Actions of a Chronic Insomniac

This morning, I spent a little over an hour in the kitchen whipping up a full pot of tabouleh. I needed some healthy, soul food. ๐Ÿ˜‰ It felt so good to listen to music and go at my own pace. It calmed me down in ways that, of late, cooking has not.

I made it differently this time (More to my personal taste, as opposed to anyone else’s.), and I’ll add more lemon juice to it later on in the day, because as it cools, more flavors pop and you can tell, right before you serve it, what else needs to be added. Taste as you go.

“Tam” means “taste”. I am an instinctual kind of chef, and I believe this stems from growing up and paying attention to how things were prepared from start to finish. Usually if I watch something done once or twice, that’s it, I’m solid on how to do it for the rest of my life. Rarely do I look at a recipe, unless I am making something new for the first time, and even then, I put my personal spin on every single dish I make for my family/friends. I take great pride in doing this, to the point where my brother texted me last night to complain about no one making, “good food” for him. I reminded him I used to do this for him several times a week and he didn’t always appreciate it. It’s a little sad when a person doesn’t necessarily miss YOU, but they miss your cooking.

I must have felt stronger than I am, because I had even softened butter to bake a full batch of Peppermint Chocolate Chunk cookies for after I’d finished up the tabouleh, but I felt so exhausted after cleaning up the kitchen, and I knew I had to listen to my body. I will bake them later, or tomorrow, if I have the energy/patience.

My insomnia is scary right now. Usually, I work when I’m unable to sleep, and I feel accomplished in that because I am able to make a lot of headway, but this morning I’d had enough of words and decided to put my efforts into food prep. I won’t have to cook later, so that will be awesome. ๐Ÿ™‚ I’ll be able to put things on the table, enjoy, and get some feedback on this batch of Middle Eastern goodness. ๐Ÿ˜€

It is sixteen degrees here after yesterday being a snow day in a myriad of ways (It is ICY out there. Dangerously icy.), so I feel good that there’s stuff ready for a late lunch/early dinner. I’ll be pairing this with a kale and spinach salad accompanied by grilled chicken. Douse it in balsamic vinaigrette and I am THERE. ๐Ÿ™‚ Obviously, the cookies are a bit of a treat, but I eat boringly healthy most of the time (I had the exact same salad last night, because I was too lazy to add things to it. Normally I do a full blown salad for 2-3 days, which often includes peppers, cruciferous veggies, whatever seasonal fruit I have on hand, nuts, the works, but this time, I begged out. I was too tired to do it, but it was okay.), so I am allowed to do something fun, for a change. Lately, my biggest craving has been whipped cream. I’ve been obsessed, and it’s such an odd craving to have…

I find it interesting that while I was chopping, stirring, and juicing lemons by hand (Yes, I am THAT girl.), despite the music I was listening, and singing to, my mind went blank of all the stressors. This is practically unheard of for me. I have had WEEKS of stressful thinking, mostly surrounded around heavy business decisions (as well as health stuff.).

I looked at my closest friends and saw how everyone is wrapped up in their own lives, to the point where many don’t even ask me if I’m okay when they assault me with what they’ve got going on (Yes, it is assault. They don’t ask my permission, so I’ve stopped answering everyone immediately.). I didn’t want to bother any of them with my minor problems. Yeah, I downplay my grief. I don’t deny it. They are dealing with life/death issues, and that supersedes my crap. Whatever I am thinking/feeling won’t mean a whole lot to them in the long or short run, and they don’t have my business sense, so I felt completely alone in terms of who to talk to. Ultimately, I discussed it with a family member who reinforced how responsible I am being and how I am making smart moves. They also offered to help me, and I appreciate that. It’s no one else’s responsibility to help me with business stuff. Truly. It was my business plan from the get-go and hitting a brick wall without a crystal ball was not the goal, so it is truly my responsibility to handle the heavy-lifting. It may feel like a burden now, but it won’t when it’s done, and that’s the feeling I have to embrace. Focus on the goal, and do everything in your power to achieve it. You are allowed to have goals, change your mind, change course, and whatever else you need to do in order to succeed in a fair way.

