it.” repeatedly. For hours. No, I did NOT feel better trying to minimize what I was going through, or why. In fact, I felt stupid for thinking I could mantra my way out of a panic attack which was impeding my ability to breathe.

Someone finally stopped me to chat, and told me I am so heavily triggered right now, that everything is bothering me on a higher frequency. They suggested talking to my doctor about this, in order to get some support. Stupidly, I brought up the issue, only to hear the most insincere, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I have family for that comment, I do NOT need it from my support system. I found myself angered, and unable to talk about how painful it was to have to bring it up at all. I speak to him again after the holidays, and I am genuinely torn between speaking up or simply going elsewhere for what I need. The second you feel like your needs aren’t being met somewhere, you should not be inclined to blame yourself. I’d like to normalize talking about this because too often, women do not.

The month of December brings up a lot of pain and heartache for me. I cannot just “breathe through it”. It’s been a while since I’ve acknowledged how bad my Complex PTSD is, but it’s bad. and I feel unable to fully cope. Mostly because, medication usually helps, but this year, it is all just hitting harder than usual. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to distract me, so it’s present every minute of the day. It’s beginning to cause insomnia, which worries me, because I’m finally going to bed at a decent hour and often getting decent sleep, but not now. Now I am tormented, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Alas, I will probably survive. Or maybe I’ll just breathe through it. 🙄

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author.

Eleven Days

For some reason, the number of days hit me. December is never an easy month for me, but this year I’ve got more grief than usual weighing on my heart. It’s unbelievably intense and heavy. I try to talk about it, and the pain seizes control of my vocal cords. It shuts me up and shuts me down. In the end, I go back to a state of isolation and silence, because those are safer places to be. For now.

My voice is my strongest and best asset in this world. Whenever I have to go into a deep, dark well of silence, I feel like someone took me to the vet and neutered me (BTW, Cat and Kitten did pretty well at the vet this year. They maintained their weight, are in good health, minus my having to add some supplements for arthritis, and tolerated a new vet who I wanted to smack. It’s sad to see tiny kittens in your head, and then see their ages on paper in black and white. It startled me. I genuinely hope they will be with me a long time. Also, it was much easier to sedate them in order to avoid shrieking and any additional trauma. They still meowed their displeasure, but they were very well behaved, overall. I came out with two minor scratches, as opposed to last year’s Blood Match, so YAY on that.). I HATE feeling like I cannot be my true self. If only there was medication to fix that for me!

When you’re dealing with grief, NO ONE gets to tell you that your feelings are invalid or, “have gone on too long”. No one gets to tell you when your pain ends, except you. The truth is, some pain will stick with you until your dying day. That’s part of your humanity, and I hope you never lose it. I would be more concerned with those who feel NOTHING and/or want you to, “get over it” because it’s an inconvenience to their life. Heartless shit is a red flag; please remember this for future reference.

Unfortunately, I have to take my pain into therapy. I’m not happy about that, but I need some support. My expectations are nil. You can’t make people understand what you’re experiencing, or have experienced. Even by giving some people comparison pain, they still don’t get it. I assure you, what people do or do not comprehend isn’t your fault. For me, I’m rethinking many of my relationships because it isn’t my job to help people comprehend things and/or meet me on my level. In fact, it is almost certainly time for me to move on to new energy. I owe no one anything, and this is something I am trying to remember each day.

Yes, I have other things to talk about and share, but for now, I’m at eleven days and I am HURTING. I pray for better moments where I can celebrate, instead of feel overwhelming grief and sadness.

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author.

Experiencing What You Can’t Talk About

Sometimes, we go through something we cannot talk about. Something deeply private and painful. I want to share what I have been through, but it’s not entirely my story to tell. To some degree, it is entirely mine, but I’m not selfish. Someone else has a vested interest in this pain, and so, I am trying to honor both sides of the coin.

Personally, I need to talk. I need to know I am not alone. I need others to know they are not alone. I need support. I looked at my family, and nixed all of them. We simply don’t have the kind of relationship where I feel comfortable going to anyone and opening up on such a deep level. It’s a very painful subject and I know what I will be met with. Ten minutes after I say anything, my entire family will know my business. It’s a fucking insidious game of telephone which I find toxic, and choose not to support. That means, biological family is off grid.

I then looked hard at my friend group. Only one person knows what I am going through. I wanted to share this agony with a few other people, but since they have their own drama going on right now, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I can’t explain how much it pains me to say nothing, and to suffer silently. The simple fact that I had no one to trust and turn to bothers the hell out of me. I actually sat and thought to myself, “You need new friends.” Talk about a conundrum!

Trust is not something anyone should just hand over. Private things are so difficult to navigate. I pray that in a year from now, I am able to say, “This is what I went through. Here’s my story, here’s my truth. It was scary, it was awful, and my heart shattered. Here’s my joy in overcoming it all. I survived, and so can others.” That’s only part of what I want to say, but I also want the control to tell it when the timing is right for all involved.

Tonight, I try to power through what is haunting me. I don’t know if I am capable of crying because I’m in such shock and denial, but I do know that when the tears come, it will not be the worst day of my life. I’ve survived some of the most awful moments; so my track record is pretty good. It’s coming out whole on the other side that bothers me, because I don’t entirely know if this is possible.

copyright © 2022 by Lisa Marino-Molchanova & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author.

Awakened

A lot has been going on. Some good, some not so good. I tell myself there’s a reason for everything, but sometimes you feel grief and you’re not entirely sure where to place it. Was it a good thing? Was it a horrible, tragic thing? Ultimately, I came to the decision that it fucking HURTS. I’m a human being, and no one gets to take pain away from me and make it seem like it’s no big deal. Just as I am not allowed to define it for you, no one can define it for me.

It’s hard to know what to make out of senseless loss. This was my second time experiencing such soul-sucking grief that I truly need to shut myself down for a while, and attempt to process it. Hopefully when I return, I will feel less hurt, less angry, and more awakened. One can hope, I guess.

copyright © 2012-2023 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Doses®™ is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent from the author.