Every Witch Way, But Mostly Dead

2018-04-082018-04-08 Miss Poison Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Complex PTSD, Depression, Emotional Pain, Enough, Escape, Exhaustion, Fibromyalgia, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Writing April, Complex PTSD, Depression, Emotional Pain, Empty, Fibromyalgia, Observations, Physical Pain, Stress, Survival, Triggers, Writing, Zero Emotional Support

Authors’ Note: **POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING**

Yes, the title is spelled correctly. Yes, it’s intentional.

Most of my weekends are spent doing things I’d rather not do. The weekends were once my refuge for sleep, quiet, peace, laughter, productivity, cooking, more laughter, and space. They are now filled with rushed moments, trying to pack a lot of time into a few hours here and there. I almost NEVER get to do something I genuinely want to do, and despite the fact that I am being supremely honest about that, I can’t say it doesn’t gall me. It does. There’s not a lot about my current life that I signed up for. I find that’s a repetitive theme these days.

On one hand, a person might try shaming me by saying I don’t appreciate what I have. I don’t recommend attempting that tactical method with me. I might seem nice, but I’m not. Only someone who truly understands what I am going through and experiencing would understand why I say what I say and feel as I do. The truth is; I don’t need to justify my feelings to anyone or have them agree or disagree. They’re MY feelings. I own them, and they are accurate.

By a certain age, we all kind of find our niche and know the direction we plan on taking, whatever that direction may be. It could be personal, professional, or a mixture of the two, but the decision is made somewhere along the way to go right or left, or maybe North, South, East, or West. Some of us meet forks in the road, whereas other people see smooth sailing on the same road from the initial decision until the end of their life. My life, for some unknown reason, is one fork after another. It is an expensive place-setting with more forks than one really need have on a table called life, but there they are; ever-present and obnoxious as hell. I’m not a mermaid, you can’t dangle shiny things in front of me and distract me. Perhaps one should try diamonds instead of forks. I’m a Royal Asscher kind of girl. 😉

For a while now the saying “Different levels, different devils.” has been on a repetitive loop inside my head. I have plenty to write and say, and no interest in actually drafting any of it into a post or anything else. I don’t get writer’s block, but I do experience writer’s boredom. Let’s call me a severely bored writer for the moment. It’ll pass.

My usual desire to be creative on other artistic platforms where I have either interest or talent is also in a “bored” phase. For me to walk into ULTA and come out with NOTHING is almost unheard of. I found it kind of disturbing when I was the person who didn’t walk out with a bright orange bag.

A friend asked me how I was doing last week and I replied “I’m in a state of really not giving a shit about anything or anyone.” Not realizing that her reply could make or break someone else, she responded by saying “Oh. That’s kind of a good thing, I guess.” I informed her it most certainly is not.

I’ve been pretty ill on and off for months. I was holding up halfway decently, and have slowly started to decline. Let’s get something straight; no one should EVER rejoice in someone else’s pain or hardships. You can’t tell me I’ll feel better if “just pray harder” or if I “take a bath” and “light some candles”. Seriously?! What the fuck is wrong with people?

Your mental health, and mine, is just as important as the rest of your health. I call Mondays “Mental Health Monday” because I allow myself that time to do nothing, but take care of me. To shut everything and everyone off and allow myself to get into the correct head space to do what I need to for the week. Unfortunately, I already know that I will be badly triggered tomorrow. As a result, today was not the day I intended for it to be.

I am forced to make a heartbreaking decision. Will it kill me? Physically, no, but it will kill my soul, whatever is left of it after feeling like I’ve experienced various forms of hell for the past two and a half years. If I do it, there’s no point left for me anymore because I will finally know there’s no future left for me to return to. There’s no point in forging ahead without what little in this world that gives me hope and keeps me alive.

As usual, my brother caused critical damage to this situation, refuses to take ownership of his behavior and words, and I have no where else to turn. I have always been told that I don’t know how to ask for help. There’s a reason I don’t ask, and it’s because time and again, I’ve been shown cruelty and the true nature of others. If you genuinely want to help someone, then you’ll do it and NEVER throw it in their face. You won’t lord it over them and tell them what a horrible person they are. If you genuinely want to hurt someone, well, I’ve been hurt enough.

This week will be full of challenges and pain for me. I hate feeling hopeless and I hate feeling like I have failed when the truth is, I’ve FOUGHT LIKE FUCKING HELL to get this far. My body feels like it’s perpetually at war, and it is. My immune system fights itself and it leaves me in a constant state of fight or flight. As I type this, my heart isn’t sure if it should be calm or jump out of my chest. It’s exhausting and I’ve had enough.

I spend a little too much time in Witch City, and have for the past year. Yesterday I was subjected to more people than I EVER want to be around in close spaces for over two hours. I have never been more happy to escape crowds of people. I keep thinking how sad it would be if this was my last weekend ever. I wonder if the selfishness of others would then finally be realized.

I never get to do anything of my own choosing. But I do get to control what I write.

Fighting Your Internal Dialogue

2018-01-162018-01-17 Miss Poison Chronic Pain, Disrespect, Writing Anger, Bad Doctors, Chronic Pain, Doctors, Experiences, Musings, Observations, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Right and Wrong, Truth, Writing

Hello everyone! I hope you’re all doing well. I’m not going to lie; today was a rough one. 😦

I made an appointment sometime last month to meet with a spine specialist (read: anesthesiologist). My new doctor had asked me to meet with the in-house substance abuse doctor as well, so she could prescribe the one controlled substance I take, until I find a new doctor who would then take the prescribing duties on full-time. She said “You only have to meet her once.” I don’t know what my face looked like when she dropped that bombshell on me, but she tried to reassure me that this is merely procedure. I was okay with that. However, after today I can tell you that once was ENOUGH. I physically had to keep myself in my seat, choose my words carefully, and fight my own body so I wouldn’t lean over her desk and punch her in the face. Yeah, it was one of THOSE days. I am going to be seeing red for a while.

My day started out stressful. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, and I’d fasted for blood work, so I was functioning on next to nothing. No amount of water makes up for the fact that you feel weak and dizzy by the time you get to the lab, because at that point it had been well over twelve hours and if I don’t eat, I will inevitably get a migraine.

I arrived at my first appointment of the day; the spine specialist. I’d read his reviews in advance and was very mixed going into this appointment, but decided to keep an open mind and hear him out. I am happy to report that he was one of the nicest doctors I’ve ever met. How often do I say that? Almost never.

He took notes, did a physical examination of my spine, was very careful with my neck because the range of motion is poor, and he agreed that I definitely have weakness on the left side of my body. Before he made any decisions he turned to me and said “Do you WANT an MRI?” He told me “I will never order a test or force a treatment on you that you don’t agree with.” I thought my jaw might hit the floor from the kind, respectful treatment, but I remained in check. We agreed on the MRI, and he even ordered an open MRI so I won’t have to deal with any potential claustrophobia, which I experienced during my last few MRIs. Generally, I am not claustrophobic at all, but I felt he should know about it, just in case. He then said “Go when you’re ready, they’ll send me the results, and we’ll follow-up then.” Non-aggressive, highly respectful, and extremely laid back. I walked out and said “The doctor was LOVELY.” I don’t usually say things like that, but in this case, it was true.

We did talk about injections, which I am against, and he said “There might be some medications we could try again at different doses.” and he even said he might refer me out, depending on the results of the updated MRI. He doesn’t think an epidural in my neck would help with the pain that travels down my spine, into my left arm and leg. He believes they are two separate issues, but is wondering if I have a narrowing of my spine, which is highly possible. I remember my mother having it, but I shouldn’t have it this young. He looked at my x-ray results and explained that where the technician said, in the reports, that I had a muscle spasm or a shadow in my spine in two different areas, it was likely just my body’s natural response to being in so much pain for so long. He said it was probably residual tension, as opposed to an actual spasm. I inquired about a steroid pack, because so many people have suggested this to me, and he said he doesn’t think they would help because I’ve suffered for so long, or he would have prescribed it immediately.

I left his office feeling positive, mostly because the appointment went well and I was treated like a human-being, which is always a shock. Because I had a little less than two hours to kill in between appointments, I went downstairs to the lab. That took longer than my consult with the doctor, but I was already there and it wasn’t that big a deal. Four vials of blood and I was out of there. Most of the tests are similar to what I had done last May, except this time, my doctor will be calling me with the results because she actually gives a damn about her patients. I am concerned about one of the tests, but here’s hoping it’s normal. I will say the lab tech did a great job, because I don’t have a bruise the size of my hand on my left forearm. I still bruised right away, but it’s small enough that I’m not concerned. I’ll use some Arnica on it until it heals. The last one took a long time to heal and it was hideous.

When the “substance abuse” doctor was ready to see me, I immediately knew where things were headed. Doctors really ought to be more careful with their approach to patients they’ve never met and do not know. One day, behavior like hers will result in someone taking action. That may seem sad, but it’s the truth. I am not going to sugar-coat this woman’s behavior.