I admit, this is an enormous goal. I am not going to shy away from the challenge, though. In the meantime, it gives me additional time to perfect that which feels raw. I went back to part one of this goal and when I went through all my notes, I hated everything I’d put together. Truly hated it, whereas I was previously proud not that long ago. I’ll sort it out, and I will do so without pressuring myself to have it done yesterday. One step at a time, even if they’re baby steps. The goal WILL be achieved, and I have to trust the Universe to know when the timing is right.

Here’s hoping I get some rest this weekend and continue to heal. After all, the weekend is only forty-eight hours and that never seems like a lot of time, because it isn’t. I feel like I’ll blink, and it will be May, and the thought is utterly traumatic, so I am trying to take on one stressor at a time. Needless to say, it’s probably a good thing I speak with my psychiatrist next week. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Wherever you are in the world, may you enjoy your weekend in peace.

Copyright ยฉ 2022 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark. Written work by author may not be shared or posted anywhere without express written consent.

Writing Challenges, Ideas, and Being Realistic

As a writer, have you ever gotten in your own damn way? Maybe even not as a writer, but as a creative person? Over the past few years I have written four novels. Three are fully-fleshed out, while one was a side project I wanted to keep in development since I wrote it in pieces. I decided from the get-go that I would piece it together as the bulk of the story came to me; I wasn’t going to go from A to Z, I was just going to write the best scenes as they came to me.

I approach each project with different ideas and methods, so there is no magical potion involved for writing perfection. Perfection is mythology; of this I assure you. I wait to write something because a story has to haunt me for a while and live inside my head first. If it’s the kind that whispers, “Write this.”, then I will. If it goes out like a candle flame, I file it away somewhere inside my creative mind. Sometimes it will resurface, and it’ll be ten times better. That’s always the goal, but not all ideas work like that.

Have you ever become obsessed with a character you’ve created? They become a part of you; you are now living, breathing, and sleeping this character. Your thoughts are their thoughts. Maybe you subconsciously ARE this character. Who knows? It comes to the point where, when you begin writing another female character, you find yourself annoyed by her voice. You’ll catch yourself becoming frustrated. This new female is not as intense, not as strong, maybe not as fierce, or as passionate, but you feel like she could be, if you just pushed her hard enough. If you unleashed her. Except, when you go back to your completed work, you find you’ve named the character the same damn thing you named your previous female lead. Three. Separate. Times. How is that even possible? You’re dumbfounded, because you’ve got a long list of names you could be using, and somehow, you are using the one with all the power.

I’ve found that I love two very specific names for women. I don’t feel like sharing what those names are (I’m many things, but I try not to be an idiot!), outside of saying they’re short, sweet, elegant, classical, and direct, and so are these characters. These names are truly beautiful. Every time I so much as variate from the top two, it’s as if I’m possessed by some kind of naming demon. Each time, I am truly clueless as to how or when the name changed. It’s rough.

These women I’ve created are interesting characters. The kind of women you’d want to be friends with, and the kind of women you’d go to bat for. You automatically like them. Until I was 56,000 words in to a new book and realized I was writing the lead female character differently. She started off fierce and ferocious, and some idiot softened her up. I can’t decide if it was ME or if the lead male character was trying to dominate the damn story, but it stressed me out so badly. I decided I needed to get some reading and research done before revisiting the story. Ultimately, I took time to gain some perspective.

After a few days, I came at this new book with fresh eyes, and wondered how I could change things up to maybe ONE story, as opposed to two. I had considered this particular story a one and done, but when pieced together with the story that felt stalled, it’s a superior body of work. It requires a ton of time and work to achieve this.

