The curse of PMS
I have a friend who doesn't get PMS.
She doesn't get period pains, either. Occasionally she'll put a hand on her belly, say "ooh, ouch" and then carry on as normal.
For two days a month, I hate her.
For two days a month, I'm a hate monster.
I'm not very good with dates and I am a fiery Latin type after all, so I don't always recognise PMS symptoms until after the event. But they have certain unique qualities.
Like the time I shouted at my boyfriend for asking if I'd seen his glass of water ("Have I seen your transparent container of clear liquid? No.").
Or the time I harrassed a caller via the magic of 1471 for erroneously dialling my number then hanging up ("What if I'd been an old woman?" I screeched).
But I'm lucky I'm not as bad as poor Marie Seward, whose PMS was so severe that it split up her marriage.
Marie Seward thought that she had normal PMS - the symptoms were the same: mood swings, irritability. But she suffered them to an extreme degree, for ten days a month.
"Everything was in excess, irrational behaviour, irrational thinking. You think everything is against you, that your whole world is falling apart. It is like living an out of body experience. You can be moody, but then you become insular you hate the way you look, the way you feel. You shut yourself away from the people you love, which was why our marriage broke down."
Much of Marie's rage was directed at her husband, John, and in the end he walked out.
"I couldn't remember any of the things I had said or done to John, but I was terribly argumentative. Everything was an issue it could be something as simple as the way he put his cup down on the table. You become very sensitive."
After John left, Marie sought help from Relate and her doctors, and it was then that she realised her symptoms were wildly abnormal. Now, after antidepressants and counselling, John and Marie are back together.
Have you ever had severe PMS?
A few years ago I changed my contraceptive pill and for an entire year I only had two settings: rage and despair. The weird thing is I didn't realise it at the time, I always seemed to find convenient reasons for my anger, depression or paranoia - even if they were trivial things like friends or my boyfriend being five minutes late to meet me.
It was only when I realised I had been consistently dramatically unhappy for months that I thought something might be up with my hormones. I came off the pill and tuddah! Regular, low-maintenance, beta female Robyn.
So now I'm older and wiser, for those two days a month where I'm a danger to know, I direct my anger positively. At persistent charity muggers, mouth-breathing gum chewers on the Tube, and those dastardly wielders of bad grammar. I am woman. Hear me roar.
And here's Dolly Parton singing a lovely song about PMS:
Image courtesy of Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com's Flickr stream.
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