http://www.livescience.com/56519-anti-inflammatory-drugs-depression.html
Mental Health
What Bipolar Depression Looks Like – And What Can Help
And yet, some people forget this, including “mental health professionals”.
Head Meet Sink
I detest going from graceful human-being to absolute klutz. Try explaining cuts, burns, bumps, and bruises to people without looking like a battered woman. It’s damn near impossible.
A few months ago my right wrist was covered in scratches of varying lengths. To the average passerby, it would have looked like I’d tried to harm myself. All of them were merely superficial idiocy, except for the cat scratches. The unhealed scar is, thankfully, far from any veins or tendons, so if someone was looking, hopefully they wouldn’t be thinking anything untoward.
However, explaining the stupidity of hitting my head not once, but twice in a day, is much more complicated. In attempting to organize something in the powder room the other day, I didn’t realize how close my head was to the sink and whack! It was a stupid accident, with me somehow thinking I had a lot more space than I did. The second was pure stupidity minutes later when I turned to move a rug (Because hey, I already had my head down. Don’t be disgusting, I was straightening something.) and my forehead smacked into a metal toilet paper holder. Not the kind attached to the wall, the kind that sits in a bathroom and is both a method of storage and “in use”. Believe it or not, that hurt far worse than the sink. 😦 Perhaps it was the angle. I debated going to the ER for an MRI or a cat scan, but it’s too soon to know with any certainty if I have a concussion. I don’t want to ask someone to go with me for very personal reasons. Yes, I could have called 911, but it’s not a true emergency. However, as I sit here writing with a headache I cannot get rid of and a spot on my forehead that hurts pretty bad, to the point where I hope it bruises, I am concerned. I’m trying not to be though, because focusing on it too much will only result in stressing myself out. The headache is bad enough without additional stress, and Lord knows this has been an eye-opening week. 😦
I’m in the process of making an appointment to apply for insurance in this state. I’ve already waited over 72 hours for the person who handles this to get back to me. I am hoping she is on vacation and/or extremely busy because I hate having to call anyone twice to make an appointment for something that is supposed to take “about an hour”. Call me crazy, but returning a phone call with dates and times of your availability and writing one down isn’t THAT difficult. It’s less than five minutes of your time. My previous insurance is not accepted here, so I have to begin the application process from scratch. I’ve never dealt with a more asinine online system in my life, and that’s saying something. I tried, I really did. My patience level went below 100 and that was the end of it. Unless you have the patience of a saint, getting the forms filled out online is going to make you throw things, curse, etc. Here’s hoping it only takes a few months because I am still paying off a medical bill from last year when I didn’t have insurance.
For anyone to say to me “But that was last year…”, as if they know how much the bill was and/or what was done is courting disaster. If you actually care, ask me what happened. Have you ever looked at what doctors charge people without insurance? It’s astronomical, because they don’t make enough via insurance companies per patient and they absolutely pass that down to the uninsured by making us suffer in a myriad of ways. It was more than one visit and more involved than I’d like to discuss. I will need to find a new dermatologist as soon as I have insurance because other issues have come to the surface and I have every reason in the world to be concerned. The whole “discuss this with your primary care physician” crap gets old when you need referrals for everything. I’ve never been a fan of the referral system. I feel we should be able to see the participating providers we want to see within a reasonable time-frame. When you say something is serious, you don’t want to be told they have an appointment for you in January of next year. It’s reached a point where doctors are overbooked and completely full of themselves. Especially the ones that are always “on vacation”. Monthly?! Perhaps you’d like to adopt me.
People who have relatively decent health, and those who go to the doctor for every wrong turn, do not understand the trials and tribulations of those of us who are suffering, especially those of us who suffer chronically. They might temporarily empathize and/or sympathize, but I can tell you from personal experience that being aggressive with me about anything will get you absolutely nowhere. Unless I’ve asked for your medical opinion, I’m perfectly capable of figuring shit out on my own. Always have, always will. I’m many things, but I am NOT a moron. And if you don’t truly care about me, I don’t need your “medical opinions” on health issues you don’t personally have.