So here I am, faced with rewrites because I have to change locations, jobs, names, and re-work things until it’s a smooth transition of combining these two stories into one; albeit one that is better, and eliminates potential cliches and comparisons which have bothered me from day one, but that I’d also worked on heavily to eliminate, which I have managed to do. All of this is to keep the main female character’s strong, intense, fierce voice. I feel pulled towards her voice because it is reasonable, emotionally intelligent, strong, smart, snarky, knowledgeable, without coming off snobby, or sounding like a know-it-all, and because she’s fiercely honest and direct; she does not play games to fill a page with wasted words. She’s got a very serious set of rules and boundaries, and she commands respect. The other female character was coming off weaker, despite similar attributes. I had to come to the realization, on my own, that I cannot write a weak female character.

I have come across this issue before. I could write a weak female, but it nauseates me, and goes against the core of who I am, so nope, not gonna do it. I can’t even tolerate weakness in myself or in others, so it would come off fake on the page. Don’t force yourself to write someone you don’t believe in. I feel that’s a great rule for all writers; if you don’t believe it, neither will anyone else.

I can, and will, do the hard work of putting together a better story. It likely means cutting things out that no longer work, which could be thirty chapters worth of work, or more. It requires me to remain focused on how much better this will be when it is truly completed. It also means, thanks to other opportunities, that it might take another year or two before it is officially done. I have to be realistic about my time, health, and also remember to factor sleep into the equation. This is a real problem for me. Every time I’m on a better path, something interrupts my sleep again! It’s awful, but I am aware of this issue beginning every three months. I am trying to stay on top of it.

The upside of insomnia is that I write between two to seven thousand words almost every night I can’t sleep, and none of it is crap (I instinctively know when I am writing filler, and will immediately delete it.). The downside is being sick and in a lot of pain, and not being able to write for sixteen hours straight. There are days I do, but they are few and far between at the moment, as I recover from a bad allergic reaction to flowers, which ultimately turned into flu-like symptoms with NO Covid symptoms. My allergies stopped responding to allergy medicine, so it was scary to suddenly become so sick from a flower arrangement. It’s never been so bad, but once the larger flowers bloomed, my skin burned, my eyes itched and burned, and my breathing was affected. I misplaced my Epi-Pen, so I was paranoid as hell while it was happening.

This whole situation where medication was useless recently turned into me making homemade cough syrup. Laugh, if you will, but it is probably the best thing for me. Every ingredient is healthy and helpful. My very first dose stopped me from coughing longer than any over-the-counter crap I’ve ever taken, and it also worked better than the codeine syrup I was prescribed, probably since the prescription no longer contains alcohol. Mine does contain a dash of two different types of alcohol I had on hand, as well as two different types of honey, but when you taste it, you are mostly getting a blast of ginger, cayenne, honey, and lemon. I didn’t follow any particular recipe for this, I just grabbed the honey and started mixing it up like a potion before pouring it into a larger container and sticking it in the fridge to give it a longer shelf life. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I didn’t make a lot, so it’ll likely be gone in a day or two, but yes, it’s helped greatly. I no longer have a sore throat, and it’s breaking down congestion I didn’t even know I had. I take it, I rest, and I feel better slowly, but surely. When synthetic shit doesn’t work, go back to basics. I’ve become more dependent on homeopathic medicine than ever before. Hyland’s is helping me considerably to manage my pain levels, though I know it is a temporary fix. If it works, I’ll stick with it, because so much has not. I’d love to get back every cent I wasted trying to get CBD oil to help me. I am embarrassed I kept upping the dose to try and find some relief. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ I consider how much work I will have to do to recoup those funds and put them to better use.

A lot of pain patients stop speaking to me whenever I suggest they seek out alternatives which might help them. Ultimately, I believe there is an answer for every single illness humans and animals experience. I believe it is found on Earth, not necessarily inside a lab working with synthetic ingredients. Your answer might not be what works for my body, and vice versa, but I don’t roll my eyes at you and give you attitude, so I have no idea why anyone thinks that’s a workable method with me.

