I'm sure none of you are unfamiliar with PMS.
It's either when you feel all crabby and bitchy and cry at fucking everything and hate everything (not excusively but particularly your uterus) or when your female friend is much more weepy or angry or anxious than usual.
Hello, my friends. My name is Emily. I have a uterus. Thus I have PMS.
Today, it hit me.
The PMS.
The anger.
The anxiety.
The illogical thinking which I recognize yet cannot, for some reason, discredit.
The depression.
The need for fuzzy animals.
The need for affection. A hug. A smile. A text. Anything.
The need for appreciation. To know that I am loved and valued.
The crabbiness.
The outlook. The bleakness of every situation running rampant in my head.
The little things that piss me the fuck off.
The littler things that throw me into tears.
The week and a half before my period is always hellish.
I am overanalyzing everything, even things that I had promised myself I would not analyze, things which I had labeled "go with the flow."
I am dejected and have an overly-active sense of observation.
I am paying far too much attention to the little details. As if I didn't already do that enough.
I am extraordinarily indecisive.
I am wanting nothing else but to curl up in a little ball of literature, music, and art, but also feeling the need for human interaction.
I am altogether restless yet incredibly bored.
I am a living, breathing, walking contradiction.
I am insane.
PMS is the small-scale simulation of my anxiety-driven depression.
And this post is a small-scale, hope-this-makes-me-feel-better, freak-out.
Every little thing. It all affects me today. I'm usually stronger than this. But these fucking hormones have taken it upon themselves to amplify every negative emotion, everything I feel.
I feel like I need a friend, yet I can't get myself to believe that I deserve to have them.
I feel like I need affection, but I cannot rationalize to myself how I could ever be liked and tolerated for any extended period of time.
I feel like I am not me and that this is just some fucked up version of myself, but then I wonder if it's actually the real me, the true me, the things that I feel and fear but suppress (though I do so for my own good).
I feel like there is altogether so much to do but it cannot all be accomplished, so what good is it if it is not done? Not quite all is equivalent to nothing. So what's the point of trying?
I feel like I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. I find everything shallow. Each and every external stimulus in my life makes me only happy for an instant, only as an outside actor; nothing inside me ever changes, nor am I finding that which makes me internally happy.
I don't understand the point of trying if I know that there is no path to happiness which I do not consider shallow, pretentious, external.
I fear rejection. And that's not normal. I don't usually care about it. Or perhaps it's the solution to the problem.
I keep telling myself that all these things I'm thinking, all these things I'm fearing, come and go. And just keep hoping that they will leave again.
Every time. I tell myself. I've been through each of these situations before. And yeah, it hurt like balls, but I got through it, and I'm happy with whom I am now. So why should I allow my fear of certain situations reoccurring bother me? I got through it once, twice, thrice, I can get through it again.
Today, it's just not working.
Today, I am in pieces.
It's either when you feel all crabby and bitchy and cry at fucking everything and hate everything (not excusively but particularly your uterus) or when your female friend is much more weepy or angry or anxious than usual.
Hello, my friends. My name is Emily. I have a uterus. Thus I have PMS.
Today, it hit me.
The PMS.
The anger.
The anxiety.
The illogical thinking which I recognize yet cannot, for some reason, discredit.
The depression.
The need for fuzzy animals.
The need for affection. A hug. A smile. A text. Anything.
The need for appreciation. To know that I am loved and valued.
The crabbiness.
The outlook. The bleakness of every situation running rampant in my head.
The little things that piss me the fuck off.
The littler things that throw me into tears.
The week and a half before my period is always hellish.
I am overanalyzing everything, even things that I had promised myself I would not analyze, things which I had labeled "go with the flow."
I am dejected and have an overly-active sense of observation.
I am paying far too much attention to the little details. As if I didn't already do that enough.
I am extraordinarily indecisive.
I am wanting nothing else but to curl up in a little ball of literature, music, and art, but also feeling the need for human interaction.
I am altogether restless yet incredibly bored.
I am a living, breathing, walking contradiction.
I am insane.
PMS is the small-scale simulation of my anxiety-driven depression.
And this post is a small-scale, hope-this-makes-me-feel-better, freak-out.
Every little thing. It all affects me today. I'm usually stronger than this. But these fucking hormones have taken it upon themselves to amplify every negative emotion, everything I feel.
I feel like I need a friend, yet I can't get myself to believe that I deserve to have them.
I feel like I need affection, but I cannot rationalize to myself how I could ever be liked and tolerated for any extended period of time.
I feel like I am not me and that this is just some fucked up version of myself, but then I wonder if it's actually the real me, the true me, the things that I feel and fear but suppress (though I do so for my own good).
I feel like there is altogether so much to do but it cannot all be accomplished, so what good is it if it is not done? Not quite all is equivalent to nothing. So what's the point of trying?
I feel like I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. I find everything shallow. Each and every external stimulus in my life makes me only happy for an instant, only as an outside actor; nothing inside me ever changes, nor am I finding that which makes me internally happy.
I don't understand the point of trying if I know that there is no path to happiness which I do not consider shallow, pretentious, external.
I fear rejection. And that's not normal. I don't usually care about it. Or perhaps it's the solution to the problem.
I keep telling myself that all these things I'm thinking, all these things I'm fearing, come and go. And just keep hoping that they will leave again.
Every time. I tell myself. I've been through each of these situations before. And yeah, it hurt like balls, but I got through it, and I'm happy with whom I am now. So why should I allow my fear of certain situations reoccurring bother me? I got through it once, twice, thrice, I can get through it again.
Today, it's just not working.
Today, I am in pieces.
"Stop now before it's too late.
You're eating in the ghetto on a hundred dollar plate.
Nothing lasts forever -- that's the way it's gotta be
There's a great black wave in the middle of the sea."
