Oh, ya’ll, I’m totally crazy. And not in that I-just-shit-my-pants-and-have-no-problem-telling-you-about-it kind of way. No, in a jittery high pitched squeal way, alternating with lying still like a lump of bread dough. The bread dough is preferable.
When I was in my early twenties (and probably from my teen years, though the pattern was only officially noticed by myself/TMD and treated medically from when I moved here, more on that in a bit), I went truly crazy before my period. The official term is PMDD. So when I say crazy, I don’t mean it in a way that is casually offensive to people with mental health issues. I mean I had my own little doozy of an issue. Google it.
Let’s just explain it for those of you who don’t google that it’s like a jekyll/hyde thing. I used to totally change personalities and GO CRAZY for two out of four weeks. And it used to make me crazier thinking that if I was 50% Rageful Depressed Girl, who was to say that Happy Relaxed Girl was any more real?
I remember my doctor at the time never diagnosed me with PMDD, but she sure put me on the correct medication to treat it. Light anti-depressants to be taken during my luteal phase (aw, just hit up a phrase all my TCC friends recognize! Word up to my babymaking friends!), though I took them all month. I took them for less than six months and then decided to go natural. And for me, just knowing that on day 19 of my cycle was a day I should never leave the house (seriously) made things easier. If I was going nuts (perhaps I will clarify later) it sometimes helped to look at a calender and understand why. My doctor said the only thing that would help was having a baby.
Well, kids, I tell you something: maybe my hormones have finally switched from pregnant-lady to non-pregnant-lady. Because I sure as shit am getting crazy again. Not as severely as before, but I definitely notice my pre-period days are getting hairy for me and those around me. As a sidenote, PMDD is often only picked up one the sufferer/survivor lives with their partner, an outside person who can see clearly enough to notice a pattern to the shifting moods and crazy behaviours.
Stress used to really up my levels of crazy. And the crazy came with a side dose of truly agonising periods – though I stress both were for a short season in my early twenties, thank god, and have been on haitus for years. Except for today.
My new car smells like my very first car – like the oil gasket is leaking. I thought it smelled funny one time last week but thought nothing more of it. And then yesterday the smell was overwhelming. I’m not clear if it’s because it actually smells like an oil leak, or because my heightened seventh sense of The Crazy is smelling things that are really not there. Or because it’s a diesel and I’ve never driven one before.
But I was such a hyped up mess that when we got home yesterday, I hopped out of the car and started sniffing the bonnet. And then got on my knees and stuck my head under the car – like I’m a fucking mechanic or something – and started hardcore smelling. I know, I know.
You may be thinking, well, this is justified behaviour. I’d be freaking out if I just spent an unholy amount of money on a car that is perhaps a lemon. But you guys, I didn’t engage the parking brake. This is kind of a big deal when you drive a manual and your driveway is on a slight incline.
About two hours after we got home, the doorbell rang. A random man came over to point out that our car had gone backwards, straight down the drive, and was in the road. If you imagine the direction of the road as being this line of type, our car was like an up and down line. Totally creating right angles with the road, and completely blocking the road.
I f-f-FREAKED OUT.
And was still freaky this morning, which involved TMD getting to witness a shrieking …uh, what are those ghost things that shriek at you? And Hallmark had all those e-cards featuring her? Ah yes, a banshee. I was a fucking banshee. A f-f-FREAKED OUT BANSHEE.
I am tired of being an adult today.