At this point, I feel insurance should fully cover medical marijuana and CBD products as medicine. It helps a large number of people and it has medical oversight. If the cure for something is low or high dose Scorpion venom, as an example, then I feel it should be fully covered by everyone’s health insurance provider no matter what. I already know for a fact that it is being tested on various forms of cancer and for many other things, as well. It has been successful in it’s progress of treatment with zero side effects. It is the most expensive substance on this planet. That ink well you’re looking at on my logo? It’s Scorpion venom.

It may be Thursday, but I am ready to close out this first week of 2022. I have already referred to this month twice as October. Yeah, I know. I need a vacation. Yet, here we are, with Covid stopping everything for the umpteenth time. Indoor mask mandates have come down and in many areas, they begin today. I had not stopped wearing a mask in stores (I’ve also limited my time indoors to the pharmacy, grocery shopping, and only a few others places. I do NOT look forward to returning to a medical building in twelve days. I am, however, grateful that the hospital has reduced the amount of people that can be in the building at one time, and that nine people can NOT accompany one person!), and after hearing how many people got sick before, during, or after Christmas/NYE, and seeing the 6+ hour lines at testing sites, I am glad I didn’t drop my guard. Unfortunately, a lot of people are very sick and in the hospital, or they are sick and have to quarantine, so I keep a few extra masks with me and I remember that this is temporary. But damn does cold air feel good on your skin when a mask makes you feel like you can’t breathe, or like your skin is being smothered to death! I’m sure we’ve all had those moments.

Cough syrup, a simple breakfast, and I’ll see where the day takes me. I am actually considering hitting the kitchen and whipping up some tabouleh, especially since I have the time, believe I have all the necessary ingredients, and it’s so easy to throw together. ๐Ÿ™‚ Last night I made homemade ramen, and while very good and a great way to get vegetables and protein into my system, I was slightly frustrated by the fact that a thirty minute meal felt like it had taken hours. Chronic fatigue is a constant reminder that I am not one hundred percent. That’s okay. I’ll settle for fifty percent, if that’s the way I can get multiple things done in a day.

Ever forward, peeps. Ever forward.

copyright ยฉ 2022 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark.

With A Bang

Hey, everyone. I hate that I feel the need to write this, but facts are facts, and it’s important to me to be transparent with my readers.

Due to an increased level of online hatred towards Jews, but especially towards those of us who remain honest about our lives, and our ties to the Jewish homeland (Israel), I will be making my About page private for a period of time. Many of you will remember what happened last year, and how I was dragged through a lot of unnecessary hate. You can legitimately go through my profiles and you will not see me say anything except the truth. I refuse to stand behind hate which targets communities I represent, and I will not stand in solidarity with people who support the sickness that is Neo-Nazi behavior or any form of hatred towards an ethno-religious group. I don’t say hateful things, but hate is their doctrine. That is NOT okay. I would not want any of you to be affected or feel unsafe, either.

I have received two new death threats in the past week. I’ve even had someone tell me that the Holocaust happened because of World War II, so some people need an actual education before they speak. The community at large has decided to escalate the threats we’ve collectively received to our local FBI offices in the United States, and overseas it will likely escalate to Interpol. It is a matter I feel needs to be handled by law enforcement because the second you say something which crosses a line, you need to know it’s not actually okay to make those comments on ANY social media platform. Your hate deserves to be investigated. There’s a reason you learn how to keep your mouth shut, and in this day and age, it’s especially important to know how to use your freedom of speech in the right way.

Instagram, Twitter, Tik Tok, and Facebook all feel it’s acceptable to allow hate speech. They will not take it down, but they will take down accounts which are sharing factual truth. That is a highly dangerous beginning, especially as there have been roughly thirty-five attacks against Jews in less than ten days. Why should we feel unsafe in order to make others feel comfortable in their hatred? Think about that for a hot minute.

