Apparently I exist and I’ve grown so old that I don’t know how tumblr works. Sorry about that.
(Source: catchymemes, via catchymemes)
I just want everyone to know that I am a practicing trainee counsellor who helps kids deal with their shit, who has panic attacks on the regular but is okay, who makes pizzas to pay the bills and who can crochet a granny blanket any time you need it. I had a little dream for myself, and it’s not half bad. As you were.
When I first moved to the town I now live in, the estate agent told me “this place is basically just two big hills” and I thought of it as a pair of breasts I was living on.
I imagined myself walking around here, and saw myself in clothes I couldn’t then afford, with an attitude I didn’t then have, and I thought “No, this isn’t for me at all.” It was too difficult.
I had spent the year previous to it at my mum’s house, in what I thought of as recovery. Recovery from trauma and shock which had been a natural and understandable response to what had happened before that. It was a pretty weird year, with no story arc, no great ending. My years begin and end in autumn.
I wrote this dumb thing in a Moleskine once, I don’t remember it exactly. Something like, “When the winds come, in the autumn, all the leaves and all the things are lifted, and move with the wind for a while. It’s only in the winter that they’ll settle again, only, somewhere different this time.”
And basically this was just a bad metaphor for what I’m trying to say now, which is that, although I like new year celebrations at the end of December, I have little new years parties in my body all through September and October. I see the leaves change and I feel revived and better.
All the change comes with the autumn. For 21.5 hours a week, I make pizzas for people. That’s new. I was just in therapy an hour or so ago, we talked about how I don’t know who I am or how I feel, and about the politeness that stops people from ever knowing me. I could feel my therapist, thirsty for me to be unpleasant, to break the spell on me that stops me from saying anything impolite. So we talked about that, too. She told me so. “You’re human, thank God!”
Now is time for me to practice accepting myself, warts and all. I don’t have any warts. I have a callous on my hand, though. Accepting myself, like I just needed to be told “Oh, Rosie, love, could you accept yourself this week?” and that’s all that had been missing.
So yeah, I’ve lived in this town for a year now, and I have this attitude I didn’t used to have and these clothes on that make me feel like myself. This year’s autumnal celebrations include me writing assignments for school, me seeing a therapist who’s genuinely great for me, and me making people pizza for 21.5 hours a week.
I’ll light a candle and gather some conkers.
So, I’ve been reading a little lately about PMS, periods and moods. I’ve also been living it. I just have a question, and I don’t have a large following on here, so this mightn’t get far, but, I have to ask. If you have a menstrual cycle, could you please either like, reblog or let me know if you’ve ever experienced the following, either during PMS or during your actual period:
- Suicidal thoughts/urges
- Physical harm to yourself/others
- Spontaneous life-altering decisions (particularly if a few weeks later you found yourself thinking ..did I really do that?!)
- Depression that inhibits you from functioning healthily (feeding yourself, showering, socialising, moving around your home, leaving your home)
I am asking this because I grew up understanding jokes about PMS and how people get temperamental and moody, then, as I got older, people started telling me that this was a myth, and the impression I was left with was confusing. To top that confusing impression, the above are symptoms I go through every month. To me, this is serious, and should be addressed or helped seriously, but I feel completely silly about the idea of asking somebody “Please can I have something to take - PMS is making me unstable”, after all, that’s often the butt of a joke.
I signed a lease to rent a place to live without having ever seen it. I’ve punched myself in the stomach. I’ve contemplated hanging myself with electrical chords. A week after, when it’s all over, I’ve looked back and wondered what on earth was happening to me. It’s taken me years to acknowledge a pattern.
Anyway, I’m curious. Is this weird? Is it normal? Do you seek help, or do you just wait for it to pass?
Is this how you experience PMS?
