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CW: Female body stuff (and blood)
Got my period today, which better explains yesterday's mood crash than just being late on taking the meds. Actually it's more like I got my second period, after a week of "spotting" that was heavy enough to require tampons. I thought it was my real period, but no. I don't get to have happy moon goddess periods (easy with light flow). Periods suck and they've been so traumatic (as in super painful and spectacularly heavy) for me over the years that I literally block out the memory of having them almost every time. Then they come again and it's all like "Surprise!" (Worst surprise ever, by the way.) I literally can't tell you when I had my last one but I think I'm pretty regular. Now that I'm taking progesterone to help keep me from having ovarian cysts (which are also spectacularly painful in a whole different way) as often, my periods are ... somewhat better. Ok, a lot better with a week of light to medium spotting and then a week of medium heavy bleeding and cramps that are still pretty painful but not as bad. And being able to use the regular and super size of tampon a few times a day, instead of the super and extra-super-disco-plus sizes and having to change them every hour or two.
It used to be I'd have twelve to fourteen days of heavy bleeding, overwhelming back pain, and all the Emo feelings. It would start very suddenly (because, "Surprise!"), like turning on a faucet, and then it would get heavier. About six to seven days in it would slow to nothing for a several hours or a day and I'd breathe a sigh of relief. But it was just my body saying "Psych!", because the faucet would turn on again, full blast, and I'd have another week of dealing with cramps and So. Much. Blood. And if I took any anti-inflammatory medicine for pain relief, the blood flowed faster than the old-school feminine hygiene products could keep up with. It often felt like the prom scene in the original Carrie (a character with whom I felt I had uncomfortably much in common), blood everywhere. So many clothes ruined, and shame for having fewer clothes that fit me to wear. A strong aversion to buying or wearing any kind of light-colored bottoms, and shame when the inevitable bleed-through happened. A feeling of everything being out of control and being shamed for having mood swings throughout. There was the one time my parents sat me down and said I needed to stop being so angry all the time (and with no guidance on how [or even a question about why], just "stop doing that"). But when something that is so hard to deal with takes up a third to half of your life from the summer before I entered fifth grade, it's kind of hard to learn to regulate that kind of emotional thunderstorm.
Day 10
Didn't want to get started, but again once I did it got easier. First thing I spotted was a fuzzy coin purse, a holiday gift that had been accompanied by a matching beret (that was too small). At least the beret had already gone in some of the purging before the move. I thought I was done but my brain said no. ("But it was a GIFT" my hoarder brain says, "you need to treasure it... forever. No one will ever give you gifts again because you're so horrible" My hoarder brain is really creepy like that.)
I went around and picked out all the recyclable stuff I could see in the living room (and a quick pass through the bedroom, too). It started with a ticket stub from Frozen 2D and became a pile of many many old and not-so-old receipts, some junk mail, and a few empty shopping bags.
There were the two Eeyore patches I'd picked off of a pair of overalls from a clothing exchange. I like Eeyore. Maybe now that should be past tense. I liked to wear things with Eeyore on them because it was a signal that I had depression, like the quietest call for help ever. Eeyore gets put on stuff as an ironic commentary that a character couldn't be that sad, (but people are). So it was like using a lie to be honest. Nobody believes it but it is true. Over time it started to feel like a red flag (or a scarlet letter), something else to be stigmatized for. Because the world isn't a safe space to be vulnerable in, even if it's just a t-shirt, or an applique.
Today's Emo Grenade was a trio of tiny Sephora nail polishes I'd gotten for aunt Arlene for Christmas in 2014. My father forbid me from giving them to her "because she'd just make a mess with them", but wearing nail polish made her so happy. She never got them and they stayed in a Sephora gift bag until today, and she died a year ago this month. Hi there, guilt bomb.
Ok, stop me before I italicise anything else.
Got my period today, which better explains yesterday's mood crash than just being late on taking the meds. Actually it's more like I got my second period, after a week of "spotting" that was heavy enough to require tampons. I thought it was my real period, but no. I don't get to have happy moon goddess periods (easy with light flow). Periods suck and they've been so traumatic (as in super painful and spectacularly heavy) for me over the years that I literally block out the memory of having them almost every time. Then they come again and it's all like "Surprise!" (Worst surprise ever, by the way.) I literally can't tell you when I had my last one but I think I'm pretty regular. Now that I'm taking progesterone to help keep me from having ovarian cysts (which are also spectacularly painful in a whole different way) as often, my periods are ... somewhat better. Ok, a lot better with a week of light to medium spotting and then a week of medium heavy bleeding and cramps that are still pretty painful but not as bad. And being able to use the regular and super size of tampon a few times a day, instead of the super and extra-super-disco-plus sizes and having to change them every hour or two.
It used to be I'd have twelve to fourteen days of heavy bleeding, overwhelming back pain, and all the Emo feelings. It would start very suddenly (because, "Surprise!"), like turning on a faucet, and then it would get heavier. About six to seven days in it would slow to nothing for a several hours or a day and I'd breathe a sigh of relief. But it was just my body saying "Psych!", because the faucet would turn on again, full blast, and I'd have another week of dealing with cramps and So. Much. Blood. And if I took any anti-inflammatory medicine for pain relief, the blood flowed faster than the old-school feminine hygiene products could keep up with. It often felt like the prom scene in the original Carrie (a character with whom I felt I had uncomfortably much in common), blood everywhere. So many clothes ruined, and shame for having fewer clothes that fit me to wear. A strong aversion to buying or wearing any kind of light-colored bottoms, and shame when the inevitable bleed-through happened. A feeling of everything being out of control and being shamed for having mood swings throughout. There was the one time my parents sat me down and said I needed to stop being so angry all the time (and with no guidance on how [or even a question about why], just "stop doing that"). But when something that is so hard to deal with takes up a third to half of your life from the summer before I entered fifth grade, it's kind of hard to learn to regulate that kind of emotional thunderstorm.
Day 10
Didn't want to get started, but again once I did it got easier. First thing I spotted was a fuzzy coin purse, a holiday gift that had been accompanied by a matching beret (that was too small). At least the beret had already gone in some of the purging before the move. I thought I was done but my brain said no. ("But it was a GIFT" my hoarder brain says, "you need to treasure it... forever. No one will ever give you gifts again because you're so horrible" My hoarder brain is really creepy like that.)
I went around and picked out all the recyclable stuff I could see in the living room (and a quick pass through the bedroom, too). It started with a ticket stub from Frozen 2D and became a pile of many many old and not-so-old receipts, some junk mail, and a few empty shopping bags.
There were the two Eeyore patches I'd picked off of a pair of overalls from a clothing exchange. I like Eeyore. Maybe now that should be past tense. I liked to wear things with Eeyore on them because it was a signal that I had depression, like the quietest call for help ever. Eeyore gets put on stuff as an ironic commentary that a character couldn't be that sad, (but people are). So it was like using a lie to be honest. Nobody believes it but it is true. Over time it started to feel like a red flag (or a scarlet letter), something else to be stigmatized for. Because the world isn't a safe space to be vulnerable in, even if it's just a t-shirt, or an applique.
Today's Emo Grenade was a trio of tiny Sephora nail polishes I'd gotten for aunt Arlene for Christmas in 2014. My father forbid me from giving them to her "because she'd just make a mess with them", but wearing nail polish made her so happy. She never got them and they stayed in a Sephora gift bag until today, and she died a year ago this month. Hi there, guilt bomb.
Ok, stop me before I italicise anything else.
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