Just as I stand with other heavily attacked and abused communities, this is personal and I am going to stand behind my own safety, and that of my friends and family. I actually care more about their safety than I do my own.

I don’t want to limit what I say here, or edit myself to make others feel comfortable to keep on hating. Not every reader is interested in me or my message(s); some just like to keep tabs, and I am well aware of that. I, personally, do not follow anyone unless I truly want to read what they have to say. I did have to cut back last year because I was unfairly following people I couldn’t keep up with. I say, “unfair”, because that’s the truth. I want to be involved and read your thoughts, but if I’m a year behind, that’s pretty awful from my perspective. I have to be honest with myself about my time, too.

I will be back soon with regularly scheduled “normalcy”. Thank you for your support, well wishes, and kindness. I do appreciate the e-mails and messages I receive. I read all of them. I answer everyone who is sane.

May January be full of blessings for all of us, and a lot less targeted hate.

Peace and Prayers,

copyright ยฉ 2022 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark.

Final Caturday of 2021

Next Saturday will be a whole new year. It’ll probably take me ’til March to stop writing 2021. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I don’t celebrate New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day. They don’t feel like, “holidays” to me, not in the traditional sense of the word, and I realized yesterday that they never have. Do you feel especially celebratory at the end of a year?

Cat used to be like this for the first ten months I had her. I swear, she’d wait until I wasn’t expecting it and just tear me to shreds. She is feeling more playful these days (and she’s eight years old, so that helps.), so she’ll smack my feet or swat at my socks, or she’ll snap her teeth at me. She’s feisty. She will bite me, on occasion, but she’s mostly obsessed with how many hair ties she can thieve. Also, sometimes my socks go missing in the middle of the night. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I guess they offend her or she thinks they’re for her. I’m pretty sure she has dibs on anything soft and fluffy the second I keel over.

As I reflect, very lightly, on this year, I have to factor in that I’ve written over close to one million words on three different manuscripts. That, in and of itself, is quite the achievement. Yet, it barely registers. I’ve been told I’m too humble. Perhaps that’s true. As someone told me nearly two weeks ago, “Anyone can write, but you’re a talented writer.” I’m also not good with compliments.

If the software I used didn’t have a word counter at the bottom of the screen, I’d keep writing until something felt done. It’s a good process. However, I’ve spent the past fifteen years, perhaps longer, obsessing over word count when I am writing something, however large or small. Here, I don’t count words, but WordPress is happy to tell me at the end of each year how many words I’ve written. There have been years I’ve done a quarter of a million words here alone, sometimes more. That’s pretty good considering this material is free. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Today was a grey, rainy, foggy, icy, frigidly cold day. There was so much black ice that many people fell and injured themselves. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ My hands and feet are like mini ice sculptures; frozen solid. But it was a good day in the sense that it was predominantly quiet. I was able to get closer to my Goodreads challenge number, as well. I’m currently at one hundred and fifty-sex books read for the year. My goal was one hundred and fifty-three. I just started reading book one hundred and fifty-seven. I might read one hundred and sixty if I stay on point between now and the 31st. Wish me luck with this one. I have to say, the material is compelling or I’d have to force myself to read it, and forcing myself to read shitty material is never a positive experience. To think I did eighty books last year when we were basically under hardcore quarantine for so long. I actually picked up a book Friday afternoon, but I will put it towards for 2022 challenge. If you aren’t a Goodreads member, it is free to join, you can link your Amazon Kindle account, they have tons of giveaways for free books throughout the year, and it’s a nice community. I’ve been a member since 2008, when a friend highly recommended I join. I ended up loving it far more than she did. I have Librarian status, so if you want or need your work added to the database, please get in touch. It’s an excellent networking took for writers.