I was drug-tested for the first time in my life, and told to leave the test in a public restroom. Yeah, because that seems smart! I was outraged by this. As anyone who has ever had a urinalysis knows, those things are not sealed. Anyone could have gone into that bathroom after me and done G-d knows what with the test. This is a test that they bill approximately $1100-$1700 to the insurance company for, which is INSANE because you can buy them over-the-counter at Walgreens. Because I had fasted for the lab work, and had already gone to the bathroom ahead of seeing her, there wasn’t much for her to work with, providing they don’t call me tomorrow to tell me my test is missing or needs to be redone. Downstairs, in the lab, they had to call a woman who’d been there earlier in the morning to say she needed to come back and have hers redone. The entire office heard this phone call, there was nothing private about this person’s medical information, and that’s a blatant violation. Whatever did or didn’t happen with her test is an epic screw-up from where I’m sitting. If they fucked up mine, I REFUSE to go back there for a drug test. They can bite me. I’m surprised she didn’t also ask for a cheek swab, a hair sample, and DNA. DO NOT read this and say “Lisa, she’s just doing her job.” There is a correct way to do this job, and that does not involve making law-abiding citizens feel like they’re doing something wrong by following a doctor’s instructions where a prescription is concerned.

When I returned to her office, she had no idea why I was there, asked if we’d met before, couldn’t find my file, and then proceeded with a list of questions my own mother (G-d Rest and Bless Her Soul) would not have asked me in a million years.

I was asked approximately six times if I use marijuana or cocaine. I’m sitting there trying not to roll my eyes as I give her the same answer each time; NO. Is this person forgetful or fucking testing me? I don’t care, because the answer is no, and the drug test will prove it.

To my face I was, once again, told I was an addict. I’m not, and because I have known addicts and been around addiction, I do know the difference. I can spot it in other people. I have responsibly taken medication that I assure you, is the ONLY reason I did not knock this bitch out. That and learning how to rein my temper in slowly.

It’s one thing to be doing your job with the questions, that’s fine, but it’s a whole other ballgame when you ask me to relive the worst trauma of my life because you don’t understand why I have a specific diagnosis (to which I nearly said “Talk to the fucking treating physician! Don’t repeat that question again.”), repeatedly ask the same fucking questions as if the answer is suddenly going to change, and demand to know where my doctor’s notes are. I cannot see what you’re looking at behind the desk/computer, so my answer was very nearly “Beats the shit out of me!” Instead I said “I can’t access them, either. Your guess is as good as mine. Would you like his phone number?” When I give someone professional, cold answers, it is a WARNING. Apparently, this woman did not see the red fucking flag waved in front of her face, and kept pushing.

“Do you drink coffee?” she suddenly asks me. I live a mostly caffeine-free life because of my migraines, but for the past few weeks I have been drinking coffee at all hours. Maybe a cup a day, sometimes two, but I’m not sucking down gallons of the stuff. She should take the psychoanalysis to the local Starbucks, because rest assured, caffeine is not an “addiction” for me. It’s something I’m drinking because I like the taste. I don’t have it behind me in an IV.

“Do you smoke?” No. “Do you drink alcohol?” No. “Is there a reason you don’t drink alcohol?” Mind you, the spine specialist asked me these questions earlier in the day, except when I replied no, each time, he said “That’s great.” and only when I said I don’t drink did he ask if there was a specific reason for that, and quickly asked if I was pregnant. Light, calm tone, no rudeness or insinuations. Not from her, though. She’s a first class bitch, in all caps.

She aggressively pushed every last button I had, until I thought about the one person on this planet who keeps me calm and grounded, and I told myself “This office is small and you could strangle her and/or rip her fucking throat out in less than thirty seconds, but it’s not worth it. Let it go.” When you’re fighting with your internal dialogue, it’s not always a good thing. My creative process on murder astounds me. I’m only half-kidding, but no one needs to worry.

I had already answered her questions regarding my diagnosis of Complex-PTSD and where it potentially stems from, so when she asked where my parents lived, that was IT. I knew she was intentionally trying to break me, because she desperately wanted to know if I am an addict. She has reached the point where she cannot tell the difference between a patient and an addict, two very different beasts. I should have informed her that there is an immense difference between patients and addicts, and that I don’t appreciate her aggressive behavior, but I knew she would go back to my doctor and say I was a combative addict, or whatever she chooses to say in order to appease herself.

When she told me it wouldn’t take 2-3 years for me to be taken off this medication, I nearly laughed in her face. My doctor told me it WOULD take 2-3 years to safely take me off of this medication in order to put me on something else, something safer. He was concerned about seizures and other side effects that I have only been made aware of in the past four or five years, and he felt that I wasn’t ready to begin tapering because of all that I am going through, both health-wise and emotionally. He’s right, and I stand by what he said to me. Here she is though, suddenly telling me I can be detoxed off of this quickly (NOT true. Yanking me off this medication could kill me, and it does kill people when it’s not done properly.) and that forty or fifty years from now, this medication MIGHT cause dementia. I wanted to say “I probably won’t live that long and quite frankly, I am NOT going to worry about what ‘could cause dementia or ‘might cause dementia’. Are you SURE you went to medical school?” I know people who take medication to improve their quality of life and that’s all this medication does for me, albeit not that well any more. From a medical perspective, it IS a high dose, but I’ve always been responsible with how I take it.

In June, my doctor asked me to start taking smaller doses, whenever possible, and I have done that. I am two months behind on my prescription and I still have enough medication for a few weeks. Instead of seeing this as a responsible thing, which is exactly what it is, this bitch took issue with that because she cannot understand what he said to me, because she can’t find his notes, and why I am being responsible and discerning with it. This didn’t sit right with her majesty.

She finally told me she will talk to my doctors and “figure something out”. She had about a hundred case files on her desk and as she desperately searched for mine, there wasn’t one. I suspect it’s because I am NOT a red flag to my doctor, who was a sweetheart to me and said she has no problem prescribing it, so long as this other doctor approves me. I don’t know if she will.

When I got home, I had to contact one of my doctors who she said she wanted to speak to. She does not have authorization to do so, because I didn’t sign a consent form, but I wanted this doctor to know, just in case. I didn’t want her to be side-swiped by this woman. She is the physical embodiment of a drive-by shooting, with all the subtly.

When she complained about the doctor who left, and not having his notes and diagnoses, I told her “This is where he works now. I’m sure you can find him.” She suddenly decided I need a “case manager” to get me in to see someone. Here’s a fact; I am NOT special. There is a LONG waiting list to be seen by so many specialists, and no one is going to move me up the list “just because”. I called before Thanksgiving to get an appointment with a migraine specialist and just last week, they told me I could be seen…at the end of May. I’m lucky they didn’t say “in 2019” after they said May. So, despite it being something I’d normally bitch about, I simply took the appointment and the receptionist promised she’d call me if there were any cancellations so I could get in sooner, after apologizing for twenty minutes because no one ever returned my call. The doctor has a five star rating which is the highest you can give a doctor, so I hope she’ll be able to help me.

Chronic pain patients put up with a LOT of crap. For me, this was unnecessary drama that raised my blood pressure to the point of a migraine. The sad thing is, I would have received more kindness, compassion, and far better treatment if I had walked in with track marks and an active addiction that was visible. Instead, I walked in with flawless makeup (It’s force of habit, I’m not trying to impress any one.), dressed like a normal person, and once again, I was judged for that. It’s NOT acceptable and it’s NOT okay.

When I told a family member that I wanted to talk to my primary care doctor about how this woman treated me, I received a lecture about how it’s “her job to ask questions like that, it’s all a form”. Yes, it’s her job to determine who is an addict and who is not, but no matter what I did, this woman was determined to find fault with me. I was waiting for Homeland Security to be on hand as I left for a fucking cavity search! I’ve never had anyone tell me, after a medical appointment, to “Just leave, go out.” I wouldn’t talk to a dog like that!

I don’t want to live in a society where patients are treated like dirt for taking necessary prescription medication, which means they’re smart enough to know something is wrong and seek treatment for whatever ails them, and addicts are being accommodated for choosing to use street drugs. The message this sends to patients is a horrible one, indeed. If I didn’t suffer terribly every single day of my life, I would throw all the prescriptions I have in the trash. We ALL would. Pharmaceutical companies would be out of business, or would have to look for other ways to make money. What would happen to pharmacies if, suddenly, we were all healthy? It’s an amazing idea, for a dystopian novel. In the real world, illness exists. No one asks for it.

When a doctor is annoyed because you don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs of any kind, that is your sign that something is wrong with them. It’s not you. Every other doctor I’ve met has noted those things as positive. Not her, because she is determined that everyone she meets is an addict of some kind. As she judgmentally sips her tea.

To make sure it wasn’t my imagination, I went and read her reviews. She has a one and a half star rating, which is basically unheard of, but I am glad I saw it because it validated me. The review that is posted, before my own, states that “She should have her medical license revoked because she is a real piece of shit.”, and that was merely the end of the lengthy review that was a mere glimpse at my own interaction with her. This person states they were repeatedly asked the same questions I was, and that they were also threatened by her. To add insult to injury, this is an award-winning doctor! I have NO idea how that’s even possible, but if she fucks with my medication and my health, she is just another doctor whose unprofessional, aggressive behavior is something I will happily report to the state licensing board. She seems incredibly overworked and I’d like to provide her with a permanent vacation.

