Once a month I go bat shit crazy, like commit me to the looney bin or
the attic crazy. Just hide me away & put the key in a safe place out
of my reach along with the valuables & the children. Do not try to
engage me; just slide flat foods under the door. Like potato chips.
And bars of dark, dirty chocolate which I will pluck Gollum-like from
your sweaty palm.
My bra size goes up between 2-4 cup sizes. My joints ache like those
of a woman in her 90s & I hobble around with what feels like a walrus
sitting on my sinuses. My bloated stomach resembles that of a woman in
her second trimester with twins. Make that triplets.
Did you bring me some chocolate?
My hormones are firing at warp speed. This is not the time to view
documentaries about the Holocaust, read books about unrequited teenage
love or watch those SPCA videos starring Sarah McLachlan. Damn you
“Angel!”
*cue ugly crying*
I wonder if I am depressed, suicidal or homicidal. Or maybe all three.
I have vaguely disturbing but deeply satisfying fantasies about
robbing a gas station at gunpoint & taking down everyone that gets in
the way. Of my chocolate.
I’ve tried natural remedies & even straight up pharmaceuticals but I
can’t seem to quit this bitch. I guess I’ll just have to endure my
monthly 72 hold until I can start reading from the Hot Flash cards &
enter The Change.
I think I may have found the upside of menopause. RIP PMS.
—
Pamela L. Smith
about.me/pamsmith01
4 Comments
You and me both sister. Thanks for sharing! I’m forwarding this off to my friends right now!
Yeah! I can relate… :/ Men should try going through all of this, at least once. I am not sure if that will make me feel better but at least I’ll get some empathy.
The worst is when some perky broad tells me the best way to deal with it is to get some exercise. I become non verbal – only capable of growling.
We women really do go though a lot.
Funny post!
Keep em coming.
xo
Meredith