Wednesday, May 2, 2012

PMS? more like FUC - fat, ugly, crazy

Every month I am shocked by the force with which PMS hits me.  I mean I know it's coming - it's kind of a scheduled thing - so I shouldn't be surprised.  But I always feel like my symptoms are unfair and come out of nowhere.  I think I must block out the memory of the last time during the three weeks in between.  Can you blame me?  It's a pretty dismal chain of events:

For the first two days I'm just really confused.  I bumble around like a zombie wondering why the hell I'm so tired and where I left the baby.  I can't focus on anything and my eyes feel like they're made of Jell-o coated in vaseline.  I'm pretty sure I should be declared legally unfit to operate heavy machinery during this period. 

Following the two days of cross-eyed retardation are about three more of intense, feral hunger, during which I will consume anything not nailed down or currently breathing.  Even stuff I don't want, like the six month-old Halloween candy that is still in my house (because throwing candy away is akin to burning the American flag for me).  This shameless, no-holds-barred gorge-a-thon is accompanied, understandably, by resentment for my husband.  Why?

1.  He's a man. 
2.  He's not fat. 
3.  He thinks I'm disgusting.  Of course he does - my bloated, pre-menstrual abdomen is more distended than that of a starving Ethiopian child right before it's adopted by Brad and Angelina, and my boobs are mommish and my ass is oddly-shaped.

That last one is completely made up in my head of course - my poor hubby has never given me any reason to believe those things.  But in the week before I rope off my crime scene, #3 seems very real to me.  It haunts me, causing me to recoil when my loving, supportive mate tries to touch me in any way, and then sulk away bitterly when he finally gives me the space I demand.  Then I hate myself for pushing away this awesome dude who has the patience and compassion to love me during my monthly psychosis.  As you can imagine, all this self-loathing is very isolating.  So I fill the void with more food, eating my feelings until I'm swollen and ashamed, which then reminds me of Benny's imaginary disgust for me, and the whole thing starts over again.  God, he's such a lucky guy!  I really oughta get on some meds or something.

Fuck I'm hungry.  What were we talking about?

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