Well, that was fast, the fall from anxious-but-happy to really-why-won't-you-all-just-disappear-and-leave-me-alone, with "you all" meaning anyone who breathes within a hundred yards of me. Especially my kid. Poor N. His summer was humming along pretty well until Em left. Now he's stuck here with a mother who just wants to scream--and sometimes does--every time she hears the words "I want someone to play with me." Especially when she's trying to work. Which she has to do all the fucking time, just to keep up. And still she can't keep up. And she also can't keep her kid happy. And her husband? I have a husband? Oh, you mean that guy hiding behind the bushes to avoid my unfocused anger?
Of course, I'm premenstrual, so that explains a lot. Or nothing. It is what it is. I yam what I yam.
I have this vision of my father's little bipolar ghost--morose, irritable, and only half transparent--having spent almost no time wandering the earth before slipping into my skin as if he'd been here all along.
And just so you know: The first person to mention meds to me is not going to appreciate the response. I do appreciate your concern, and I know. I get it. I will. But also? You (and you, and you, and you) should know better than to assume that that's going to be the answer. Since when have meds been the answer? A bandaid, yes. And certainly a bandaid is better than getting blood all over the place. But it's not actually going to stop the bleeding. I used to think it might, but now--four years and at least nine different meds and combos thereof later--I'm a little less enthusiastic. And a lot fatter.
4 comments:
Yeah, but it's hard to stitch up the wound while it's still bleeding, you know? And depending on what the wound is, sometimes a bandaid is exactly what it needs. Shrug, we're all used to not liking what you tell us ;)
(AND YES I KNOW YOU WERE DIRECTING THAT AT ME)
Good morning, yo.
Oh I hate it when the world craps all over pre-menstrual days - as if you need a bloddy reason!!
Okay, on the subject of meds, what if you went with something to help the PMDD (the incredibly bitchy older sister of PMS) you're obviously experiencing? Because wanting to rip out the heart of the person standing next to you and stuff it down his freaking throat just is not a good feeling (but one I'm way too familiar with).
Damn perimenopause! Hugs!!
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