A migraine sufferer would prefer to discuss migraines with another migraine sufferer. A Fibromyalgia sufferer would prefer to speak to someone with an autoimmune disease than someone who openly debates why you are “always sick” or “always in pain”. Seriously? No, I’m not truly in agony. I just like to say that I am for shits and giggles, especially when it keeps me in bed for days at a time! 😦 Pain is pain. I’d appreciate mine not being denounced by anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. Mind you, I would not wish this on anyone, but I do wish people remained compassionate instead of having an expiration date on their feelings. I don’t roll like that. My loyalty is everlasting, and it’s something I am proud of. I would rather hold someone’s hand and weather the storm together than pretend the storm does not exist and walk past them multiple times a day, as though nothing is wrong. I cannot be fake like that, and I won’t be. My tolerance for false behavior is nil.
I find it unsettling that many people don’t understand the difference between someone being real and a person being some sort of manipulative mastermind. Since this has been implied to me, I have to question the sanity of anyone who knows me and could think such a thing. One, I don’t have the time to mastermind anything that isn’t intelligent, creative, and going to benefit my life and future happiness, and two, I pride myself on being real. Being a manipulative bitch takes up time and effort I don’t have in my daily life. It is also a sheer waste of energy.
Whenever I have an issue with someone or something, I go directly to the source. I don’t act like a child and behave like a psycho when it is far easier and more mature to sit down with the other person and discuss the problem once cooler heads have prevailed. I expect that kind of behavior from a teenager, but when an adult does it, it’s a turn-off. Be they male or female, it’s ugly, and not something I can respect. If you have an issue with me, please come and talk to me about it. Things can always be discussed without resorting to nastiness. However, if nastiness keeps you focused and content, by all means, stew in it. I genuinely want to see where it gets you.
After being treated so viciously this week, I made sure a close friend knew that I’m here for her no matter what, 24/7. I would rather listen to you and support you through the good and the bad, as opposed to pretending all is right in the world. When my friends and family suffer, so to do I, but as someone reminded me this week, it is important to cut negativity out of your life for good. By proxy, I am a realist. I can be negative to and about myself, I have moments of pessimism and optimism, but I am not walking around with a negative attitude to direct at the world. If I did, people would not respond to me the way they do. I wouldn’t receive messages of encouragement, people would simply say nothing or discuss me solely behind my back. I am certain the latter does occur, I simply don’t care. To each their own. If that brings you genuine comfort, so mote it be.
My life has changed drastically in the past year, and in truth, the past nine years haven’t been a fucking picnic. I have been through absolute HELL, and therefore I have compassion for those who have also suffered. Those who know that about me, but continue to hurt me by spewing venom, hatred, lies, and twisting the truth to make themselves feel better are only hurting themselves. I find myself embarrassed for you. Simply by existing, you are not superior to me, just as I am not superior to you. You can work with me or you can beat a bloody horse for all I care (that’s literal, I am not promoting the abuse of animals), but I won’t accept emotional and verbal abuse in a polite manner.
I have found that when people attack you, it’s mainly because the issues lie with them. They refuse to look at their own shortcomings in the mirror and face facts, so they lash out at those closest to them. Someone ought to study people like that. I can’t decide if they’re fascinating to watch (kind of like a psychological thriller) or if they’re simply psychotic beyond words. I don’t find mental health a laughing matter, but I do wish people who can take medication and feel better by doing so would stay on the damn stuff. When they don’t, I feel like they blink red within my life. “Danger! Stay away!” But then you see them talking to someone else as if they’re perfectly normal and you question sociopathic behavior much more closely. When a person shows no capacity for love, that’s a sure sign for me.
