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Much Ado About Menstruation

July 1st, 2015

My period is seriously fucking with me. We’re pretty sure I have PMDD or some other menstruation symptom enhancer (that sounds like something awesome when it totally isn’t), so this is nothing new.

The new thing is that I’ve been keeping track of my period and its symptoms for about a year (give or take a few months) thanks to this really neat smartphone app I found thanks to Laci Green (who will forever be my hero), so from the very first twinge of fuckery, I knew it was my period. I’m not perfect with it (I generally forget to add the last day or two), and my periods have never been ‘regular’, so its averages are off a bit, and yet, it’s still usually pretty close to right. Within a few days, normally.

This month, I went early. REALLY early. Almost ten days early. But when you consider the fact that the average woman (according to most women’s health resources) goes about 28 days between the end of her last period and the beginning of her next, and I generally go between 35 and 38 days between the end of my last period and the beginning of my next, ten days early is just about on time for ‘normal’. Plus I’ve already got a fucked up cycle. Plus we had lots of rough sex. So I’m not worried.

The best part about keeping track of my cycle, though, is I’m not even worried about my mental state–which, at this moment, is decidedly ‘somewhat stable with a chance of tears’–because I can look at Clue and see that I’ll be menstruating in a couple days, which is good because it’s not always easy to tell the difference between PMS and bipolar disorder.

I can always count on three things when my period comes.

1) I miss my children more than any other day of my life except other period days. So much that it becomes a bit of an obsession. I dream about them every night; sometimes multiple dreams. I think about them nonstop. I have to walk away from the internet to avoid stalking them on Facebook. I catch myself falling down bottomless rabbit holes of what ifs and following dark thought trails (repeated for emphasis: thought trails) about the things I wish would happen to their father.

This week, my brain is playing extra special tricks on me in the form of lucid dreams about how much I’ve missed, about what life would be like if I was always mentally stable and was able to raise them myself, about me suddenly becoming fit financially and mentally to care for them and bringing them home.

All of these dreams are completely pointless. My youngest is 14, so even if I was fit to mother them, no one would give me the chance. They’re (supposedly) doing well where they are, and they’re happy. Ripping them away from that wouldn’t make sense. Literally the only thing the dreams have accomplished is to make me feel worse than worthless; to convince me that I should have somehow found a way to rise above the abuse and the nervous breakdown and the court system and…if I’d just been stronger, more mature, smarter, more able maybe things would be different.

2) My self esteem finds its way into the toilet. Suddenly, everything, Everything, EVERYTHING is wrong with me. My hair is gross. My body is gross. My skin is gross. My breasts are gross. My eyes are gross. My mouth is gross. My ass is gross. My pussy is gross. My clothes are stupid. My shoes…oh my shoes! I love my new shoes! But they’re gross, too. My writing is stupid. I’ve got no business editing anybody. My thoughts are dumb. My beliefs are skewed. My opinions are asinine. And where the fuck did I get the idea that anyone in the world would want to hear a thing I have to say? ~sigh~

3) I will eat everything in sight right up until the moment my stomach starts screaming, “If you put one more morsel in your mouth, I’m going to projectile vomit every last thing you’ve eaten in the past hour all over you and the room you’re sitting in.” This is not an exaggeration.

I’m an emotional eater, and menstruation is an emotional roller coaster, so I eat. It’s either that or drink, and because I so obviously have an addictive personality (I was a cocaine addict and I have problems with food), I think it would probably be a very good idea to not switch to alcohol.

This week? This week my period has hitched me to the back of its truck and is dragging me through town, making sure to hit every bump and pothole on the way. Migraines, nightmares, dreams of my children, insomnia, flow so heavy I’m going through super plus tampons in under an hour, cramps, sore breasts, nausea, light and sound fucking EVERYTHING sensitivity, crying over everything, inability to stop crying once I start, obsessing over things I can’t change, panic attacks, overwhelming sadness, body aches, feelings of worthlessness…

All I’m saying is Adam should have tied that bitch Eve to a tree on the other side of the garden the second she found out there was a forbidden tree. Then all this mess could have been avoided.

One of these days, I should make an appointment with the OB/GYN and see if I can’t get a real diagnosis and start working on treatment. If your periods are this crazy, don’t be like me. See your doctor.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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