I started blogging again on a self published space a couple of months or so ago and in perusing my logs I realized that I should have just picked up the pieces here and not gone through all the trouble of figuring out what changes had been made to MySQL and php while I was away earning money. So I am going to cross post my stuff that I think works here now. And without further ado:

Medical issues and age have conspired to turn me into a homicidal maniac in sweats for about 10 days out of every month.  Which I think is patently unfair. Was just run of the mill menstrual annoyance and the indignities of pregnancy not enough? They have to add temporary bi-polar disorder to the tail end of the reproductive years? Really?

Women get the short end of the stick where it comes to continuation of the species anyway. There are those who (unwisely) point out that we get to experience the wonder and joy of pregnancy and childbirth. I hate those people. Because they are either male, never been pregnant or got the pregnancy happy hormones.

There were some things about being pregnant that I enjoyed. The baby moving. The wonder of creating new life. But mostly what I got was nauseous,  bloating to rival the Michelin Man, sciatica, carpal tunnel, pubic symphisis and none of the happy hormones. So in my case the wonder and joy of pregnancy and childbirth do not make up for the rest of it.

Nothing and no one ever prepared me for what the last few years have been like. Sure, I saw things about hot flashes and mood swings, but either they play that stuff down in the literature or I am the lizard queen of hormonal imbalance. I suspect both.

I also never read anything about the anger. They make reference to “irritability”.  That is such a pansy word for what happens to me, “irritability”.  If I am irritable then WWII was a small conflict. I’m not irritable, I’m seething, I’m angry, I’m a psychopathic man eating lion stalking around just looking for someone to give me a reason to sup on their head.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I knew when it was going to strike. If I could schedule it, then I could plan accordingly. Barricade myself in my office with no internet and wait it out. But noooo….it happens suddenly. I will be in the grocery store trying to remember how many cans of stewed tomatoes we have left and *whammo* something will set me off. My husband taking too long too pick out cereal, for example. When I am in a normal frame of mind the fact that it takes him 5 minutes to decide to get the same cereal he always gets amuses me. It is one of his charming little quirks.  When I am in Shiva the Destroyer mode? I want to empty the cereal box over his head and then jam it down past his ears whilst screaming “It isn’t rocket science! Just get the damn cereal you always get! Auuuuuughhhhh!”

About the only upside to this is when an unsuspecting telemarketer calls and I am channeling  Shiva they get blasted so hard and so suddenly that they never, ever call again. Crazy does have its uses, it turns out. Not many, but some.

You would think that these flashes of irrational anger would be more than enough. It doesn’t stop there, though. They are interspersed with highly emotional, sensitive, sniffly, will cry over medication commercials episodes. Sometimes it is a head trip and I beat myself up over whatever crazy angry thing I did last…but mostly? Mostly I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just am.

This worries those that care about me. They want to know what is wrong. I can’t tell them. Or when I do it doesn’t really make any sense. It isn’t logical. There is no cause and effect. No thing to change to make it better. So I get to add feeling guilty to the sad. In fact, I feel guilt for both the anger and the sadness. Which also makes no sense. I have very little control over either one. And I’m not big on guilt.

If I do something I shouldn’t and I realize it, I feel regret. I apologize. I put it away. I move beyond it.  At least, that is the way that it worked before I ticked over the 40 mile marker. Now I have this free floating guilt about everything. It is crazy making.

I do feel bad for the people I’m close to. That guilt is real. They bear the brunt of my anger, the confusion of my sadness and the burden of trying to make sense of what I’m trying to tell them when the hormones get the upper hand. Maybe that is why I wrote this. To tell them that I know and appreciate their forbearance.

For their sakes and mine I hope this passes sooner rather than later. At this point I have decided I am just going to have to ride it out. I’ve tried medical intervention. That ended up creating more problems than it solved. I’ve tried herbal remedies…they didn’t work any better. All I have left to believe in is time. This has to end eventually right? Right?

In the meantime, I think I’ll hold off on buying that Glock I’ve had my eye on since I ceased to have small children. Somehow I think access to effective firearms might not be a good idea just yet. For anyone. I’m joking. Sort of.