My doctor once explained to me that we ALL display traits of personality disorders (Personally, I was mortified.), but it doesn’t mean that we indeed have one. I test at 5% or under for all major personality disorders, so I feel confident that while I am reactive, and not the first person to join and/or play well with others, that there is a reason behind my methods, and being hurt is at the top of that list.
As I stated previously, my tolerance for false behavior is nil. I know when someone isn’t being 100% honest with me and while I will occasionally allow that to slide if it’s unimportant, I will absolutely call someone out on the big things. I may not do so right away, as everyone responds differently to your approach, but I am done being hurt and lied to. It is an unfortunate inevitability that it will happen again between now and the end of my life, because life is still life, but much like this bump on my head, I don’t have to accept it.
I promise to be more careful with my head if other people promise to drain the endless negativity within themselves in the God damn sink.
Wishing my American cohorts a pleasant holiday weekend, as we celebrate Memorial Day. For all my other readers, make sure you enjoy your weekend, too. Don’t drink and drive and wear plenty of sunscreen.
copyright © 2016 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Patty Duke Mental Health Project
Personally, I think this is something a lot of people will want to be a part of in whatever way possible.
Situation Or Depression? There’s A Difference
I had a major meltdown Monday. I can’t recall the last time I felt that alone, that isolated from my friends & family, or that upset. I’m certain it’s happened before, but Monday was simply too much, too soon, and way too intensely upsetting. I vividly remember scrolling through my contacts list at one point, and realizing that I could not call a single soul in it. I reasoned that I didn’t want to bother anyone at work. It was quite sobering.
When a strong woman says “I’m tired of being strong.”, it’s honest. When a strong woman says “I feel broken.”, that too is honest. But when a strong woman seeks help so that she does not harm herself, knowing the potential is there, and gets told “There’s a nine month waiting list to be seen.” or “We’re booked solid until January, so you should go to your nearest emergency room.”, it is astounding.
When you go to the emergency room with a mental health crisis of any kind, it is my experience that you will not be taken seriously unless you’re bleeding or have overdosed and were brought in on a stretcher. Does it really have to come down to that? I think it is a horrible approach and I wonder how many other people have experienced this.
If a mother can go to a police station, fire house, rescue squad, or hospital, and legally surrender an infant (Known as the Safe Haven Law) without fear of being deemed a criminal for child abandonment, then I should be able to go into any medical establishment and say “I am worried for myself, I need help.” without fear of judgment or criticism, or being mistreated. Instead, I spent several days talking to my insurance company, who are utterly useless, trying to find a way to get immediate care. But no such place exists without an extensive waiting list. They just keep telling me to go to the emergency room. I didn’t break my leg, this is not an emergency room situation unless I have hurt myself or someone else. G-d forbid!
I don’t need to be hospitalized. I know that, and so do the few people who support me, but do I need additional support and someone to talk to? Yes. I reached out to my psychiatrist for a prescription, asking whether or not I should go back on medicine I already have or medicine I used to take, the latter of which would require him to call a prescription into the pharmacy for me. Unfortunately, medication is always very tricky, and side effects are generally the reason I stop taking them. That, or the fact that they don’t make me feel better. I can’t function when I’m deathly ill from side effects or I can’t physically get out of bed from the drowsiness certain medications provide at even a low dose. I have yet to meet one that truly works without making things worse.
It’s almost 2016, and there are still so many people ashamed to talk about their use of antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication during difficult times in their life, or daily to manage very real issues that aren’t their fault to begin with. I would be far more embarrassed pretending I was okay when I am not. Suffering in silence makes the suffering one hundred times worse than it is if you simply reach out to someone and ask for help. But here I am, and there’s no one willing to help. It’s like being outside in -50 degree temperatures and having someone throw ice water at you. It is also incredibly hurtful and insulting.
