I’m a bubbly, feisty person but not an angry one. I grew up in a household which bickered and argued daily and I couldn’t wait to escape the constant drama. I might think explosive thoughts, but I don’t express them. I may indulge in muttered road rage from the confines of my car, but would never confront another driver outside of my car (although I confess I regularly confront people who park at the entrance to the car wash, then saunter over to the shop to buy a newspaper, some sweets, have a chat, and buy their car wash ticket, blocking the entrance to said car wash so that I have to queue behind them, already with my ticket but unable to actually get my car washed. It’s arrogant, rude and drives me CRAZY! But I’m not in any way aggressive – I just point out that they are blocking the entrance and next time would they please not do so until they’re actually ready to use it).
As regular readers of my blog will know I have fallen out with a friend recently, but I’d put up with the relationship going down the pan for 10 years before I said so much as a word – I do try to be accepting of other people’s behaviour (who am I to judge them?) and it takes a lonnnnng time for me to snap.
At least it did. Until the peri-menopause arrived in town and Miss Irritability took up lodgings.
I’ve never really suffered from PMT. I could get quite weepy and exist on a short-fuse for about 48 hours before my period started, but that was about the extent of any hormone related emotional shenanigans. How times have changed! I now feel wound up like a coiled spring most days and my fuse has gone from 10 years long to a nano second. I regularly feel like running up a mountain, standing at the summit and screaming ARRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! at the top of my lungs to let out all the pent-up anger which seems to be boiling away at my insides like a volcano.
The last argument I had with my Mum was thirty years ago when I was about 15 years old. Until this year, when I’ve had an all out scream fest at her down the phone not once, but twice (the second explosion, I’m ashamed to say, was over a tin of dog food). I just can’t seem to keep a lid on my irritability these days. I try, honestly I do. But once the cork is off the lava comes spewing out and I just can’t stop it. In the battle between Mr Hyde and Dr Jekyll, the evil Hyde definitely has the upper hand.
My saving grace is that I live on my own, so my opportunity for falling out with people on a regular basis is fairly slim (I remember the 7 years when my Mum was menopausal and I have to be honest and say it wasn’t a shed load of fun for me or my Dad). I just wish it was all over though. Rage, I’m discovering, is exhausting and I’m already quite tired enough thank you very much (due in no small part to the menopause buggering up my sleep in spectacular fashion). My hope is that I can get through The Change without killing someone or putting my foot through the tv, which I was tempted to do yesterday morning listening to Ian Duncan Smith telling us how brilliantly the Welfare Reforms are working. If I go AWOL without explanation from this blog it’s probably because I’ve been arrested .