There are great doctors out there, and I will always honor one with a great review and my full respect, but there are also bottom feeders that make you sick to your stomach. I encourage you to read reviews whenever possible, and I encourage you to write reviews, for the good and the bad. More often than not, it’s the doctor, NOT you.

Patients with chronic illnesses are still PATIENTS. We don’t deserve to be treated like garbage simply because a doctor assumes we’re all secretly addicts. I am shaking my head tonight, knowing in my heart that I didn’t do anything wrong.

Stay safe, smart, and warm, my lovely readers. And if you’ve ever experienced anything like this, I want you to know I stand behind you, and with you.

You Only Get One Chance

2017-08-042017-08-12 Miss Poison Unbelievable Crap, Writing Doctors, Drama, Health, Musings, Observations, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing

I showed up for my doctor’s appointment today and the office staff, who I can only describe as idiotically incompetent, something I don’t normally say about this particular office, waited about ten minutes before informing me that my insurance had been terminated. To say I was outraged is a vast understatement.

When they ask you to confirm a week prior to your appointment THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO RUN YOUR INSURANCE. Every office is supposed to do this to avoid people showing up for appointments without coverage. Apparently, they’re too fucking lazy to do their jobs. Instead of doing their due diligence, they get me up early on a Friday morning, I arrive on time, and I get handed a huge pile of horse shit shortly after trying to gear up to be seen. I stepped out to find out what was going on because you don’t have private conversations in a waiting room.

I called my insurance company and they immediately passed the buck, claiming it “wasn’t their fault and they didn’t know anything”, thus leaving me to call the “parent company”. After being on hold for nearly twenty minutes, “the parent” made claims that I was notified of termination in March. I didn’t even have my insurance for a full two months in March, and I’d know if I had received a letter requesting information. I open everything they send me because if they need something, I make sure to handle it right away. I can’t afford to be without coverage. They told me they’re “missing a document”, but the document in question is one I provided them with before I was approved for insurance in the first place. How did it suddenly “go missing”? How is it that they waited until July 29th to cancel me?! They told me they sent me a letter on July 14th to notify me that they needed this document by the 28th. I would know if I’d received such a letter, but I didn’t. I have only received a few pieces of mail in the past few weeks and none of it was from them. The only thing I have received from them recently involved open enrollment for this Fall; which gives me the opportunity to change the secondary company and try something new out for three months, and either keep it after that for a full year or switch back to the current “child company”. Why would you send that to me if you were going to terminate me? It makes no sense.

I called them at the end of June to ask a question and I was assured that I was active with zero issues regarding my insurance. That would have been a good time to say “Hey, did you get the letter we sent you in March?”, or at least one would think so. I’ve spoken with the “child company” a handful of times and not once was this mentioned to me. Instead, the “parent” told me I did not have to do anything until the end of my first insured year when they ask you to verify your address and other information for the umpteenth time, “to keep everything current”. Their words, not mine. I don’t know about you, but I call and change my address with companies if need be, I don’t wait until they ask me to verify.

Being told “Please write a letter verifying your address and fax it to us immediately.” pissed me off because I missed out on two appointments I’ve had planned for the past month as a result of this idiocy. Even better, they told me to call them Monday (I’ve already faxed them the document.) to “make sure they got the fax”. These are the same people who, for months, told me they were handling my application and in the end, I was forced to re-apply because they’d somehow “only gotten one page” of a twenty plus page fax. I find this very hard to believe after being told “You’re in the system, we just haven’t processed you yet.”. I was told it would take 48 hours for the fax to be processed, but up to two weeks for me to be reinstated. I nearly lost it. I have appointments pending this month and I NEED to be seen. I cannot imagine going to the ER, something I had planned on doing due to my pain escalating, and being told I was not covered. I’m so outraged, and yet I am told this “happens all the time”. How is this acceptable? If I don’t receive notification of something, then I cannot provide you with a ridiculous document I’ve already given you.

The doctor’s office tried to get me to sign a waiver to be seen, claiming my insurance would “back date” me. My insurance company said “We don’t do that; don’t sign anything.” The woman in the office was asked twice how much one appointment was without insurance, just to get in and be seen, and she actually said “$800.” Did your jaw just hit the floor? She can’t possibly know what she’s talking about because that is so beyond unrealistic, it’s not even funny. Who the hell made up such nonsense? That she repeated it with a straight face more than once was truly appalling. Why can’t you just say “I honestly don’t know.”? Why lie and claim it’s “high because it’s billed through the hospital”? Trust me, that is NOT what you bill the insurance company and if you do, that is laughable because you’re probably lucky to get $80 from them. I know how this shit works.

The main reason I was there was to meet a new doctor and get medication. After dealing with the insurance and feeling like an absolute moron for not canceling when it’s genuinely what I wanted to do in the first place, the doctor calls me into her office, ostensibly to discuss what she is going to do, etc. It went from “I’ll give you a one month supply of your medicine.” to “I can’t prescribe that.” She was rude, dismissive, judgmental, and then tried to back-track with me and pretend to be nice after she’d already judged me for medication I’ve taken for fourteen years and insulted my intelligence. For the record, I hadn’t said a word to her before she started in on me. When I give you direct eye contact and it’s an icy look, and I’m being deadly silent, I am giving you the opportunity not to dig yourself a deeper hole. She kept digging. I immediately knew she was NOT going to work out. I may have to see her in a month, just to be prescribed the medicine, but I’ve already asked someone else in her office to “find me another doctor”, and I explained why in the shortest way possible.

My former doctor hasn’t actually left, which did not shock me at all. His name kept coming up in conversations to me and I nearly walked into his office and left him a note about the Oxford English dictionary definition of “I’m leaving on July 7th.” (I’m legitimately going to offer to pack his office for him. He is WAY too good for that place.). I haven’t spoken to him in a month, so he’ll know something is wrong if I’m calling. I both want to call and don’t want to, because I’m really unsure what he can do at this point. I am not sure what he was thinking when he recommended her, saying she was “really warm and caring” (I couldn’t warm up to this woman if we were cremated together. I can’t wait to hear his reaction when I tell him that. He knows me well enough to know I am not joking around.), but I hope to G-d he’s got someone else in mind because I will NOT tolerate someone like her ever again. Her behavior is the precise reason I started seeing male doctors almost exclusively. I don’t need bullshit from a doctor simply because she’s female. I’m a woman, too, but I don’t have anything to prove simply because I’m female.

I walked out of her office politely, but being told to “call my primary care physician” for medicine she was too afraid to prescribe pissed me off. It wasn’t merely what she said, it was the way she said it and how disrespectful she was overall. The one thing my PCP did do right is prescribe it without argument. I was shocked. I can make a month’s supply last about six weeks or so, but I shouldn’t have to, and that’s the point. This doctor was beyond rude and then tried to pretend like she was a good person. That sort of behavior doesn’t fly with me. This is a medication easily called into my pharmacy, so it’s not a serious drug (not in my eyes, any way), it’s just not prescribed as regularly as it once was. My former doctor didn’t have enough experience with it to prescribe it or to try tapering me off of it because he wasn’t going to be there much longer, so we simply discussed my taking a lower dose of it whenever possible, and I have done that. I take it as needed, but I don’t take the entire prescribed amount each day.

Walking out angry from a maybe five-minute conversation is not a good first impression to make on ANY patient. Being rude, dismissive, condescending, refusing to listen and actually hear me, and being passive-aggressive are not qualities one wants in a doctor. You only get one chance with me. There is no way I can have a working relationship with someone like that. And sadly, I knew I didn’t like her the second I saw her. My intuition screamed “That’s the new doctor. Get out while you can!” You aren’t going to get anywhere with me using the “bitch card”. If that’s how you want to make your first impression, so be it, but I do not have to allow you to be a treating physician in MY life.

Hopefully this gets straightened out soon and I can move on to a different doctor who isn’t a rude snit. I am fine going elsewhere if they don’t have someone who can handle themselves in a professional manner.

I know a lot of people who only want to deal with female doctors, and by all means, have at it. I’m a girl’s girl to the core, but my experience with most female doctors has been horrible. This one was exactly how I thought she’d be, and that’s sad. I had zero hope for her when I made the appointment to begin with, and now, I am sorry I didn’t push harder for someone else.

Ultimately I will do what I have to do to take care of myself and prioritize MY health, but I’m not going to do it with anyone who cannot be respectful of me. Note to self: Listen to your intuition, and don’t ever take shit from someone simply because they’re a doctor.

In The Middle Of The Journey

Quote 2017-08-01 Miss Poison Quotes Dante Alighieri, Observations, Quotes

“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.” ―Dante Alighieri

The Summer Of ‘What The Fuck?’