The past few years have taken an immense toll on me, I’d never deny that, but the last two and a half weeks have been like bleeding to death slowly. And yet, as I sit here with a cold that came out of nowhere, I find myself unable to handle answering the phone or responding to a text message (I wish I could say they were simple, but they’re not. I currently have the Do Not Disturb feature on because listening to my phone vibrate all day is getting to me.). I’ve reached a point where too many people want immensely large pieces of me, but none of them are willing to grant me so much as an inch of kindness, compassion, or understanding. I take a few days to take care of myself and get told I’m horribly selfish, which is the exact opposite of who I am. I’m considering the asinine source before buying into such nonsense. Sometimes employing a “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that” filter is a good idea.
I am the first person to say that it’s important to advocate for your own mental health, and your overall health in general. It’s important to question everything, especially when you aren’t receiving legitimate answers. I also feel it is important to take ownership of your own crap. That being said, I feel like this particular situation is what’s affecting me and making me physically ill. It’s not depression in a traditional way, it is the situation causing how I feel, but it is still difficult and I’d prefer to be prepared for anything more that comes at me, as opposed to pretending nothing affects me. I’m human, and it’s not a crime.
I got home late from the hospital Monday night. They keep the rooms outrageously hot in that particular part of the hospital. I kept putting eye drops in to counteract the heat drying my eyes out, and I kept disinfecting things because every other person was coughing or sneezing. I already knew I had something in my system, but now it’s affecting my head and chest. For a period of time yesterday, my voice was but a whisper. All I was capable of doing was sitting and today hasn’t been much better, except that I have my voice back and have been able to do a few things in and out of the house. My head feels like there are multiple hot pokers stuck in different directions, my sinuses are killing me, and my eyes and throat hurt like hell. The weather, all dark and grey, complete with rain, is only adding to the pressure in my skull. I find it insulting to get sick when I am already dealing with enough insanity.
My brother is still in the hospital. They wanted to discharge him on Monday, but his blood oxygen levels weren’t good and they were talking about doing another procedure before discharging him. By Tuesday, his levels were almost 100% improved, the second procedure was determined to be okay a month post-op, but not now. There was also a major snafu when one of his surgeons discovered a potential infection on an x-ray. He wasn’t sure what it was, but wanted to run some tests to figure it out. They have since discovered that he indeed has infection, but they aren’t 100% sure where or what it is. He’s been saying he “feels hot” since last week. They kept telling him his vitals were good and it was merely a side effect of the anesthesia and medication. Last night, the nurses argued once they discovered he had a high fever, because apparently the two nurses prior to the shift change failed to report that he had one at all. His primary surgeon was called at home around midnight and was, quite obviously, very concerned. He ordered a laundry list of tests, some of which were performed immediately after the phone call, and others were done earlier on, with a few more ordered for later today. My brother, in perfectly dramatic fashion, blamed me for this. It is, naturally, all my fault. How could it not be?! Lord knows I walk around with a veritable petri dish just waiting to unleash it on my own flesh & blood. <rolls eyes>
I’d like to blame that psychotic comment on his medication, but I have no idea where he gets the idea that I’m some kind of monster trying to keep him in the hospital (If I was, he’d be chained to a bed in a mental hospital.). Because I’m honest? Because I’m direct? Because I don’t coddle him? No matter what I say or do, I am wrong. It’s like being married, except this isn’t Arkansas (That was a snarky comment, not a statement of fact, lest someone become offended and lack the ability to decipher my sense of humor.).
Quite frankly, I’d like him to recover in someone else’s home, tormenting them. If I hear about his dietary restrictions one more time, he’ll be lucky to get a loaf of bread and a gallon of water each week upon being released into my “care”. I offered to bring him something when I go back to the hospital and was told I “can’t be obvious about it” because I brought him a request Monday and apparently someone asked how he got it or something along those lines. I didn’t know I was committing some evil act by trying to do something nice. He’s a grown man, what am I supposed to do, bring him a teddy bear?! His vocal cords are healing (If you watch Chicago P.D., I can tell you that, at the moment, he sounds a lot like Jason Beghe.) at a slow rate, so I’ve made an effort, but all he does is piss me off with the unappreciativeness. I don’t have a lot of patience to begin with, so insulting me is not the way to get what you want or need.
