A Letter to PMS:

Hey Girl,

I think we need to be honest with each other here; the only reason you’re called PMS is because oestrogen-induced-manic-depressive-bipolar-disorder-prone-to-fits-of-psychopathic-rage is too long.

But I gotta hand it to you, at least you’re consistent. Since 2005, every 28 days you come into my life and make me want to turn into a unicorn just so I can stab everyone around me with my head. You curse my hormones, contaminate my thoughts, manipulate my appetite, and generally turn me into a sugar addicted screaming banshee.

FYI PMS, your material is getting old. Like getting me to sob at the Stegglers Chicken commercial filled with a happy family enjoying a meal together? Boring. Convincing me to eat a whole jar of Nutella to get a chocolate endorphin boost? Predictable. Encouraging me to watch The Notebook for the thousandth time whilst eating a family sized bag of popcorn and realising Noah doesn’t exist in real life and I’m never going to find him? Unoriginal.

You do realize PMS that you interfere with 25% of my life? Now let’s get this straight, a quarter of my life is in your hands just because I happen to have fallopian tubes? Seems a bit unreasonable don’t you think? I’ve honestly accepted my fate of suffering through the crimson wave for 5-7 days every month, but why must each period come with a week of pre-gaming!? Why do you insist that I eat everything in sight? Feel paranoid and insecure? Sob about menial things? Severally bloat? And then sob about bloating so much? WHY OH WHY?!?

The thought of your monthly return gives me major anxiety. I’m pretty sure it gives my friends and family anxiety too. We all live in fear of you and all the insane behaviours you cause. I just don’t understand why Mother Nature can’t send me a text to tell me I’m not pregnant rather than put me through this every month. Can you explain that to me?

I hate that I’m a stereotypical moody PMS-ridden woman. I hate all the jokes that get made about PMSing. I hate men who don’t have to suffer through it and therefore makes jokes about it. I hate that they don’t follow the rule of ‘No uterus no opinion’.
But most of all I hate that I can’t decide whether I want to kill someone or have a chocolate chip biscuit more. It’s this indecision that kills me.  

tumblr_mf159b62e01qaboboo1_500

Exactly how I feel for a week straight.

PMS, if you happen to read this and hear my pleas, can you do me a little favour? Can you take it a little easier on me next month? I like my friends and my mental health and I don’t want to see either lost over another PMS-Induced ‘episode’.

Love and oestrogen,

Tijana

P.S. Thanks for the bigger boobs. I know they’re only temporary, but they’re the only thing getting me through this week.

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14 thoughts on “A Letter to PMS:

  1. Pingback: A Letter to PMS: | girlsadda

  2. In my case, I think the P stands for “post”. I never get moody before or during my period, but as soon as it’s over, I’m in total bitch mode for no good reason. And I crave sweets like it’s going out of style! So when I step on the scale and see that I’ve gained a little bit of weight, I just tell myself I can’t help it because of hormones and thereby avoid taking any personal responsibility for my gluttony.

  3. Most infuriating when I am losing my mind over something and my husband, who is on any other occasion entirely clueless, gives me that patronizing all-knowing head nod with eyes closed, “ah,” he says, “that time of the month eh?” completely invalidating my meltdown. The worst part, he’s right, how did he know? Grrr.

  4. My personal favorite back in the day was Potential Murder Suspect. But I’m past all that now. I did about five years of peripausal… that exciting period before menopause that can last ten to twenty years and can only be managed with real medication. (Just wait, you youngsters, this puts ordinary PMS to shame.) Only to then arrive suddenly through surgery at menopause at the age of 46. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I felt robbed. On the upside, I’ve been free the last ten years to lose it whenever I choose, however I choose, on whomever I choose. Now that’s freedom.

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