That is how I feeling today. Plagued by cramps and wonky hormones and backaches and just all around feeling fragile. Plagued by the medication conundrum. Plagued by all this borderline personality bullshit. Plagued by being labeled with a disorder simply because I don’t fit some societal norm and don’t even want to because I’m fine with who I am, the world is the one with the problem.  PLAGUED.

Throw in a hypomanic jaunt from taking all my meds at once, as the doctor instructed, I am feeling rather clusterfucked with swirling thoughts and utter confusion. While it is certainly easier to take them all at once, I think the anti depressant jolt is too much and should be taken in two doses throughout the day. But can’t have patients dictating what is best for them, that’s combative and failing to cooperate.

I know in the grips of hormonal flux I’m not really operating on all 8 cylinders so taking anything I feel right now too seriously would be unwise. Yet I feel it, even through all the gauze because the anger still manages to get through. It’s not the white hot anger that fuels me to keep fighting, more confused indignation and annoyance,but it’s something to feel. Unfortunately, when I am like this, it’s all going to come out in machine gun fire text that will be all over the place and barely make sense. I should just draft this and come back later but…That’s not me. I need to vent. Must. Vent.

Maybe some banal drivel to distract myself from my hormonal “stuck on one subject in my head” thing. I think that topic needs its own post and some research and logical mind set. (Borderline Bash, coming soon to this blog.)

It’s humid as hell already. I could barely peel myself out of bed this morning even with the spawn yipping and galloping. It wasn’t laziness so much as everything ached due to the pms-dysphoria thing. R called last night asking me to look for something on Ebay since his wife left to go back to work and his desktop computer crashed and he spilled beer on that laptop he basically gave me and took back…It’s like, fuck, I knew he was talking to me because she was going to be gone and he’d be bored.  Not pessimism, just fact.

Sure enough, he said, “I’ll grab you some Mangoritas and come over, see what you find on Ebay.” And perhaps too quickly and snappishly I said, “NO, I don’t need Mangoritas.” When in fact, they probably would have done wonders for the cramps. But I was hurting and feeling so volatile, I really didn’t want him near me. He’s not a sensitive or compassionate person and me being hormonal would have just started some sort of fight no matter how lightly I tread. Not to mention by 9pm he’s usually four tall boys into his beer and that makes him more flippant and argumentative. Nope. Does not want. I think turning down the Mangoritas and company offended him a bit but zero fucks were given. I knew he’d pull this shit. I am little more than something to keep him from having to be by himself and be bored.Sorry, but it’s not my idea of friendship.  Idget.

It cooled off enough last night that I only needed one fan. I figured after stifling humidity making it hard to breathe all day and my kid being in a combative tantrum throwing state, I’d go right to sleep. It didn’t happen. Then when I was asleep, I had dreams and kept waking up. When awake, the cramps and backache had me doubled over. I tried the pill to lessen cramps and regulate and all that, but it gave me blood clots so that went away. Once a month, every month, I get ten days of suffering, and only three are the actual curse. The rest is just pms and dysphoria. No sooner than I get level, bam, cycle starts again.

Toss in the bipolar and it’s a miracle I’m not stark raving mad.

Wow, I hate this post already. But it’s hard to write clearly when your mind is racing and your kid is smacking her lips loudly and whining that her friend punched her again.

I’m on a Grey’s Anatomy kick now. Back to the early seasons. The episode I watched this morning involved a train wreck and this man and woman were impaled together on a pole. And through it all, this woman kept smiling and cracking jokes and making the best of things. Even when they told her she was likely going to die, she smiled through her tears.

Yes, I know it’s fiction. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking…WHY CAN’T I BE HER? I want to joke and snark and smile my way through it all. And to hear the masses tell it, it’s just a matter of choice.

Except, when it’s not. To reference Grey’s again…When Yang had the ectopic pregnancy, it barely registered at first. If you’re not familiar with this character, suffice it to say she is an ambitious robot workaholic with no time for girly things. So when you see her finally start crying and sobbing to the point she begs to be sedated…It’s not choice or personality sometimes. The human body does its thing. Hormones do their things. Brain chemicals do their thing.

It’s not always a choice.

I reiterate, I know the difference between real and fiction. I also know something is well written and acted if it strikes a chord with me. Especially being Numbo and all.

Now…I hate this post. I hate pms and shark week and humidity and being so uncomfortable and feeling so weak and…

I really hate when the humidity is so high cat hair sticks to my moist skin. I feel like a fucking Yeti.

Horrormonally yours




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