Most days in a year I can keep the Oh Woe Is Me Baby locked up. Unfortunately, there are days it escapes and I end up chasing the mental martyr around my grey matter maze.
I used to think this was just the way everyone behaved—PMS, if you will. Then I was diagnosed with PCOS, of which hormonal imbalance is the mother ship issue. Just to add to normal periodically raging hormones.
Holy shit. Shoot me now.
I’m a trooper and a believer in positive, head down, just-do-itness and I’m in no way a worst case or even a bad case scenario. But there are days when the best I can do is cry for three hours and dig into comfort food, which I’m sorry to say, on the worst of days includes Mickey Ds. And I almost always strike out at people I care about which is the most painful part.
Thank the powers of the universe, I have lots of really loud house music to beat it out of me. I’ll keep my mouth shut and tonight, I will dance really, really hard.
And in the battle between my light and dark, I’ll say a little prayer to any ears that are listening that damage control is manageable.
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