A big part of me is glad that today is over. I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, so I need a good night’s sleep and to go back to being caffeine free (Damn you, Earl Grey tea!!). Tomorrow I’m planning to cook a nice Sunday dinner (Tradition.), and possibly bake either a chocolate mint cake or two dozen peppermint chocolate chip cookies, I can’t decide which to do first, but plan on doing both between this weekend and next weekend. After mid-January, it’s time to go back to eating super healthy again 90% of the time. I ate a ridiculous amount of chocolate before, during, and after Chanukah. I regret about 35% of it. ๐Ÿ˜‰

On this final Caturday of the year, I hope you will make friends with strange cats next year, adopt and not shop for any animal you are looking to bring into your family, and most importantly, I hope you’re granted good health. Many of you don’t know what it’s like to be flaring when you have medication in your system which is supposed to be eliminating all of your pain, whereas a great amount of you do know what this is like. Hell. I’ve been functioning at a very low setting this year, and I’m fighting for a new diagnosis next year. New symptoms have to be addressed, and the sad thing is, bad things could be happening within my system while I wait to be seen by a myriad of doctors. I don’t look forward to additional suffering. Healthcare in this country is shameful. I’ll probably say it more than I care to, but it’s true, and it’s WRONG.

Bright Blessings, lovelies.

copyright ยฉ 2021 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark.

Happy WordPress Anniversary, Poison In Lethal Doses!

Happy to have been here for nine years. Happier to be with PILD since, well, it’s much, MUCH longer than this website will ever tell you. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Someone told me last week that the difference between being a writer and being a talented writer is knowing your audience. For him, I fall into the latter category. He actually said, “Anyone can type words. It takes talent to write with purpose, and you really have a purpose.”

I would not be here without my readers. Readers, NOT followers. You are all amazing to me. Kind, funny, warm, supportive. It’s a family, in a bowl of linguine kind of way, but family nonetheless. Thank you for everything you read, with or without clicking like. I don’t need to rack up likes to feel a sense of accomplishment. Thank you for reading even if you’re not officially following this site; that’s almost more important because it means something else entirely. And an enormous thank you to whomever voted me an “Inspiring Writer of 2021”. That’s five years in a row, peeps, and I will not forget it. To the person who said I was their favorite writer, I feel like I need to send you flowers or take you to dinner.

I am my most authentic self here (In a “Free of nosy people.”, kind of way.), and I appreciate everyone who drops in and leaves a comment, or tells me on social media how much they liked something I’ve written or said. It means a lot. It keeps me fueled. It also keeps me looking forward to connecting with you on different levels.

2022 is all about new levels, new chapters, and MORE. I can’t wait!

Love & good cheer,

In The Face of Trauma: Fatherless Daughter

Last month, my doctor asked if anything specific was triggering me. At the time, I couldn’t think of anything. Until a specific day came, and I broke down in tears for hours. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself to do that. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ

The majority of my breakdowns are quiet. Real quiet. As in, no one else ever knows they’re happening or suspects anything. They have no idea what to look for, either. They have no idea you’re struggling, and they say nothing to help you.

These breakdowns started in late 2002 when my father was in the hospital doing an experimental kidney cancer treatment. At the time, it was still a very rare type of cancer that few people had. He had already lost a kidney to cancer ten years prior. The treatment was via IV and he had to spend weeks on end in the hospital. The key side effects were that it could cause heart problems and/or worsen the cancer you already had. It did both. It took a pea sized tumor and turned it into a constant spread, which eventually became bone and brain cancer. One day, as he was leaving a doctor’s appointment, he turned to my brother and said, “Can you go upstairs and let the office know I’m going next door to the emergency room. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

I remember that phone call like it was yesterday. My whole body tenses up because I truly remember every word. My brother was so panicked and freaked out, and he needed me to do everything. He was frozen and upset, and those are normal reactions, but mine were the polar opposite. They still are. I remember speaking to doctors and surgeons, and making last-minute decisions because my father would have died if I hadn’t known what to do.