2017-07-21 Miss Poison Writing Honesty, July, Mourning, Musings, Observations, Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Sadness, Writing

4outof5 — Under the tomatoes, where no one will look? I’m sorry, did I say that out loud… LOL.

I promised myself certain aspects of this year would be better, and they have been, but the rest of the year, thus far, has been a shit-show of epic proportions. I am so thrown by it all, I probably say “What the fuck?!” fifty times a day, if not more.

I’ve talked about it, so by now (unless you’re one of my newer subscribers) you’ve probably heard me say I’m blacking out/losing time. It’s been going on for over a year. I FINALLY go to the appointment with the new neurologist and instead of allowing to me speak and elaborate on this, he barely grunts about it. It was completely dismissed, as was a lot of what I said. He has all the personality of a wet mop someone has recently disposed of. Before I could finish speaking, he was out the door. Does he sound like someone you’d want as your doctor?

Obviously as a migrainuer, this was not my first rodeo with a neurologist. It is, however, my first time seeing one I’m completely unfamiliar with. I do NOT like him. I had such a solid relationship with my previous neurologist; he was like family. He always treated me with respect, he always listened to my concerns, and to this day, I still recommend people to him because I think he’s one of the best migraine specialists. The first two neurologists I was subjected to were complete jackasses I wouldn’t refer anyone to, be they human or animal. Reptile? Maybe.

I had no idea what to expect from this doctor. I read his reviews and they were not the least bit stellar, but I read them too late to cancel my appointment. Many of them stated he should have his license revoked, most people stated he was a highly dismissive, rude “physician”, and one or two said he’s an amazing doctor and they didn’t understand all the negative reviews. He must drink coffee on the days he meets the five-star review folks because grunting and muttering and being dismissive only pissed me off. It’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around the list of reviews because people don’t normally write reviews unless they’re motivated by positive or truly negative experiences. My experience left me with no feeling at all. I cannot deal with someone who does the bare minimum, doesn’t answer my questions, and then puts me on medication I’ve already been on. The pharmacist, at least, answered my questions. Don’t tell me generic names and expect me to know what the hell you’re giving me; tell me the brand name like you’re an actual doctor, regardless of what the insurance company pays for. Spend more than ten minutes in the room (The waiting room was empty, I have NO idea where they’re hiding his patients.), and please, do NOT think you’re doing me the biggest favor in the world by saying you’ll put in for prior authorization for treatment you had no idea my insurance even covers. I called them, despite already knowing the answer, and it’s covered, but I’m not 100% sure I trust you to do it because it involves a lot of fucking needles. I might ask a local tattoo artist instead. 😦 At least they work with needles every day.

After openly declaring I have “chronic migraines”, to which I wanted to say “Where the hell did YOU go to medical school, Sherlock?”, but refrained, he provided no rescue medication and no abortive medication, claiming my insurance doesn’t pay for it. I was only too happy to call him and inform him that they do pay for it, and to please contact them immediately for prior authorization for Relpax. If my insurance will pay for twelve pills a month, why shouldn’t I have it on hand? He merely put me on a beta-blocker and an anti-nausea drug that’s about as old as he is. To say I’m not happy is a gross understatement. That’s not effort. He was truly out of the room and down the hall before I could finish blinking. That’s not efficient; that’s half-assed.

To be fair to myself, I am writing up my concussion, migraine, and Fibromylagia history moving forward because I refuse to leave the diagnosis out ever again. My primary blew it off when I used the words “Physical pain from my neck to my toes.” She didn’t even look at me, she focused solely on the migraines and pretended like I hadn’t just explained something requiring a Rheumatology consult, though many rheumatologists are now passing Fibromyalgia off to neurologists. I am NOT dumbing myself down for another doctor. Let her diagnose it properly. The doctor who did diagnose it over a decade ago never put it in my chart. Mind you, when he put me on Cymbalta, at my request, because I had researched it extensively before it was even in pharmacies, I told him how much it helped with the Fibromylagia pain, exhaustion, and physical weakness. He allowed me to take 360 mgs of it for eight years, yet when I said “How is this diagnosis NOT in my chart, he replied “I don’t recall us ever having this conversation.” Dude, in what world would I take 360 mgs of Cymbalta that does NOT work for most people?! In what world does my insurance company approve that much medicine each month when the highest dose most people take is 120 mgs? It angers me greatly to feel jerked around like that. If my primary refuses to listen and/or refer me out, she still needs to know about the original diagnosis and that it was omitted from my chart. If she’s not happy that I didn’t tell her the first time, well, I’m not happy that she chose to ignore me, my blood work, and other things, but conveniently billed me $627 for what should have been an office visit, but actually looks like insurance fraud from where I’m sitting. I’m more than happy to tell her this to her face next month when I see her. She is overbooked, her office staff is negligent, and cannot get a proper message to her to save their life. I NEVER want to be subjected to her Physician’s Assistant again. That woman needs a brain. I shouldn’t have to wait two and a half months to see my primary care physician, who is, quite frankly, minutes away, for ANY reason. She’s not a brain surgeon.

To add insult to injury, when I called her office to ask for a referral for a second opinion after the neuro consult, she refused. “I went over his notes and he’s trying to get you the treatment, so you have to go to every follow-up and do what he says.” Um, who the fuck is the patient here? I can confirm that she has already lost me as a patient for the duration. I will say what I need to say and follow-up, but I am on a waiting list for a new primary care doctor for November, at the earliest. She made the blondest brunette mistake of sending an e-mail to me instead of her assistant. It wasn’t meant for me to read, clearly, but I did read it, and she cannot take back that sort of “mistake”. Once again, she blew me off. After constantly saying I needed to be assessed by her, her e-mail stated I should “go to the emergency room” during paralytic attacks. Apparently she doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that when you experience temporary paralysis, you are unable to move and unable to dial the fucking phone. I’m also ALONE when it happens, and it is TERRIFYING. It is almost always from the neck up or it’s the entire left side of my body, and the fear you feel is gut-wrenching because you never know if this is the next thirty minutes of your life, the next three hours, or if you turned wrong and this is now permanent. How would she like me to get to the ER? Via flying carpet?

If she blows me off at my appointment in any way, shape, or form, I will be on the phone to the state licensing board in a New York Minute. I’ve witnessed some heinous crap regarding my treatment in this state and I am NOT going to tolerate another second of bullshit from ANYONE.

I talked about not liking the whole “temporary” situation and I have to say I was disgusted when “Ms. Temporary” had her office call and cancel on me. My doctor called later on the same day because when he heard about it, he knew I was going to react badly. Despite planning on canceling myself because I simply don’t want to waste my time, or hers, I felt like it was a terrible first impression to force me to make an appointment in the first place and then cancel on me without an explanation. He assured me she’s the most reliable person in the world, and that he wasn’t sure what had happened, but he wanted me to know it was more than okay for me to feel justified in not wanting a temporary situation with anyone. Unlike most people, he genuinely gets me, and the affirmation of that was good to hear. Most doctors would NOT have called to check in with me over anything, but he did, and it meant so much to me because we were on the phone a long time. He was touching base and we went over a lot of different things. I know he was concerned based on what we were discussing, but he also said he trusted me. He probably shouldn’t, but I’m also very careful in how I speak to doctors. I’d never put them in the situation of not being able to trust me. I’m not stupid. The choices I make generally have no bearing on the doctors I am seeing.

I left him a message on his last day to thank him for talking me down, because he didn’t have to do that, but he did, and when I thanked him, he said “I’m here for you. My biggest regret is that I was not able to do more to help you.” There are doctors twice his age who would NEVER admit that to a patient.

When I checked earlier, one of the reviews I’d written for him had finally posted. At least he gets to move forward as a doctor with a five-star review. It is the only review he has. Most doctors don’t have them, for obvious reasons. I still have many more to write for him, but each one is the truth.

I did make an appointment with the doctor he recommended, but I told him not to expect anything out of it because I don’t have any trust to offer her. He said “That’s understandable. Either she’ll earn it, or she won’t.” I see why he chose her, but I reserve the right the judge her for myself. I don’t think I said that to him out loud, but he probably knows I’m not going to make it easy on her. She could be lovely and I’ll still find fault with something because she’s not who I want to work with, period.

He is the person who was disgusted by how my primary blew off the pain I’m in; he thinks it’s wrong that I should be suffering so much and be ignored by anyone. He is also the person who was mortified that my blood work and a high fever were blown off, as though they were no big deal, when in fact he agreed with me that neither of them are normal. I’m almost certain he wanted to ask where the Physician’s Assistant went to school, because he’s a very calm, laid-back person, and his voice is always even, but his entire tone changed when I told him what happened. Technically, despite being out of med school and having his license to practice, he’s still completing his residency, but his professionalism outshines people twice his age because he dots his i’s and crosses his t’s. He asks the right questions and doesn’t blow you off. Aside from clearly having the right kind of mind for this sort of work, he obviously had excellent teachers, as well. But ultimately, it comes down to being the right kind of person to be a doctor. Everyone’s mind works differently. His works from a “How can I understand this?” perspective, which, to me, is interesting because I had to answer some of his questions from a “How does he NOT understand this?” position, where I answered him, but tried not to roll my eyes, and sometimes, I flat-out DID roll my eyes at him.

