“The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved.” ―Iris Murdoch
Loss
Trust Your Partner’s Way Of Coping…
“Trust your partner’s way of coping to be the best they are able to do and be at every moment in time.” ―Nathalie Himmelrich
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.
Time Heals Everything, That’s What Everyone Says…
“Time heals everything, that’s what everyone says. Wounds heal and leave only scars behind. But some wounds run too deep to heal, and pierce the deepest layers of one’s soul. They stay there unhealed and ready to ooze blood at the first sign of grief.”
―Neena H. Brar
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.
I Can’t Believe This Needs To Be Said
It’s all black spots around my vision right now. The entire week has been a struggle and a daze for me. Yes, I’ve shared a few things on social media this week and made sure my website was updated; but that doesn’t mean I’m all right! I’ll respond to people when I can. I will write something significant when things feel less like constant emotional vertigo. I know my reaction is a trauma response and I have work to do, but I also know I can’t stare at a blank screen and force anything out of myself. I’m mentally, physically, and emotionally sick to my core.
I appreciate the few who reached out to ask if I’m okay or if I need anything, mostly my writing colleagues. I was genuinely touched by the sense of community and affection sent in my direction. It touched my heart.
When you try and process senseless loss, you also begin to see your circle more clearly. Unfortunately, mine needs a broom and hockey stick, and I have learned to be okay with clearing house when necessary. I’m a different person than I was when I last lost someone important to me. The mind does things to protect you without your realizing it, until the mental floodgates open. The body truly does keep the score, and the brain goes into self-preservation mode. This time around, I’ve gone into protection mode because I am always the protector of everyone I love. Loyalty is important. Some people have no intentions of riding out storms with you, and that’s okay. Better people do come along, and they stay. They listen. They hear you even when you’re not speaking. They care. They don’t take shit personally. Those are your tribe members; love them hard. 
Three
“La tristesse durera toujours.” [The sadness will last forever.] ―Vincent van Gogh
The past four plus days have been a nightmare. First, I ignored a very obvious death sign. I won’t explain it since most people are not believers, but it shakes me to my core. Between Thursday and Sunday, I lost three people. Two old friends, and a relative. I am upset about the former, but the latter really took me down. I haven’t really stopped crying, and I am NOT the person who reacts like this to loss, either. I’m not the crying type. My eyes are swollen, though, and my head is on fire from a migraine I simply cannot shake. Someone needs to make sure I never drink two shots of espresso in anything, for as long as I live. 🤦♀️
I believe in the preservation of life and memories. I have a photo of Tim and I in my jewelry case. I was never sure how it got in there, but I am glad it’s with me. It reminds me of a previous life and career. Losing Dave startled me; he was actually the first person in this terrible cycle of loss, to pass away. Both of these individuals were friends of the family and treated me like a damn Queen in every situation. They will be missed. My Great-Uncle, Uncle, and two cousins should be up there to greet them, along with the many other friends we lost along the way.
Losing a relative who did nothing but love you is very hard. She was the last mother figure with family ties that I had. The last person who truly saw me for who I am and accepted me so completely. So yes, the sadness will last. For those who may have wondered, YES, this triggered me badly. I am retraumatized as someone who has already lost her own mother. If a few people hadn’t cared about me these last few days, I’m not sure where I would be in all of this.
This year, my best friends have both lost their mothers. One lost her father 3-4 weeks prior, as well. It’s something I can only be supportive about because I have lived it, and their experiences are different from my own. Coming from a place of experience, you can often help others navigate the pain, or simply listen to them. I wish I’d had that kind of support, but I can give it.
Written by LISA MARINO-Molchanova 