You may remember this thread of jarbaby’s from just about a month ago, in which we all discovered that we had our periods at the same time. Well, guess what, ladies? It’s time for PMS!!
This may come as a bit of surprise, especially seeing as it’s a Pit thread, but I actually like PMS. Not the symptoms, so much, but the fact that I have it. Perhaps an example to help illustrate my point…
I’m walking home from the subway today and my thought process is as follows:
It’s fucking cold and my hands are cold and my head hurts and I’m so tired. What the fuck is wrong with me… I hate Monday… I’m probably getting what my boss has… I can’t believe we have to share a phone… fucking terrorists… I probably have anthrax from the scare in my office and why does this whole walk have to be uphill? I think I pulled a thigh muscle from running and I have no food at home and I don’t feel like going shopping and why doesn’t anyone ever buy me flowers and why are my breasts so sore and… wait… a… second…! My breasts hurt! I have PMS! That explains it! I’m not depressed for no apparent reason! It’s chemical! Woo!
Every single month it goes like that. I always forget about PMS until I’ve been grouchy all day and convinced myself that none of my friends love me and so forth. So if any of the rest of y’all do that, buck up! It’s just PMS!
Now who the fuck is gonna come over and massage my thigh? Don’t all volunteer at once.
I get cranky, irriated, and my obsessive compulsive disorder starts creeping up-I start getting the old stupid fears. And then I think…wait, is my period due-bingo!
Plus it’s a perfect excuse to stay cuddled up in bed with hot tea.
Yesterday I almost forgot to tape Buffy (missed the first 10 minutes), freaked out, started snapping at my boyfriend then went upstairs to sob for 15 minutes.
Go figure, I got my period later that night. First time in a few months (I’m on depo provera).
Okay. I’m here for you if you’d like to talk. Oh, here are some chocolates I bought for you all. Don’t skimp on them, I bought 40 boxes. I can stay and listen, or leave if you get sick of me. I do want to go to that Light Her Fire workshop in the morning, so I probably need to sleep.
By the way, does anyone need anything from the store? I’m buying.
My boyfriend chose Friday, the day I was in the depths from coming sickness, George Harrison’s death, impending initiation, seasonal depression (I don’t like winter much), and PMS to dump me.
LaurAnge, I’m on Depo too, but it seems like my PMS lasts about a week and my hormones are all fucked up. Even when I don’t get my period, I get PMS. Ain’t that peachy?
Yes, Nocturne, PMS is a bitch.
Let’s all silently curse being a woman for just a few moments here…
I didn’t speak up last month, but I’m on the same goddamned cycle and today it occured to me: I’m going to be raggin’ during NYCDope.
primal screaming ensues
I am SO not a happy freakin’ camper. It’s enough of a pain in the ass in my own house…now I’ve gotta maintain my way through another CITY. Plus, I don’t know if anyone remembers, but last year at the Met it took me 45. Fucking. Minutes. To finda motherhumping functional bathroom.
And vix, I’d be thrilled to rub your thighs for you.
Purely because I’m a humanitarian and stuff.
This time around wasn’t too bad for me. Not until this morning, anyway.
Every so often my PMS seems to just not happen. Oh, I got a little irritable (really, just a little, not enough for anyone but me to notice that it was PMS). Then I woke up this morning at about 4 am. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, while I was watching a movie. The room was spinning, I could barely lift my head, my muscles were all sore, and I was soaking wet from my chin all the way down the front of my shirt.
My husband had been in the basement, copying some audiotapes. He came in to the living room just as I was attempting to wake up. He walked over to the couch and said “My God, what happened to you? You’re all wet!” I could barely answer. Then he looked at me and said “uh oh, did you have a seizure?”
Yep. I did. I have epilepsy, but my seizures are in fact triggered by PMS. Almost every damn one of them I’ve ever had has been 3-4 days before my period starts or 1-2 days after, and my period started about 15 minutes ago. The only ones I’ve had that haven’t been PMS-related have occurred while I was pregnant.
Of course, I’d forgotten to take my medication yesterday too. So that, coupled with PMS, brought on this seizure. Damn. I hate that.
Oh, the wet stuff? Drool. Copious amounts of slobber spewing from my mouth. I’ve done a lot of stuff to myself while having a seizure, but drooling like that, enough to soak the front of my shirt, is indeed a new one for me. Weird.
I don’t know, Hama. The seizures only last a couple of minutes, and I’m normally just fine after a short nap. 45 minutes of looking for a restroom? That’d piss me right off even when I’m not PMSing!
My downstairs neighbor (and good friend) came up with beer! Woo! I explained the whole PMS thang and my sour hormone-addled mood. He hung out with me while I trimmed my Christmas tree and was generally reassuring on all points.
My fellow sufferers, I feel your pain. Persephone - Yikes. AlbertRose, thanks for the sweets, love. And Hama - you’re a saint.
Ugh. I was running up the steps tonight and realized my breasts were aching like hell. I didn’t immediately think PMS, but then I’ve been preoccupied with this 8-page explication of a Coleridge poem. I finally finished it, ran a hot bath, climbed in, and realized that the water in the tub was making them hurt. I stubbed my toe on the way out and cried for several minutes.
I plan on taking some Midol in about three minutes and then retiring for the night. Which sucks because I like to sleep on my stomach, but it’s rather hard when my breats are like one giant aching swollen open wound. I can’t even bear to touch them. Putting on a bra tomorrow is going to be fun.
It usually isn’t nearly as bad as this. I guess it’s the weather fluctuations or something.
Not that I have personal experience in this, except for being a target, but vix and Hama, when the jello rasslin’ gets hot and heavy in Vix’s living room, be assured I will respect sore breasts. Hell hath no fury like a woman having PMS getting her boobs squashed in a jello pit.
I’ve been depressed for the past few weeks anyway, but Sunday I was a bitch. Today I’m feeling a bit better, but if anybody does anything that I can even imagine might be slightly personal and/or intended to hurt my feelings, I will turn into the Sobbing Bitch From Hell.
I hate my hormones. I’m jealous of my mom, who doesn’t have periods anymore. And I’ve got another twenty or thirty years of this left.
I don’t know about technical PMS, but I know that the week after my period, I get way, way emotional. It’s bad enough that my SO, who lives far away, can usually tell by talking to me for half an hour online. I always end up really, really depressed and crying, although when I realize it’s just the TotM, I feel a lot better.
My company does advertising and even promotions for those little cheesecake snack bars made by that company that rhymes with “Billy”, and somehow we ended up with a giant stock of them in our fridge just in time to coincide with PMS time.
So I have written a poem:
Oh tiny fat-laden cheesecake snacks
How they call to me, call to me
They call to me through the beep of the fax machine
Their song carries through the ringing of phones
Through the office chatter
Through the Fedex delivery of a giant turkey suit
The giant turkey suit that was supposed to come two weeks ago, to be worn by some out-of-work actor
Some out-of-work actor who probably cannot afford individually wrapped products
in the sweet snacks category.
My heart breaks for this actor and his too-late turkey suit, and I want to cry.
My breasts are swollen, and I want to cry.
My jeans are hard to zip, and I want to cry.
The bus takes too long, and I want to cry.
Zits appear on my face, and I want to cry.
My computer freezes, and I want to cry.
And only the small cheesecakes, remote in their glistening silver wrapping hear my anguish.
They sing their siren song of creamy cheesecake
Cool creamy goodness interlaced with chocolate
Or if I’m very lucky strawberry
Even the plain Jane kind would comfort me now
(Thanks, I needed a big grin).