A lot of people meet me and don’t know what to make out of me. I completely baffle the fuck out of them, and I openly admit I get a kick out of that. In six weeks, this person grasped me fully, appreciated my honesty and sense of humor, and made me feel a lot less damaged than I probably deserve to feel. Between our meetings and every single conversation we had in between, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more comfortable or at ease with someone. And it dawned on me that the ease of the doctor/patient relationship felt more comfortable because he felt like a brother or a close friend. I didn’t tiptoe around him, walk on eggshells, or pretend. I was always myself, and ultimately, I was accepted for that completely. It IS rare, so I have every right to say that I respect him and appreciate everything he did for me. I’m also unashamed to admit that I will track him down like a dog with a bone if I’m not able to find someone better who is fully able to do what he was able to do.

I am fighting for my life, my health, and for proper treatment. I REFUSE to dumb myself down for another doctor or ANYONE in the medical field ever again. I may be a pretty mess, but I’m also smarter than I let on, and it’s time to break all of that out and give doctors a run for their money. But I’m also not going to trust people simply because they think it’s a given. It isn’t. I trusted ONE person this year to take care of me properly because he earned that trust the second he introduced himself. Some people have positive energy, and others I don’t get the same vibe from. Being able to read people is a gift not everyone possesses, but it’s a gift I have. I can tell you a lot about someone just by sitting down with them for an hour or two. Often times, people think they’re getting to know me, but in actuality, I’m the one getting all of the information. People don’t realize how much their behavior, speech, and physicality gives them away. You can obverse a lot if you’re paying attention, just don’t expect to be able to read me. I’m not the “open book” type.

I’d forgotten how dishonest people actually are, at times, with their physicians. I don’t think you need to tell them every single detail of your life, but I do think they need to know what’s going on in order to help you. Set realistic goals and say what you mean, as opposed to what you think they want to hear.

Being told that I “know myself really well” and that I “did not come in asking for the magic pill that solves everything” were two of the greatest compliments a person could give me this year. Yes, I’m realistic, but I’ve also been through hell. I know that certain types of medication can help certain types of people, based on where they stand health-wise, but I also know there’s nothing that will help me moving forward for one specific thing, and as sad as that is, it’s life. There’s nothing I can do about it. You keep going until you can no longer go on, and you don’t listen to external “noise” telling you what you should or shouldn’t do, or what you should or shouldn’t “live for”. Unless you live inside my mind, suffer the way I suffer, experience my pain daily, struggle through the inability to sleep, function, react, and can while you’re going through all that, still be able to hard enough each month to pay all of my bills, you simply don’t get a say in how I live my life. I sit in judgment of no one on this front. I don’t say meaningless shit to people in order to make myself feel better. If I’m concerned about someone, I think about THEM and I say what they TRULY need to be told, not what they want to hear. No matter how hard I struggle sometimes just to get through the next five minutes, I still listen to others with compassion, care, concern, and genuine love. I’ve never turned a friend away. I have loved people and I have lost people, and I don’t ever want to question if I could have said more, or if I could have worded things better.

I’m looking to find out how to manage my migraines better, and find the best way possible to manage the chronic pain I am in, so I will be pushing for an MRI and x-rays of my brain, neck, and spine, even if it means a trip to the emergency room. Not being able to move my neck properly and being afraid that every turn could mean permanent paralysis is scary. My current doctor refused to have my back, so her “reward” is losing me as a patient. A new doctor gets me as her patient in a few months and her reviews are really good (This time, I looked immediately. No more surprises.), so I hope it’s a more promising situation despite the fact that she’s further away. There’s absolutely no reason that well over one hundred primary care doctors and internists in the Boston area aren’t taking on new patients. I thought I was losing my mind making phone calls until I finally found a doctor in another doctor’s office who just happened to be accepting new patients. I can switch to someone else immediately if something is wrong, which is good to know, but I feel like I’ve given this other doctor enough chances at this point. She has one efficient person in her office; her assistant. I cannot stay there just because I like her, nor should I.

So here I sit, on a muggy July morning, and honestly, the pain I am in is intense (I took two Aleve for it hours ago…an absolute JOKE.) and all I want to do is scream and cry. A huge part of me wants to go to the emergency room and demand they help me, but a larger part is afraid they’ll do nothing at all for me. As many times as I’ve fallen since moving here, I KNOW my back isn’t okay. I can feel it. I’m too young to have this much damage and this much pain. As many times as I’ve banged my head into the wall in my sleep (100% unintentionally. I’m restless, fitful, and I throw my body around a lot. I’ve also thrown pillows across the room and accidentally kicked Kitten off the bed a few times because I had no idea she was even here.), I know my head probably isn’t okay, either. I’ve failed two baseline tests, one in May and the other this month, and a Physician’s Assistant and a neurologist both ignored these facts. The brain doesn’t lie, and my poor back and neck aren’t amused by my having to use a heating pad when it’s 90+ degrees outside. Alternating between heat and ice only helps for short periods of time when you’re in excruciating pain. It lets you know it’s not a muscle spasm, but something serious.

I hope and pray doctors start taking me seriously, and SOON. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on without some serious intervention.

idontfucking — Unless I am passed out from lack of sleep, in which case, I will call you back the second I see your message or missed call. Only certain people have priority clearance and can bypass the “Do Not Disturb” feature on my phone. If you’re calling at any of those hours, you’re probably on the list.

I Don’t Have Time For This

2017-06-092017-06-28 Miss Poison Writing Feelings, Honesty, Musings, Observations, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Stress, Time, Writing

“I am a migraine, that occasionally gets to be a human-being.” 😦

In preparation to meet with my new neurologist next month, I forwarded a copy of my current migraine report to myself so I can print it and bring it with me. In one month, which was recent, I counted thirty migraine days. That’s not just “chronic”; that’s unfair. No one should have to live like that.

When people see me pushing through my migraines by continuing to write, by going places (which isn’t often), by running errands, etc., they assume I’m okay. I’m NOT okay, but I have learned, in the nearly twenty years I’ve suffered from migraines, when I can push myself and when I cannot. I pay dearly for it, but I also think sometimes it’s unhealthy to be in your room 24/7, never leaving the house, never breathing fresh air, because while you’re suffering, life is also passing you by. I’ve lost an enormous chunk of my life being sick, and not just with migraines. It’s hard not to feel robbed at times.

11824971_1124839107528271_4204657063109947917_n — I wish I fully believed this.

At a doctor’s appointment at the end of last month, I stupidly felt incredibly trusting of my new physician. In the last six or seven minutes, he revealed he’d be leaving in six weeks. I’ve never seen a doctor wince when he looked at me, but whatever my eyes or face did in that moment, and I’m truly not sure what either of them did because I tried to play it off with humor, I can say that I’ve had cheating boyfriends not look at me with that kind of pain on their face.

When I left his office that day, I sat outside for over forty-five minutes contemplating the effort it took for me to get there in the first place. Physically, mentally, and emotionally; it was a LOT. The strength it took to open up and be comfortable with someone new was monumental. If I didn’t truly need to be there, I wouldn’t have been. But that’s the thing; I did feel comfortable. I’ve never walked into a situation completely at ease with the other person. Perhaps that’s why I felt the way I did walking out.

As I went over my thoughts, I also went through every emotional range you could think of. I nearly went back upstairs and told him off, except I actually like him, which is SO rare; I’d follow him to China, and I’m completely in my comfort zone admitting that to all of you.

I NEVER like doctors immediately. I tolerate them, but I never actually like them or invest anything other than civility into them. When you’ve been burned a lot, you learn precisely how to carefully guard yourself, and with doctors, I simply don’t have a whole lot of trust to give. I’ve had too many fail me personally.

I understand that doctors have contracts and non-compete clauses, and can’t always take patients with them, but I have no intention of staying with this practice if I’m not going to be understood by the person who “replaces” him, as if that can be done. What’s the point? If I’m not going to be treated with the same level of courtesy, kindness, and respect; I’m out. I don’t have to stick around if I’m not getting what I need out of the situation. I simply don’t need the bullshit.

I am going into my next appointment pretty fucking angry. It’s SO unprofessional to still be seeing new patients 6-8 weeks before you leave. I know that wasn’t his call, so technically I am not blaming him, but I still have the right to deem it unprofessional and be pissed.

When I spoke with him to let him know that the medication he’d prescribed had some adverse side effects which I can’t tolerate, it just plain made me sad to listen to our conversation because we have this great rapport, which is rare for me to have with someone immediately. I’ve searched FOREVER for a doctor that “gets it” and ultimately, gets me.

I haven’t felt right since leaving that first appointment. Not mentally, not emotionally, and physically, I’ve felt weakened and messy in the sense that I am slowed down from a physical perspective. It was like taking an emotionally draining beating, except the only physical interaction was a handshake. When was the last time a doctor said it was a pleasure meeting me? A long time. I’m starting to think psychiatrists think I’m an interesting case-study.

