Weak From The Fight

PMS is loud with fury and rage and frustration. We suffer, but not in silence. It screams inside our head and pounds its fists on our skull until we let it out. It grabs hold of the reigns and makes us do things and behave in ways that we wish we wouldn’t, and then whispers in our ears, telling us we’re terrible, worthless people. That lump in your throat, the burning behind your eyes, the ache in your head – that’s PMS, taking up space, uninvited, ungrateful. Bastard. Your temper is quick, emotions are sensitive and raw, your patience is run dry. You are anyone but you. And yet you are.

After the rage spills over, after you’ve yelled and sighed and cried hot painful furious tears, PMS is there to push you, to ask you who the hell you think you are acting that way, to remind you that you are hurting people with your out of control emotions. PMS takes no responsibility for its actions. You’re left doing the time because it’s you PMS pushed into committing the crime. You are a terrible, worthless person. You don’t have any right to the fury that boils within. That frustration you feel? It’s all in your head, you selfish, ungrateful piece of shit.

And are you crying? Are you crying? Nothing you can do or say can justify that display of weakness. Grow up. Lighten up. Chill out. It’s just PMS. Get over yourself. QUIT BEING A BITCH. Just stop. But the talons on the hands of PMS are sharp and have sunk deep. You can’t shake it free. You have to wait for it to decide to leave, its voice echoing in your ear – fight, defend, offend. There is no end, they’re all against you, you are trapped. No one’s listening, no one cares, you are unlovable. Incapable of love. Worth less. Worthless.

And then it’s gone, just like that, and you’re left weak from fighting against it. Your body, your heart, your mind, all exhausted from the battle, grateful for the reprieve.

But it will be back. The relief is only temporary.

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