Courtesy of montly hormones…the rage monster has emerged and it seriously hates everyone. Including me.
Prior to the process of pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum, I had ZERO concept of menstrual dysphoria, especially when mixed with bipolar depression. I always had painful grumpy shark weeks but after all the changes of spawning occurred…It has become a living hell every three weeks of my life. Thought distortion even bipolar can’t top.
In the last 4 days I have experienced pure undulterated rage, overflowing tear ducts no amount of self control can rein in, self pity, self loathing, loathing of others, paranoia, mistrust, and this morning an actual suicidal ideation because it hit me…I could win the lottery and be cured of bipolar tomorrow, get all my parts yanked and let the hormones settle down…But I am still going to hate what life in general has become.
Trump. NSA. Drones. Misogyny. Hatred.War. Famine. Mindless internet people who think stringing together three sentences concerning their diet and posting six times a day makes them a writer. (Yes, I am a nasty human being and I should die in a fire but I won’t because that would be merciful and I don’t deserve mercy.)
On a good day, a lot of that stuff slides off me like I have Teflon coating. May hate it. But I can cope.
Today my mind is in such dire straights with the hormonal distortions and cramps…I feel like death would be a relief. I deserve it for having such bad thoughts about otherwise good people. I mean, rage monstering just because I’ve spent almost 40 years cultivating my writing ability to a place where it’s almost passable only to be surpassed by either self important, needy, desperate, or otherwise interesting-as-watching-paint-dry people whose writing reads as rote as a technical manual?
Ah, and with rage monster comes the “I work my ass off to write and all these assholes get ten thousand followers by commenting on the shape of a turd they left in the toilet and posted on line thus making them writers of interest!” green eyed monster!
To say I am a loathsome human right now would be an understatement. In a day or two I won’t even remember half the shit pissing me off (except for inane three sentence posts that read like technical manuals, that shit irks me 24-7.)
I find I am even disconcerted with my child. She is a follower. She is a chameleon whose personality changes based on what people she is around. I bust my butt, get bullied and spit on, verbally abused, just fighting to be true to who I am…And I end up with a child who can’t really be anyone. She has no sense of true self. Am I a reliable judge right now? Hell no. But when something’s been gnawing at your mind for years…Likely it is how you feel, even if amplified and distorted.
And why it bothers me so much is…It’s like I don’t even know my own child, the way others describe her behavior around them. It makes me look and feel like I am not paying enough attention and simply don’t know her when I damn well DO know her. I just can’t control how she adapts to fit with whatever fold she is in at the time. I’ve never done that, never wanted to, and it leaves me at a loss.
Maybe in time she will find herself. I worry because I don’t think her donor ever did. He was constantly turning into a chameleon, trying to be what he thought was needed to keep the peace, all the while deluding himself into thinking he had a personality of his own.
Oh, judgmental bitch mode is in the house, YAY.
What do you do when you can’t stand yourself?
And what do you do when you realize that some of your friendships you thought were real have actually outgrown you, moved on, and left you holding onto the past, looking pathetic? Only because someone without the balls to tell you they’ve moved on won’t speak up. And you’re supposed to be all accepting and everyone is perfect just the way they are but their chickenshit behavior and secret keeping makes you feel hurt and spiteful and DO YOU REALLY DESERVE TO FEEL THAT WAY IN THE NAME OF A FRIENDSHIP THAT HAS JUST REALLY…MORPHED INTO…less than what it was, and certainly of less importance to another than it is to you.
Oh, self doubt walked in, LURRVE you…NOT, you cockweasel.
I’ve been at this bipolar/hormonal thing long enough to know when I just need to ride it out and tune it out ( even though all the bad thoughts are coming at me through stacks of Marshall amps). The feelings, distorted or amplified, are just as real as any other emotion any other time. Whether it sticks around like an unwanted vagrant after the hormonal storm is the only question.
I want my half solid self back. The non teary non wimpy “zero fucks are given” self.
Put a man on the moon, give limp noodles an erection, create a microchip the size of a zit that holds a terabyte of data…
But no real treatment for life crippling menstrual dysphoria.
Now go click the unsubsribe button, gossip about what a horrible human I am, but just remember at the end of the day…At least I have the balls to be honest about who I truly am, even when I myself think I should just die already. That takes a courage few people will ever know.