I’m both too young, and too old, not to mention far too smart, to place faith in people and be left hanging again and again.

The relationship between doctor and patient is based on trust. If you cannot trust someone, then they cannot be your doctor. There are certain types of medicine where this is even more crucial because you have to communicate with your doctor on a regular basis. If you don’t feel you can be open and honest, it won’t work.

Consistency with the person you’re seeing is important, at least it is for me. I don’t want to build trust with someone and have to start over again with someone new. I’ve done it so many times already and I don’t want to do it again. This, in my mind, was the last time I’d planned on making an effort. I went into this new situation kicking and screaming. I tried talking myself out of the appointment the morning of, so clearly, I already sensed all was not right in Whoville. I don’t know if there are still pieces of me left at ground zero, but I DO know I walked away a different person.

When he asked me to describe myself, I noticed that he disagreed with my assessment. He doesn’t think I’m a broken, pretty mess. He actually said “I can’t put you in a box because you don’t fit in any of the tiny boxes. I could, but it would be wrong, and that’s not fair to you.” I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to hear a doctor say that to me, but it’s been the majority of my life. Someone else would check off as many of the boxes as they could, add on diagnosis codes ‘til they’re blue in the face, and send me on my way instead of taking the time to truly help me. He not only wants to help me; he’s making an effort. But in doing so, he’s upsetting me because he won’t be there much longer, and ultimately, where the hell does that leave me? Letting me know I’ll be getting a new doctor and a therapist did not leave me reassured; it only pissed me off.

Square one is not a fun place to be. I was already at square one when I showed up in his office. I kept my appointment, I filled out the insane paperwork in the biggest rush known to man (I had a fucking field day with the race/ancestry pages. I didn’t know we’d be doing that, but hey, they asked the RIGHT GIRL. I’m pretty sure I missed a few countries my family has ties to. I love how my paperwork says White/Caucasian because the office determined that by my skin tone. I may have some European ancestry, but I checked off Other on the forms.), I sat with him for nearly an hour, and I haven’t been okay since. I walked out feeling like an idiot for showing up.

When I see him next week, I am not entirely certain what I’ll say. That’s why I’m writing it out of my system. I need the catharsis, and he needs to know that by seeing me late in the game and not immediately disclosing his role in things, it was a gross error in judgment. If I needed someone to care about me temporarily, well, I’ve got family for that. Quite frankly, I’m at the point where I prefer for my insurance to pay for people to care about me, as opposed to dealing with people who should care simply because it’s what you do. I am the polar opposite of the majority of my relatives, and while I am grateful I was raised right, it can be lonely to be the standout.

The one diagnosis I did come away with was shocking, at least for me. I knew I was experiencing PTSD. I’m much smarter than I let on, and this was probably the second doctor’s appointment this year where I dumbed myself down on some level, but ultimately C-PTSD, or Complex PTSD, is more common in military personnel returning from active combat. It is also prevalent in veterans. Anyone can be diagnosed with this, though. Trauma is trauma, there’s no getting around it. The discussion we had about trauma itself brought up a lot of things I thought I’d moved past and dealt with. This is precisely why I’ve felt worse since meeting with him. He picked at all of my old scars and opened them up with surgical precision. A therapist normally does that slowly, over time. Instead, he removed the sutures that keep me together without knowing it, and I’m slowly bleeding to death. It’s messing with my ability to function. Quite frankly, I’m surprised sharks haven’t found me and vultures haven’t picked my bones clean.

I’ve been unable to do a whole lot since that day. There have been days where I’ve barely been able to get out of bed or articulate how upset I am. I’m incredibly self-contained most of the time because I’m very much inside my own head, so if you get me talking, I don’t always stop. On the plus side, no one disagrees with my thought process in terms of how I feel on this subject. I will be about 75-90% less forthcoming with a new doctor because I already feel like my trust is shattered. But the truth is, it’s not just shattered, it’s broken. It’s an awful feeling. And yes, I pretty much have it in my mind that once he leaves, I will, too. I don’t foresee myself committing to someone new, not unless they make a damned good case in twenty minutes or less. I do not have time for another doctor to attempt to earn my trust. It’s gone.

Ultimately, there aren’t a lot of medication options left for me, and unless you’re on medication, I don’t feel you actively need to be seeing specific types of doctors. I wouldn’t go to see a surgeon unless another doctor believed I might need to have surgery, or I needed a consult, or I was recovering from surgery. It’s all very common-sense based in my eyes. Either you need to be seeing someone, or you don’t. I certainly don’t want to waste my time if a doctor isn’t going to be there for me. That’s not how the relationship works. I would rather invest more time with my doctor, someone who is fully engaged, than with someone who could, for all I know, be playing Candy Crush Saga on the other side of the room, but tell me they’re “taking notes” on their phone.

I keep saying “I don’t have time for this.”, because I don’t. Life is so fucking short. Your support systems, from personal to professional to medical, all need to be in sync with who you are as a person and what you need. If they’re not, then you have to be honest with them. If you still don’t get what you need through that honesty, then yes, you must walk away. And sadly, you have to be okay in doing so. No matter how painful it is.

He may not agree with me, but I know what a broken, pretty mess looks and feels like. I may have walked into his office like I was going on a date (That wasn’t my intent.), but that’s usually how I go to doctor’s appointments. Someone told me last night that my face masks all of the pain I am in. I asked if that made me fake, and they said no, it’s just a point of pride for me. I feel like crap, but I don’t have to look like crap, too. So yes, I put forth effort into looking like a human-being, but by no means is it a “mask”. It’s not false, it’s just art work. On my face.

A good doctor usually talks to me like a peer or colleague almost immediately, which he did. Technically, he and I ARE peers. I enjoy people who treat me like a person. They’re rare, but they exist, and it makes it easier to deal with someone when they don’t have a superiority complex. He made me feel like I was talking to a friend the entire time, someone I’d known for years. That’s incredibly rare.

A huge part of me doesn’t want to go back, but I said I would, and I’m dreading having opened my mouth. I keep saying I don’t want to go. I genuinely don’t. I spend enough time being angry, and I don’t want to walk out of there angrier than I already am.

I know he said he’d “do his homework” when we talked because he “really wants to help me”, but I’m sitting here wondering precisely where this appointment will take me, and who the hell I’ll be dealing with once he leaves, and whether or not it’s worth my time. I’m tired of leaving doctor’s appointments dejected. This one was no different.

I texted a close friend immediately afterward and said “Psych eval went great. Love the new doctor…but he’s leaving in six weeks.” and her reply was “What.The.FUCK! That’s not right! Nor is it fair to you. I’m so sorry, Li.” She knows I NEVER say I like or love a doctor, EVER, so at first she was happy for me, until she read the rest of what I said. I texted a second friend when I got home and she basically said the same thing. My friends were outraged. They knew how long I’d waited for this appointment and how much I’ve been through waiting for help in this Godforsaken state (It’s like living on another planet where they sort of speak the same language, but think I “talk funny”. I believe it’s called ‘enunciation’.). One person after another was shocked, but thankfully, all supportive of me. That helped me get through any doubts I had about whether or not to say something. As if I’ve ever needed my friends to tell me to be myself or to hold back.

I’m the one who has encouraged them to get help when they have needed it, and one friend in particular was in pretty bad shape before I stepped in and forced her to seek out therapy and medication. She’s not happier for having done it, but at least now, she’s on a path, and that is a positive thing. My honesty and experience helped someone else get the help they needed, and they were able to walk in with some knowledge instead of going into the situation uneducated. If my pain can help others navigate dark waters, that’s great. I’ll hold your hand through the bad times and stick with you through the good. However, I’m standing here on a ledge, wondering what the hell I’m going to do. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve already drowned and this is all a nightmare, or a hallucination.

I’ve done all of this before, more times than I care to count. This insanity began at a very young age for me. Every single doctor and therapist has, at one point or another, walked away. I have walked away from those who’ve had zero intention of helping me and many who were some of the most burnt out, unpleasant people I’ve ever spent time with, and let’s not discuss how negative their energy was. There was one doctor who I nearly threw out of a third story window because she was one of the most vile people I’d ever met; caring only to write prescriptions, but barely looking up at you and seeing you as a person or a patient. The first doctor I ever encountered threatened to hospitalize me less than ten minutes into meeting me because he “didn’t like my attitude”. He tried to turn me against my mother and when I told her about it, she informed him that I’d no longer be seeing him. He had the gall to call the house and demand to know why I didn’t show up for my appointment, playing the role of the injured party to attempt to manipulate her into bringing me back. My mother didn’t often lose her temper on people, but she did tell him off, and she supported my decision not to return to someone who, behind closed doors, was treating me differently than when she was in the room. He had no intention of ever helping me, or understanding precisely what the issues were. I was a product of my environment at the time and he was trying to abuse his authority. I know he thought he had the ability to brainwash me, but he underestimated my sense of self, and that’s where he failed. No matter what someone tries to spew at me, I know who I am.