The reason my father put me in charge of everything is because he knew my reactions would be in correlation with his wishes. He knew I wouldn’t fall apart or be utterly incapable of speech, leave alone making important decisions in the moment. On occasion, I wish he’d thought I was a moron and laid the responsibility elsewhere. I remember someone implying that he’d made these decisions from a selfish place. I don’t feel that was it at all, but do I resent it at times? A little.

No matter how put together you could ever be, and I have always been wise beyond my years, making medical decisions on behalf of someone who is incapacitated is difficult. Even if they’d laid it all out for you, making the verbal calls is not easy. It’s emotionally taxing. Today is fourteen years since he passed away, and I can say this much; I’ve grown, I’ve changed, and I’m a different person. But am I healed? No. I’m scarred.

Interpersonal relationships are extremely difficult to navigate. To this day, I still don’t understand people the way I feel I should. I constantly find myself frustrated and disappointed in people. The more I feel this way, the less I want to interact with anyone, and it probably shows. I just don’t have a lot to offer certain types of people anymore, and I am learning to be okay with that.

After my father’s funeral, I couldn’t get out of bed for almost three months. I had always known he’d die young. I had always known he would not be present to see the celebratory moments in my life, or my brother’s. I knew he was leaving, and I even told him not to do the IV treatment because it would kill him. He told me he had to try, or he’d be sending his children the wrong message regarding how you fight to live. I still disagree with him, and always will. Intuition doesn’t lie, and when he first told me about it, I knew it was the beginning of the end. I just made sure I didn’t say it to my brother, because that would have been wrong, at the time.

All of this knowledge allowed me to write a eulogy which really paid tribute in an honest way. This sense of knowing failed me, though, because it distracted me from the fact that my mother was dying, and didn’t care. That’s a story for another day, but when I compound the mental and emotional trauma on top of the next set of trauma, which was more sudden, I wonder how I get out bed at all. I question myself daily, and far more than anyone else ever could. I legitimately have NO idea why I’m alive. I just don’t see a real purpose to it.

My mother raised two extraordinarily different children (I was easier; my brother tried to break her.). As adults, you can tell we’re siblings by the way we laugh at the same things, in the same way. My brother says I laugh like a villain, and I’ve also been told I have my father’s laugh. You can see us automatically know what the other is thinking by a mere a glance. On bad days, I will say I look exactly like my brother, except that I have hair (He’s going to be SO pissed when he sees this. He only laughed once when I sent him a hilarious photo which made us both laugh for days.), but in reality, that isn’t true. We’re as alike as we are different. He genuinely passes as ethnic, and it takes people a while to see that in me.

I promised myself a long time ago that I would break the sibling curse which I’ve watched plague my family. Some days, I think I’ve done a pretty good job, and other days I feel taken advantage of. On my end, the effort is present. I try. I know my parents and Grandparents can see that. I know I’m not bringing shame down upon them. Or at the very least, I try damn hard not to.

There will always be days when I question how you move past all of this. Not everyone is built the way I am. There are personality types which I will never understand as long as I live. They aren’t passionate about much, so death means very little to them. They don’t place a lot of value on life or the people in their lives, and it’s obvious by the revolving door I see in their relationships. I’m not like that. I have bras older than some people’s friendships, and many still have the tags on them. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I’ve had some of the same friends for over twenty-five years and I don’t usually ditch people out of the blue. I’m loyal and honest to a fault, if nothing else.

