My therapist told me to pay attention to my feeeelings and ask myself “Why?” when I don’t feel like doing something, and “I don’t goddamn feel like it and you’re not my mom” is not an acceptable answer.
And this is where mood stuff gets dumb. Because what’s she’s saying is that depression can look a lot like “being a lazyfuck garbage monster,” and we have to determine which one I’m doing, and, like… Lady, it’s COLD out, and dark at 4 pm. No one wants to do anything. I am not depressed. Have you looked around? Everything just blows. Motivated people are the problem — medicate THOSE weirdos. Leave me to my blankets.
It occurs to me that, to combat my seasonal bullshit brain, I may have to stop sleeping naked under 400 blankets. I live in a drafty old house and despise getting out of bed even more than usual when it gets cold outside, because I hate feeling cold air on my ass, so I just…don’t get out of bed. Too cold, fuck you, don’t wanna.
Oh, darn. Looks like I’ll have to go buy MORE adorable pajamas. Like…FOR MY HEALTH, really. FOR MORALE.
(Probably also window treatments and a space heater, but it’s more fun to focus on cute pajamas.)
Last time my body was being weird with my menstrual cycle, my doctor told me to stop taking my birth control pill, let my body menstruate for a few days, and then go back to taking it as prescribed so it stops. That was maybe a year ago, and it worked. Cool.
Now my body is being weird again, so I did the same thing, and…Jesus Christ, now I remember why they prescribed the pill to make it stop. I really did not miss having a period.
Between this and the ballsack-y humidity in Philly, I MAY actually be dying. Every part of me feels puffy, and like it weighs 100 pounds. Everyone and everything is SO much more annoying. Getting out of bed this week has been like a goddamn Ironman. And there is just NOT. ENOUGH. SALT.
If I can’t make as much money as a man, can I least get a few days off for THIS horseshit?
They told me to take my birth control in a way that stops my period, which is great, until I get irrationally angry at stupid people commenting on online weather forecasts and am forced to remember I apparently CAN still have PMS.
But seriously. Goddamn, people are so fucking stupid.
OK, listen, I KNOW there are colder places than Philly, but it’s fucking colder than it goddamn should be and we still have to go outside and that is horseshit and I am crabby and winter can eat a bag of dicks.
The bad news: I went home from work early yesterday thanks to overwhelming nausea, which may have been caused by any number of things, from medication to weather to stress, and it’s still lingering today.
The good news? A happy bonus of being a sexless spinster is that it’s damn sure not caused by pregnancy.
I’m on medications to even out my mood, give me an attention span, prevent OkCupid babies, and control my heinous allergies.
There are, what, 4,000 erectile dysfunction drugs now?
I think there’s one for a particular form of exhaustion you get from shift work.
They debated putting me on a drug that fixes ADHD and binge eating disorder, which… damn, I still want that drug.
So, really, you can’t create a drug that will make me feel LESS like my period might actually kill me? One that keeps me from waking up weeping for no reason? (OK, there was a reason, but not a logical one.) Could you, like, get on that, Science? Or could I just get sent to the edge of the village or whatever?
I know there’s stuff they can finagle for PMDD. I’m mostly kidding.
Related: the weather in Philly right now can kiss my dick. I checked the forecast and it just said, “Your mood is fucked until Sunday.” That’s what I saw, anyway. It’s possible it just said it’ll be cloudy and rainy.
I’ll give my self-hatred credit: sometimes it gets really good with specifics.
I put on a sleeveless shirt, because whoo hoo, nearing 80 degrees in Philly today! Suck it, seasonal depression!
But then I got a gander at my upper arms, and… Jesus Christ, can you get arm lipo? I bet you can. I should look into that. Arm lipo sounds much easier than hoisting my fat ass off the couch, popping in a Shaun T DVD and actually, um, WORKING on it. Pfft. This IS America, isn’t it? Suck out my fat and then give me a snack.
Joking. FINE. I’ll do a pushup. FINE.
P.S. If I could do those pushups on TOP of Shaun T, I’d be far more enthused. I know, I know — he’s gay, and married. Like I’d have a shot if he weren’t. LET ME DREAM, people.