So here I am all these years later; I finally meet someone with positive energy, a good attitude, and a healthy mind-set, someone who isn’t looking to shove drugs down my throat, and naturally that person would be leaving. Honestly, why don’t you just shoot me?!

Maybe I’m on a short list of people in this world that likes consistency in their physicians, but I not only like it, I need to know who the hell I am dealing with. I don’t have time for games, nor do I care to be passed around from one doctor to the next like a game of ping-pong. The last time I checked, I was still a human-being. In a vampire-esque sort of way. With the occasional use of a daylight ring (Huge points to anyone who understands those references.).

Just as I need consistency, I am consistent. I apologize in advance to the doctor that’s about to meet the polar opposite of who he first met, but sometimes, the bitch card comes out. If you really want to help me, do right by me. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t have time for this. No one can get better when they’re being jerked around.

How much damage can I do in twenty minutes? I’m about to find out.

Letting It Pass

2017-04-10 Miss Poison Writing Acceptance, Belonging, Feelings, Focus, Health, Honesty, Judaism, Life, Musings, Observations, Passover, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Thoughts, Writing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

American Values & Respect

2017-01-302017-02-14 Miss Poison Writing "President Trump", America, Football, Musings, New England Patriots, NFL, Observations, Poison In Lethal Doses, Respect, Super Bowl LI, Values, Writing

On the 26th of January, newly inaugurated “President Trump” (Which will remain in quotes because I cannot say it with a straight face.), gave a speech from Philadelphia. Living a handful of miles outside of Boston proper, this was “Breaking News”. I’m sure it was “Breaking News” all across this country, really.

I listened, but in truth, I felt like I was listening to someone’s lackluster phone conversation. You know, the kind you DO NOT want to hear while on line at the grocery store, but can’t help it because one person is yelling (usually because the owner of the phone has the sound up really high) and the other person is talking over them. It’s pure noise. Blah, blah, blah, blah. He talks for the sake of talking, because he likes the sound of his own voice.

My reaction to this was: “What in the hell did I just listen to?!” Yammering on and on about everything, but mostly nothing. Bragging about “winning Pennsylvania”, and winning in general. False claims, opinions, and ZERO facts. This from the current “Leader Of The Free World”. Oy gevalt!

Maybe you voted for him (Bless your heart.). Maybe you like him (You poor, deluded fool. Bless your heart.). Maybe you require your head to be examined or your dosage increased (I’m betting on both. G-d Bless you.). After all, you’re reading this and we don’t know each other. However, the man, and I use the term so loosely he should be able to hang himself with the rope I’ve given him, gives me a migraine. No wonder Melania wants to live in New York. Poor thing needs a break!

The next moment of “Breaking News” was one of the New England Patriots defensive captains, Dont’a Hightower, I believe, being interviewed in preparation for the Super Bowl on February 5th. Intelligent, poised, calm, well-spoken, educated, and eloquent young man. At that exact moment I said “Ladies & gentlemen; the NFL has their shit together and our “President” does not. What a buffoon! I’m not sure whether to emigrate out or put on my New England Patriots jacket!” (Which I’ve owned for over six years. The Patriots were always the second football team in my house growing up.)

Any representative of the United States should be poised, calm, and ready to speak with some semblance of intelligence, or at the very least, a damn good speech in hand. Stick to the facts, stick to the topic(s) at hand. Do not veer off course like you’re Hulk Hogan or The Rock. (Let’s face it, that analogy isn’t far off.)

People still make fun of George W. Bush for not being the best public speaker we’ve ever had as a President (He openly admits to this.), but post 9/11, the man had his shit together and was a rock for this country. He made me proud to be an American (I’m a registered Independent.). My brother & I drove around with “God Bless The U.S.A.” blaring from the car speakers for weeks (I will likely never listen to Lee Greenwood again, not intentionally, any way.). We were proud of how he handled a difficult time in this nation’s history. Say what you will about him; he did his best.

I didn’t care for Barack Obama, and it had nothing to do with race or anything petty. It was simply me not caring for another person, President or not. I didn’t wish horrible things on him, but I did feel he was too green to take on the role of President at the time. I simply let the eight years of him in office “float”, so to speak. I didn’t agree with a lot of his choices or decisions, and I don’t particularly like his wife either, but when push comes to shove, I feel he did his best. I feel they both did, despite disagreeing with a lot of their thoughts and beliefs, which is my right to do.

This Cheeto-colored buffoon, who is shades of Hitler, is an absolute embarrassment to us as a nation. I do not know how long his “Presidency” will last. I don’t foresee “President Pence” anytime soon, either. If he can screw up the entire state of Indiana, how could we allow him to step forward and screw up America more than Donald Trump plans to?!

So I sit here struck with the fact, and clear knowledge, that my current local professional football team has more class and poise than the “President”. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

The New England Patriots represent Boston, but technically, they represent all of New England within the National Football League. I applaud them for holding a press conference in which no bragging occurred, respect for all involved was evident, responses given to questions were polite, well thought out, and ego was taken out of the equation. I was thoroughly impressed, and that’s saying something.

We are a country born of immigrants (On my Dad’s side, I am second generation American.), and now there is a ban on Muslims entering the United States from a select list of countries, yet none of the countries Trump has business dealings with are on that list. This has nothing to do with terrorism, and everything to do with Hitleresque behavior. Who will this psycho come after next? We should all be concerned.

Here’s a fact; none of us are safe. I know people who can’t come and go from Canada now simply because of their faith and the origin of their passport. People who are here legally as students are being punished by a tyrant. Why do you think they go to school here? To escape tyranny in their birth countries and aim for a better life here, which is a dream for so many people from all over the world. Universities will be adversely affected by visiting professors and lecturers not being permitted into this country, people who pose NO THREAT to us, or they’d all be on watch lists!

At this moment, American values and basic respect have been tossed out the window. However, we do not have to be silent. We, as a country, do not have to become animals. We do not have to allow a “President” to make us fear for our lives.

I didn’t live in fear post 9/11, and I’m certainly not going to let this asshole make me fearful either. Yes, it’s easy for me to say that. I am not his current target, but I could be. We all could. So please, contact your local representatives and demand that they put their foot down on every political level known to man. Follow them on social media and let them know how you feel.

We can either band together, regardless of our political stances, or we can watch a nation be destroyed. Truly, it is up to us what happens, what we allow. I can neither confirm nor deny what I’d like to happen, but I will say that this country deserves better.

What kind of world will our children wake up to a week from now, or a year, with a reality television personality/businessman as “President”? What next? The Real Housewives franchise is going to take over Congressional hearings?! It’s ridiculous and silly, and I openly admit I watch a few of those shows. Are we going to have the Kardashians wrestle in Jello for his entertainment? I’d honestly like to know.

Ultimately, I think one needs to be completely sane in order to run the country. He has already proven himself unfit and deranged, not to mention dangerous. Is this who we want preaching “Make American Great Again”? I’d rather give the job to a well-trained monkey.

Someone please take away his unsecured phone (After his accusations against Hillary Clinton, he should be using a government-issued BlackBerry.) and block him from Twitter. No self-respecting President spends that much time tweeting like a thirteen year old girl! And for G-d’s sake, please hire a speech writer (and get him on medication for his obvious ADD.)!

Good luck to the New England Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons at Super Bowl LI. I have no doubt you’re going to give people their money’s worth, respectfully.

Head Meet Sink

2016-05-27 Miss Poison Honesty, Life, Musings, Pain, People, Poison In Lethal Doses, Uncategorized, Writing Emotional Support, Friendship, Health, Honesty, Life, Loyalty, Mental Health, Migraines, Mood Disorders, Musings, Observations, Pain, Personality Disorders, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing

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.

therapist — I highly doubt it. No one knows all about me.

Boiling Point

2016-05-23 Miss Poison Adult Orphans, Anger, Depression, Honesty, Life, Musings, Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Anger, Courage, Depression, Emotional Pain, Honesty, Life, Negativity, Observations, Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Strength, Suffering, Writing

Fact: I am seriously contemplating ending my life. No one knows what’s going on, or cares, but I feel it’s important to talk about.

I walked away from self-harm at least a dozen times last week, maybe more. I have no strong desire to actually carry it out, but we cannot “cure” the thoughts that go through our minds.

It’s not any one thing in particular, it’s a multitude of things, all of which are out of my control. Ultimately, I often feel that lack of control is what makes us feel so out of control. I believe it leads to a lot of rational irrationality.

I’ve never hidden the fact that I come from an abusive background. If asked, I am quite vocal about it. Hell, I’ve written about it many times. My father was the bane of my existence from age six until about 2000 or so, when his health began to rapidly decline, culminating in his death, a 15 year battle with cancer that ended in late 2007. I cannot put a Band-Aid on my upbringing, but I try very hard not to allow it to define me. For the most part, I am successful. I don’t dwell on it. It’s done and it’s in the past, but lately it’s other forms of neglect, abuse, disrespect, & abandonment that have just plain left me in tears. What’s worse? This behavior makes my father, G-d rest his soul, look like a fucking angel by comparison. That’s probably what affects me more than anything else.