People don’t rely on me for compassion, they rely on me to get the difficult shit done. I realize he feels he deserves some kind of “compassion pass” at the moment, but I don’t have it in me to change the core of who I am. I handle and face situations, but I’m not going to be someone I’m not, regardless of what a situation may be. In life, there’s no room for sugar-coating, and I certainly don’t expect people to do it for me either. Deliver the facts, I will deliver solutions, but don’t play games with me. It can seem cold and dispassionate to people, but I am actually quite passionate. If I wasn’t passionate, I wouldn’t do a damn thing for anyone. I would absolutely be selfish and self-centered, but I’m not. Sometimes when people are going through something difficult, they imprint their issues onto you, because their coping mechanisms aren’t strong enough to hold them together emotionally.
Ultimately, medication or not, I know who I am. This week has been a bad situation and it upset me to an ugly point, but my survival and success rate are 100%. I’m not going anywhere.
copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Pull The Covers Up And Leave Me Alone
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.
copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
How Honest Are People About Their Mental Health? This Might Surprise You…
Facebook needs to institute a better policy involving “friending”. Even with strict filtering, I have people sending me friend requests simply because they like something I’ve said. Why in the world would you want to be “friends” with someone who is simply the same astrological sign as you, or just happens to also be a writer/editor? I understand when people say they’re an “aspiring writer”. They want to see what they can learn from you. I am a very open person, BUT when it comes to my WIP’s, I am not about to post them anywhere for the entire world to see. I don’t want or need a critique, I don’t need someone to tell me how to be a better writer, etc. I have been doing this for 28 years this month. I know my shit. If I didn’t, I would never have continued to return to it, be it as a source of inspiration for myself or as a source of income.
Moreover, if a person openly declares themselves a “sociopath”, you probably DON’T want to accept the friend request that is sent to you an hour later simply because they “like” an intelligent and/or helpful comment that you’ve made. I keep my “inner sociopath” to myself. I do let her out on special occasions though, when a person is deserving of dealing with it. 😉
One interesting thing that caught my eye over the past couple of days was an article that other writers and aspiring writers were contributing to. I want to say that it was more a group of highly creative individuals, so there were songwriters and artists also involved in the conversation. It began with a question: “How many of us suffer from bipolar disorder or other forms of depression or anxiety?”
Nearly a hundred different people (it might have been more, this has been a rough week for me in terms of keeping in touch with others) responded with various responses that said yes and each of them explained their diagnoses. Only four or five people said they suspected they suffered from some sort of depression, but that it had never been diagnosed. About the same amount, more or less, said they did not suffer from depression.
I was very proud of everyone for openly, honestly discussing bipolar disorder, anxiety, OCD, and a plethora of other forms of “mental illness”. It hurts me to use that term AT ALL. I don’t see every single person as “mental” and I cringe when people refer to others in such a way, as opposed to educating themselves. An illness is an illness. I would never tell someone they were responsible for getting sick in the first place, but MANY do say shit like that. It baffles me. Some people even discussed varying degrees of autism. That takes incredible courage. One of my cousins is autistic, so I’m not ignorant there.
When confronted with my own mental health, I am supremely honest, but I do not advertise it. I am going through something that has made me full-blown OCD, exacerbated my PTSD to levels I didn’t even know existed, and my anxiety is so bad, I can barely sleep most nights without waking up screaming, sometimes from pain, sometimes from my medication wearing off too quickly.