The whole point of what I’m trying to say, and failing miserably, is that healing is different for everyone. I stopped talking about this day with my brother because then he’d stop speaking to me for a few months and that’s not conducive to any relationship. My closest friends really don’t care to listen (I get it; you’re busy. I, too, will be busy the next time you want to talk for five hours about anything. Blowing a friend off is NEVER cool, especially when you would flip out if I treated you that way.), and if someone does, they certainly haven’t communicated that to me. That’s fine. Truly. One of the good things about me is that I work a lot of shit out on my own. I’ve had to. So when my doctor tells me, “You show up for 99% of your appointments. You do the work. You’re growing and improving, and working on yourself for yourself. What’s great about you is that I don’t have to explain a lot to you, because you’re already ahead of it. You see it and you self-correct.”, I have to take that as a compliment. Usually I think he’s trying to boost my self-esteem, but then I look at the actual work and realize that yes, I did it by myself. He’s basically complimenting me for being a self-starter, but I would say some of that is my personality and the rest is nature versus nurture. It goes back to being the responsible party for things, to some extent.

If you know someone is strong and smart, most people will automatically worry less about them. I will never forget my mother saying, “I don’t worry about you because you’re strong, you’re smart, you’re intuitive, you work hard, and you’ll always land on your feet. I worry about your brother. He’s smart, he has great work ethic, but he doesn’t have your common sense or street smarts. I really worry about him.” All these years later I can assure her he finally has a modicum of common sense and a different set of street smarts. He’ll figure shit out on his own. Despite feeling like I’ve been an excellent role model, my brother has the personality type that wants to learn the hard way. It drives me insane, but you cannot change the core of most people.

I’ve done my level best to look out for my brother, and my family in general. Not everyone listens to me, so I’ve decided to stop giving advice and focus on myself. I’ve invested in myself a lot over the past year and that will continue into 2022 and beyond. I am taking my business sense and everything I was taught, and aiming for more.

Ladies, it is perfectly okay to want more out of life. It is okay to do things differently. It is okay to do things in your own time and space. It is okay to say no to things you don’t want because you see what you do want, and it’s all well within your reach. Stop letting small people tell you your worth, or that you can only achieve great things by doing it the way they think it should be done. Fuck that attitude! Not everything in life in forever, but your achievements will always be your own. No one can can touch that, so please, don’t let them.

Please speak for yourselves. Speak loudly for those who are afraid, right now, to use their voice. Don’t let situations or people diminish you. Remember who you are at the beginning and end of each day. There will always be days when you don’t want to be strong, because you’re exhausted. Allow yourself to rest, to rejuvenate, and give yourself permission to heal from anything and everything.

Go forth, trauma and all, and make someone proud. Even if it’s your deceased father who probably wouldn’t care that much. But in truth, know that you’re really doing it for yourself. The future truly IS female.

copyright ยฉ 2021 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark.

Bear With Me

Hi, everyone! I’m having a rough time, and all this while I am working on so much for this site. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ I’ve already ruled out that I’m not having a heart attack, but man, everything feels so much worse right now.

Let me be clear; death anniversaries are hard for me. They involve flashbacks and very real feelings, which, no matter how much time has passed, you find you are still working through. Even with the best of support and growth (and a superb mental health practitioner), it is still painful at times, whereas other years you don’t think about it at all. They also involve minimal to zero support.

I tend not to talk about things I have going on because people are too busy talking at me with their own problems, which drives me insane. It’s like, “Can you pause and ask how I’m doing?” I am already establishing huge boundaries and saying, “No.”, more. I’m also saying, “I cannot listen right now.” I’m not going to apologize for that. I cannot be the sounding board for fifty people, and then have no one to turn to myself. That isn’t right, fair, or okay. I am many things; selfish isn’t one of them. I will not ask for support when it should be a given. I will not repeat the same arguments because people are being assholes, either. I have to be here for ME, before I can do it for everyone else in my world. That’s fair and responsible. I wish people understood this, without immediately taking offense and complaining about how I’m not there for them. That is completely untrue, so if someone says that, they are full of crap.

I would love to know what it’s like to have blind support, but I don’t. Be kinder and judge LESS. I need to take care of me right now. I know most of you will understand.

copyright ยฉ 2021 by Lisa Marino & Poison In Lethal Doses, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Poison In Lethal Dosesยฎโ„ข is a registered trademark.