Nothing I do is ever “good enough”. I know that’s ridiculous, but when that is what is projected to you constantly, you either walk away or you tell someone to go fuck themselves. For the past 4-5 years, I have worked very hard on my anger issues. I’ve talked about that quite openly. Therefore, so as not to act like my father, I try to curse less and not tell people exactly what I think of them and their behavior, even if they deserve it. I don’t accept or allow it, I just disengage with the crazy. I cannot talk to a psychopath, to people who don’t hear me out thoroughly, or to anyone who believes everything they say is right 100% of the time. It may be right in their mind, but their mind and mine are two completely different places/worlds. That’s true for everyone, or we’d be living in a very bizarre utopia.

No matter how hard I work, it’s not “good enough”. How many times a day does someone need to be insulted, talked down to, and/or disrespected? How many days of the week, month, year, before they snap? The term “going postal” isn’t meant to be cute. It stems from things building and building in the workplace (or in some cases, ones’ home life) until someone finally loses it. The same thing can happen in a person’s daily life, and it doesn’t have to involve murder and mayhem, it might just be a verbal argument. One can hope, any way.

There is an immense difference between constructive criticism and venomous hatred and resentment. I am educated enough to know the difference in how people speak to me, and I am sick and tired of being told that everything I think & feel is wrong. Statistically speaking, it’s impossible for me to be wrong 100% of the time, just as it is impossible for someone else to be right 100% of the time. I don’t aim for perfection, but I will not have anyone question my perception of others. I’ve got two words for that mind-set: FUCK THAT. You can agree to disagree with me, but don’t deign to tell me you’re right and I’m wrong. No. Unacceptable.

Voicing thoughts, feelings, and opinions isn’t wrong, but I am constantly being told I am wrong. After a while, even a person with the highest I.Q. starts to lose their mind. After a while, any sane person is going to get tired of hearing such nonsense.

The only thing that is saving me is the love of Kitten. During the worst of my dark thoughts, when I wasn’t sure if I could bear another second, leave alone a minute, she’d crawl into bed with me, give me kisses, bring me toys, & watch over me with great affection. Cat followed, both of them refusing to let me out of their sight. How is it that two little creatures understand my pain better than actual people? I find that sad and pathetic for the human-race, but a real win for the animals in this world who are superior in terms of compassion, empathy, and love. My cats know more about love than 99% of the people I know, and that is truly saying something. They know me better than most people, and I’ve had them such a short period of time compared to the relationships in my life, yet they know me better, inside and out. People are emotionally harming me, but my cats? They wouldn’t even scratch me intentionally. Again, it speaks accolades for them. Clearly I did something right, and that “something” was adopting and raising them. They love me unconditionally. It is a special relationship, and not something to ever be taken for granted.

Words have power, and sometimes that power is destructive and extremely harmful. Be self-aware. Realize that you sound like a vile human-being and dial it the fuck down.

When someone is visibly suffering, or even silently suffering, they do not need your drama, venom, hatred, or negativity. Don’t pretend you don’t see it or sense it. Put it away. Stash it in another country, because I do not mean shelve it for a week, and focus on showing them that they matter, because eventually, all your shit might push them over the edge and the only person who will be left with grief isn’t them, it’s you.

I know so many people who, after years of far worse than what I deal with and have dealt with, simply took matters into their own hands, leaving people wondering why. People have actually said” Nothing is so horrible that you have to take your life.” Oh, really? Try living my life for a year, I’m pretty sure you’d feel otherwise. In other words, don’t judge what you don’t understand. It is okay to admit you don’t understand the various forms of depression and other forms of mental illness, but it’s not acceptable in 2016 to be ignorant about it.

I’m one of the “privileged few” who inherited it on both sides of my family. My paternal Grandmother suffered from her early teens until the day she died. The things she was put through during her life in terms of “treatment” were truly horrible, and I am not a candidate for certain treatment methods because of that. No doctor would allow me to go through what she did, despite the advancements that have been made I am considered too high a risk factor, and here’s a fact; I wouldn’t sign myself up for it either.

Approximately ten years ago, I was diagnosed with “treatment resistant depression”. It means that while I suffer abysmal highs and lows, my brain chemistry does NOT respond to medication. I’ve tried everything and all they’ve done is make me really sick. Therapy works, if the therapist isn’t a piece of shit, but with Fibromyalgia, there are times I cannot drag myself in on a weekly basis in order to “go deep”. I walk into therapy in a relatively good mood, positive about what may be accomplished by going, and I walk out feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet, so it’s important to find someone who knows when and when not to push your last nerve. I’m not shy, I have a voice and I know how to use it. Since moving, I have noticed that I have become ten times more internalized than ever before and not only is that completely unhealthy, it gives you some insight into my environment and how I don’t feel comfortable discussing important things because I don’t feel understood, cared about, loved, and the list goes on. It hurts so deeply to type that, that the tears are pouring down my face. I’m hurting so much and certain things were said to me today that can never be taken back. I can never un-hear them.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been to therapy in three and a half years and after putting myself back on medication last month, it made me too sick to function. If you’re able to take medication, wake up each morning, and go to a normal 9-5 kind of job, well, G-d Bless you. I cannot. I knew very young that I’d never have a “normal job”. Not because it is beneath me, it’s not, but because I don’t play well with others. There is not a single thing about me that says “team player”. I am glad I knew that about myself at such a young age because it propelled me in the right directions as a creative spirit. I’ve never NOT worked (I’ve been working since I was 12, no joke.) and not created something out of nothing, but for months now I have felt sick, weak, dejected, and the absolute opposite of who I truly am. There is nothing keeping me here. Nearly every day is the same; completely monotonous.

My creativity ebbs and flows. It always has. I do nothing on command. I’ve always liked that about myself, but it can be tricky when you are involved with creative projects that need 100% of your commitment, or they’ll fail. But how does one stay “on” when they’re predominantly “off”?

Today I reached my boiling point in reaching out to people I felt I could trust for help. Five times today I got off the phone in hysterical tears because in the grand scheme of life, people don’t care about my struggles or my pain, but they do care about being selfish, hostile, cruel, and hurtful. The final call which I did not want to make was the last straw.

Some things are out of my control, just as they are for many of us, but I’d like to think that if someone called me crying, truly upset by something happening to them, I would do whatever was within my power to help, even if I’d helped them 100 times before, I don’t keep score. In fact, I HAVE done that (helped others) and I will never stop being the person that I am because to not be me is to be lesser, and I refuse to let experiences like this alter the person I am. I refuse to change to suit other people because then they win.

My mother raised me to be a strong, independent woman, but she also told me that sometimes we all need help and not to be afraid to ask for it. However, I was terrified to ask for the help I needed and my fears were warranted because in asking for help, I got hurt. I am sure the other person does not see it as I do. Of course, I didn’t threaten or insult them.

Here’s something important I think some people need to understand: It takes great courage to ask for help. Especially for someone like me because I have a lot of pride, but definitely feel that I have fallen from Grace. 😦 When a person asks for help, and they’re upset and you know things have been bloody awful for them, don’t make it worse with cruel, hateful words. Discuss things with them at a later time, in private, when each of you is calm, and assure them that you do indeed love and care about them. It’s okay to have boundaries and to place limits on things, absolutely, but it’s not okay to be hurtful or say things in anger that cannot be retrieved.

For now, I have no idea what tomorrow brings, but I’m hoping it doesn’t involve me “going dark”. I’m writing this in tears, because the pain is just too much to bear. I am also weighing my options quite heavily because I am too sick to deal with such harsh negativity being directed at me in such an ugly manner.

We all have physical and emotional triggers in life, whether we’re aware of them or not. Certain words and tones will turn me from a caring, kind, loving, helpful person with a genuine heart into someone incredibly inclined to poison your dinner.

Choose your words wisely. Do not make assumptions. Don’t insult loved ones, for they can be gone in the blink of an eye. And absolutely do NOT trigger someone when you KNOW their history. Some people really should know better, but they don’t. Maybe anger is a better place to reside for some? I’ve been there and it’s unhealthy.

Tonight, I am going to try to accept the fact that no one else is like me and the other people cannot be what I need them to be, because it’s simply not in their genetic makeup. My brother recently paid me the finest compliment by saying that no one could spend five minutes with me, or speak to me for five minutes, and not come away realizing how incredibly genuine and unique I am. I damn near cried, because it’s truly the NICEST thing he’s probably ever said to me, and it was such an incredibly astute observation. It almost makes up for the crappy things he’s said to me in the past when he was angry (at himself) and frustrated (with his own bullshit) and took it out on me simply because I am the closest person to him.

I learned a valuable lesson today. I learned that no matter what people say, their actions and words don’t always mesh, and I am wary of people like that. Life isn’t perfect for anyone. Life isn’t always fair, either, but I refuse to kick someone while they’re already bleeding on the ground.

To the people who kicked me today when I was desperately upset by a situation completely out of my control, please don’t ever think I won’t remember the attack. To the few that reached out later on to raise me back up off the ground, I won’t soon forget that either.

Wishing you all a far better day/week/remainder of the month than I just had.