This blog is completely one sided. By reading just a few of the posts (never mind all of them) it's easy to get the impression that I am completely miserable. That there is never a reprieve from the anxiety or the anger or the struggle. That's not true. I don't share everything here. I just dump my shit here. Believe it or not, and I'm sure it's hard to believe, there are times when I am happy. There are days when I do enjoy life and I even laugh. Ask my friends. Both of them will tell you.
But I don't share those times. I've been criticized in the past for not writing anything happy, and the truth is, I don't. At least not very often. One reason for this could simply be that the urge to write comes when it comes. I can't control it anymore than I can control when I struggle with life and when I don't. Another reason, I'm sure, is that when I am happy, I'm off enjoying my life, instead of reflecting and dwelling. When the helplessness and the anxiety and the anger are gone, the last thing I want to do is the activity I normally do when they are present. And in all honesty, if I were to write both sides, your heads would be spinning as fast as my own with the drastic and sudden change in my mood and my outlook. If what is here now doesn't make me appear crazy, the Jekyll and Hyde posts surely would. Having said that, it may just be what I need to do.
These past weeks have been especially challenging. If I try to explain it away I can say things like, I've been under a lot of stress, there have been a lot of changes, and I'm simply tired and worn out. This makes sense. The move was stressful. I'm still having conflicting emotions about being here because there was nothing in me that wanted to make the move in the first place. I can't put everything away because there is simply no room to put everything away. For someone who is in desperate need of order this is a huge struggle and it's interfering with my daily life. I'm not adjusting well to working here. The light is different and nothing looks the same. It's hard. This I mostly blame on my neurology. It is what it is. Whatever it is. I'm pushing to "get over it", but I'm stuck in the middle, like a needle on a broken record.
But there are other things too. Like the anger. The intense frustration with everyone around me and the deep and frantic desire to either remove them from my life or remove myself from theirs. The paranoia. The belief that no one will ever be faithful to me and that I'm being lied to. The emptiness. The times when I can't do what I love because I can't even feel what I love anymore. The discontentment. When I don't want you to touch me or be around me, but at the same time I fucking hate you for ignoring me and leaving me alone. And the sadness and helplessness. That feeling that this will never change and I will always feel empty and no matter what I try will never help. These things can't be blamed entirely on neurology. I know this because it's not a constant feeling or desire. It comes and it goes. Just like the tide and just as quickly. These things are part of something else and I only share them from my own point of view when I am deep in the throes of it all. When it is all consuming, I come here and I spit out my anger, and it's always someone else's fault. Always. I'm not sure I was fully aware of that until last Saturday night. I've been aware of the shifting and the back and forth, and of experiencing happiness which was quickly followed by the fear of "how long will this last?" That, I have been aware of for quite some time, and in reading through old writings from when I was a teenager it was present then as well. There have been times when I feared that perhaps I was bi-polar. I haven't shared that thought or fear with anyone. Not even my doctor. It's one thing to call yourself crazy. It's something else entirely to be labeled as such. We don't mind being a little crazy, we just don't want to be "cocktail of medication every day for the rest of your life" crazy.
So what happened to give me that moment of clarity? Earlier in the week I could feel my frustrations building. With my life, with the move, with my relationship. It wasn't anything drastic that was happening it was all the little things. I had to pick up dirty laundry. Plans kept changing last minute. My boyfriend was distracted by the television and wasn't hearing anything I said. The kids kept slamming the door. The noise. etc...Things that are annoying. Things that might make someone "take a break" for a while. I did take a break upstairs in my room and looked up apartments for rent. Later I sat outside alone for a while. When I came in, everyone else went outside. I felt completely alone and like I needed an escape all at once...like a caged rat and a piece of the furniture all at the same time. I could feel the anger building and honestly I hated everyone at that point. I left to go to the food store because I could think of nothing else to do and when I got there I had no idea what to buy. I felt like I wasn't even really there, like I was controlling myself like you would a character in a video game, just making myself go down the aisles and place random items in the cart. There was nothing left inside of me, if that makes any sense, and I'm fully aware that it may not. Somewhere on the ride home, during a phone call that I wasn't paying attention to, I decided I needed to leave my boyfriend. That we weren't going anywhere and that although we were happy once, we could never be happy again. I had made up my mind. He can stay here and rent this house because I don't even want to be here anyway. ?Saturday night there was a play at his kids school. He had repeatedly asked me during the day if Jack and I wanted to go. I never answered him. I couldn't answer him. How can I go to a play when my whole life is falling apart!? How could I possibly deal with all of that and not dive head first into a panic attack? (keep in mind, now, I've decided...decided...that I have to leave him and he has no idea that these thoughts are in my head and if only he would have picked up his dirty socks and so on...are you getting the picture?) In the end he and the kids went because I managed, through the invisible hands around my throat, to get some words out that somehow communicated that I couldn't go. The thought that crossed my mind the minute he said he would take the kids and I could be alone, was not the moment of clarity. In fact it was the exact opposite.
Thank god I will be alone, and maybe I will die while they are gone.
That is what I thought.
Maybe I will die.
If I try to explain that thought now I just attempt to rationalize, only there wasn't anything rational about it. I simply felt in that moment, that somehow, if it happened, it would bring relief. I didn't necessarily think, I should do something to make myself die. But this completely worn out and empty part of me...hoped. What happened instead was that the minute they drove off I felt the invisible hands remove themselves from my throat and relief came. All on it's own and unexpectedly. I came over to my computer where I'm sitting right now, and blogged about the anxiety side of things and not going to events that my son wants me to go to, leaving out the other messy details. Somehow it was enough to clear away some of the debris that was cluttering my thoughts and it was like I came rushing back into reality. Back to the here and now. And immediately I thought...what the fuck is wrong with me!?! It was like I'd been hit by a truck. This isn't right. This isn't normal. This is making it so hard to live. My neurology, of course, took over and my need to know kicked into full gear. This is where it lead me.
Living with PMDD- A partner's perspective
This is me. This happens. There is a brief break. And like clockwork, this happens again. This may have ruined all of my relationships. This could ruin every relationship in my life. At least until menopause...
As I've stated, all of my experiences are documented from my point of view only. This one comes from the partner in the relationship and as I read it I could hear my own partners voice reciting the very same words.
I started keeping a log so I can clearly see how I feel and what's happening on each day of my monthly cycle. When is the anxiety worse? When do I have panic attacks? What days do I have my suitcase packed and one foot out the door? When do I feel helpless or full of hope? What days do I hate everyone? What days do I actually believe my dreams can still come true?
Yesterday was the first day I actually felt energetic and got things done. I even cooked.
Last night I got my period.
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