From day one, I have openly, and very honestly discussed suicide. This makes people uncomfortable because they REFUSE to face the fact that they’ve romanced the idea themselves. No one can tell me they suffer from any form of depression and have NEVER considered suicide. It might have been a fleeting thought, it might be something you NEVER act on, but it still exists. This is a trigger for a lot of people. They lash out at me and decide I am no longer worth their time, all because I was HONEST. Catch me on a dark day and I might scare you with my truth, but anyone who genuinely cares about you will give you their time and concern, they will not pretend you’re “mental” or tell you to “take a pill”. Those are two of the most insulting things to tell someone.
I once had a woman piss me off at the grocery store. I was going through a stressful time with my father’s health and, in front of her children (both of whom were under the age of 12, but not younger than 8 or 9), she told them to “Get away from her, she’s “mental”. I might THINK a person is batshit in a public place, but unless they’ve caused harm to someone or they’re about to hurt themselves, I’m not stupid enough to go there.
Truth is, they were standing in front of a huge display of fruit for nearly ten minutes and wouldn’t move out of the way. How do you not tell your young kids to move over so other people can shop too? She was talking to them like they were infants, as opposed to children that have the ability to comprehend. The comment was completely out of line and off base. I turned to look at her, contemplated knocking her teeth out, and then looked at her a second longer with her kids. I felt incredibly sorry for them. I then politely took the fruit I wanted and said “Did you learn that in your many years of therapy? You might not want to pre-judge people based upon your own issues.”, and I walked away. She was left in the dust, unable to speak, because I called her on her shit.
I don’t need that kind of false denial in my life, not from any one. You don’t have to like me or love me, but I guarantee that with an open mind, you will respect me. I would never intentionally hurt someone with my candor, and it’s okay to say “Lisa, I care about you, but this upsets me too much to discuss any further.” It’s called COMMUNICATION.
I have lost people to suicide because they had no one they felt would truly listen and hear them out or “make it stop”. I’ve stopped myself many times from acting on a thought because I believed it was irrational and felt it was wrong to leave any one of 4-5 people in my life behind to discover what I’d done, or have to receive the phone call that just plain brings you to your knees. It would devastate four of them. The last person probably wouldn’t give a shit or so much as come to my funeral. I’m not a priority now, why would I be a priority then?! (Yes, that was morbid and I apologize. Two, you’d understand why I said that if you knew who I was talking about and how they have treated me.)
Being honest about what I suffer from, including migraines and Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain is part of what keeps me alive. The other part is that I am responsible for little people that love me and would have terrible difficulties without me. And even still… I often find myself thinking “This isn’t enough to live for.” It’s not coming from a selfish place, it’s coming from a place of wanting to be better, to strengthen the relationships in my life, to bring other relationships into my life and allow them to flourish. I cannot live for one thing and one thing alone. That’s my personal take on it, but it might not be yours, and that’s okay. I’m by no means here to judge you.
I want to thank the people that have supported me this past week through a living nightmare. I am surprisingly uplifted by the emotional support, care, concern, dedication, determination, and devotion. Only ONE person said “I’m proud of you.” When you’re going through hell, you do not want to be pitied, treated like a failure, or be belittled and/or disrespected. You simply want to be treated like the person that you are. I had to be reminded that I am strong, smart, and capable in the face of others trying to crush my soul. Bad things happen to all of us at some point in life. I may have been given a higher dose, perhaps God shouldn’t trust me so much, but it is what it is, and I am making peace with it.
I refuse to allow anyone to make me feel small in order to raise their own self-esteem.
If you’re honest and upfront about any illness, I applaud you. If you’re a loyal, supportive person to those that you love, I also applaud you. Compassion & genuine kindness is severely underrated.
“Things” do not make you who you are. It’s what’s inside your heart and soul that is the true value of self. The trappings are pure nonsense. They do not define you. I wish I’d understood some of that for the past ten years, but now that I do, I am determined, now more than ever, to persevere and make important things happen.
This phoenix has been reborn. Stay the hell out of my fire.
copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Written by LISA MARINO-Molchanova 