Hormones. You have to love the little buggers, don’t you? Let’s face it, they’re with us whether we like it or not. Bouncing around in their cute, fluffy playground. Crying, fragile, throwing tantrums, refusing to play ball and getting all upset. Twisting the swing round and round until they feel dizzy. Becoming unbalanced because someone heavier sits on the see-saw.
Want to know my favourite of all hormones? The one that has plagued my adult life;
In the early days, PMT reared its ugly little gremlin head about 3 days before my period was due to start. As I have “matured’ this has gradually increased, and over the past few years, the gremlin that is PMT seems to be pushing its luck with me -making itself at home within my cycle. Stretching out for ten days or so, sometimes even longer. Hanging around to greet its new found friend, Peri-menopause. The two have quite a lot in common only PMT is younger and feistier, and Perimenopause is an old bag who gets hot a lot. Thankfully, I’m yet to make peri’s acquaintance entirely. Either way, they’re both intent on ruining my life.
The doctor seems to think there’s no such thing as PMS. Get some more fresh air he says. Get some rest. That’s it then. Bugger. Why didn’t I think of that? Never mind your bloody dinner, I’m having a sleep. Need driving to your flute lesson? Tough. I’m going for a walk.
I have a clear recollection of sitting upstairs in Woolworth’s cafe with my grandmother having a cup of tea and a 49p toasted teacake. Me, about 16 and her in her late 50s. She started telling me about the programme she’d seen on TV the night before about a lost cat or an orphan or something. I watched in horror as she actually started to cry while relaying it to me. Me,16. Oh my god woman get a grip. How embarrassing. Stop blubbing and go and ask for another butter portion for me will you? Unbelievable.
What goes around comes around, and now I am that woman. Crying at Facebook adverts. In fact, it’s worse than that. Today I went to the mailbox and found this.
I cried my eyes out at the bottom of the driveway for about ten minutes. How could they? How could the rural mail delivery people retire and leave me? What am I going to do? Honestly, you would have thought my life was over. Now, tell me that’s normal.
I have a friend (yes, that one) who professes to have never suffered from PMT. Not ever. Not even one little glass smash or f-word.
WTF? Get to the naughty step. In fact, no love, get on the naughty chair, put that chair in the naughty corner and sit there like the naughty girl that you are. No PMT. Phff. Silly girl. Little freak. Lucky cow.
I have spent the last couple of decades battling with this affliction.Can you call it that? Is it possible to fight against something that the doctor tells you is all in your head? Well, I’m going to say yes I think you can. I certainly have. And I bet you have too.
I can’t begin to tell you the number of remedies that I’ve undertaken to help ease the dreaded symptoms. I have tried e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, and I mean everything. Here are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.
- Evening Primrose (Gave me nice nails but I was still a cow)
- Vitamin B6 (Helped me to sleep a bit better at night. Not such a tired cow)
- More Exercise (sweaty cow)
- Contraceptive pill.Every brand going. (2 Kids. Now I’m a cow to them.)
- Meditation (Love this. But can’t spend my whole day sat in my room)
- Progesterone cream (Brilliant for about 2 years. Still a cow, but only a little cow)
- Cutting out wine (miserable cow)
- Having a glass of wine (Nasty cow)
- Fennel oil (Aniseed smelling, but nicer. A bit)
- DIM Tablets (ongoing)
I went to the doctors again today. I’m not going to lie, he was a lovely man. In fact, I wanted to take him home and keep him under my pillow- which may give you an indication as to the state of my mind at present.
We talked about hormones. We talked about periods. He asked me what my symptoms were. I said what I always say; feeling moody, agitated. Not sleeping well for a couple of nights. Irritable. Blah, Blah, Blah. 30 years of it. I’m bored with you now Gremlin. I didn’t tell the doctor the truth for fear of him locking me up in a white room and never letting me see my family again. But I’m going to tell you the truth because I’m a psycho with head problems. So here you go. When someone suggests that PMS is all in your head, you say,
f*ck off. Err hmm, get back Gremlin…No.You say,
Here’s what PMS looks like:
- Even though you spend 20 minutes plastering on the most expensive concealer and foundation you own, you open the door to your Mother and the first thing she says is “You look tired”.
- The sight of the dog hairs smothering the boot of your car makes you want to bash the dog over the head with the spare tyre. And you love the dog more than life itself.
- You can’t bare to look in the mirror because you don’t recognise the woman looking back at you.
- You start looking for random signs that everything is going to be alright.”If I see a yellow car in the next two minutes everything will be fine’
- That flowery top that made you look like a hippy chick last week, now makes you look like Iggle Piggle.
- The trousers, that made you feel like her from Flashdance last week, now make you feel like Waynetta.
- You want to be alone but you want someone to hug you.
- You’re glad someone has hacked your email because now no one can contact you.
- You want to marry your flannelette sheets.
- You get into bed and put a huge big invisible brick wall between you and your husband but when he rolls over and starts snoring, you cry yourself to sleep ’cause he doesn’t fancy you anymore.
- The sight of the cutlery draw makes you want to murder someone.
- You hate playing games and if the rest of the family try to have fun, you sit with a face like a torn ar*e until they’re miserable too.
- You only like wearing your comfy knicks. And your comfy trackies. And that old comfy bra. But you hate how you don’t look anything like her from Flashdance when she had her comfies on.
- You cry.
- You wish you had a passion for Vietnamese food, but you don’t. You want creamy blue cheese pasta. And lots of it. With garlic bread.
- You swear at the kids and don’t care.
- You cry. For swearing at the kids.
- You apologise and then before you’ve even finished the sentence, you begin justifying yourself and telling the other person that actually it was their fault.
- You want to smash your husbands face in, because. Just because. Or…
- You cling onto your husband’s arm like a baby chimpanzee. Begging him never to leave you. Not even to go and make a cup of tea.
- You wonder if those hormone tablets will work.
- You cry because they don’t.
- The first thing you do when you go into the lounge is plump the cushions up.
- You refer to your house as ‘who’s going to clean this pit up?’ when really it’s a beautiful home.
- You want to go to bed.
- You want to backpack around the world.
- You’ll be glad when the kids leave home.
- You want another baby.
- You wish you just felt normal.
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe PMT is all in my head but it sure as hell feels real to me.
If you are battling with hormones and have found a solution, even just an iddy, biddy, diddy one, please let me know. Pleeease. I won’t track you down a kill you I promise. Until then, I’m away to my bed with my fennel oil and my flannelette sheets. And if that doctor is under my pillow, well. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to bash his head in.