The hormone bitch from hell

It’s finally happened.  I’ve turned into the exhausted bloated frazzled dippy hormone bitch from hell.  Y’know, the bad tempered middle aged woman whose husband and kids you pity cos she looks like no-fucking-fun to live with?  Yup that’d be me.

My peri-menopause is somewhere in the outer stratosphere as my ovaries desperately churn out hormones so exhausted their tongues are hanging out.  They feel beaten, like a whipped dog, yet refuse to lie down in the corner and just die.

My day started with period pain.  In fact, my week started with period pain.  It’s been 7 days of cramp riddled hell but no fucking period.  What’s up with THAT?!  Aunt Flo will no doubt arrive at 2am after I’ve gotten up to pee for the 4th time in four hours, passing clots so huge the toilet bowl will look like a blood bath.  Yes my friends, I now have periods which look like a crime scene in which I am the victim.

I have pimples.  It’s like being a teenager all over again but without the taught, lean body and hours of heavy petting.  I can’t believe my 17 year old self had more sex in one year than I’ve had in the last decade.

I’ve lost my car keys.  Again.  I go into the kitchen to look for them. Why am I in the kitchen?  Think woman, think!  Ah, yes, car keys.   Where the fuck did they go?  Hmm, I’m thirsty maybe that’s why I’m in the kitchen.  Oh, car keys!  What the hell are they doing in the fridge?  Er, why am I in the fridge?  Maybe I need to get something out for dinner tonight.

I am evil.  I can hide it until 10am when I need to get my dog into the car.  “Bertie” I call sweetly “time to get in the car baby”.  He ignores me and continues to sniff other dog’s wee on the bush at the corner of our drive.  “C’mon fluffy child, I’m late.”  He cocks his leg and moves a good foot further away.  “Bert” sounding steely, “get in the sodding car.”  He disappears round the corner out of view entirely.  I stomp off down the drive screaming like a banshee “get in the goddamn car you fucking disobedient German fucking Schweinhund!” and unceremoniously help him back up the drive with my foot, at which stage 5 Ramblers walking past my house consider reporting me to the RSPCA.

I set off into town.  I am the only person driving correctly and everyone else is an arsehole imbecile who has obviously never heard of the Highway fucking Code.  What the hell are they doing on the roads in the middle of the morning anyway, don’t they have jobs?!  Idle fuckers.

I go into Sainsburys for a pair of jeans a size bigger than I’ve worn for the past 30 years.  I only have to look at a Ginger Crunch and I’ve gained 3lbs and am so swollen with water you could use me as a beach ball.  I ignore the skinny stretch because lycra and I are no longer friends, and choose the pair with the elastic waistband which look reassuringly comfy.  I need a new bra but they don’t make them big enough.  They don’t even make a tape measure big enough.

I have frown lines between my eyebrows that 100 years of botox couldn’t fix and jowls that look like Schnorbitz.  Only Schnorbitz has more hair.  Wayyyy more hair.  I wonder if Sainsburys sell eyebrow pencils?


On my way home I drive 5 miles past the petrol station before I realize my tank is on red.  I must remember to do a “need petrol” post-it note and stick it on the hall table.  Remember Jak, petrol post-it.  Petrol post-it.  Petrol post-it.  As soon as I’m through the back door I reach for a pen.  Hmmm.  Why did I need a pen?  Was I supposed to be writing something down?

It’s 2pm and I crawl into bed for a nap.  Not a rest, an actual drool-on-the-pillow old fogie’s nap from which I wake bathed in sweat and with armpits which smell like death.  I’d dreamt I was being arrested for some heinous, but unknown, crime like forgetting to pay my council tax bill even though it’s done automatically by direct debit, or stealing invisible plans to the rights of way on the local footpath.  I wonder if my phone is bugged or the government are spying on me through my TV.

I slob under the duvet, chomping like the hungry caterpillar and binge watch 3 hours of Bake Off to combat the anxiety and paranoia.  I prefer Pru to Mary.  Mary was nice and nice people are irritating.  I forget I used to be one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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11 thoughts on “The hormone bitch from hell

  1. Sarah

    Lol. you are spot on! I did wonder for quite a while why you were starring at ginger people’s crutches in Sainsbury’s and why on earth that would make you gain 3lbs?!
    Don’t worry, it’s been a looong day. I hope this makes you laugh and I wanted to share it with you.

    I was really smug today. Being in too much pain to get showered for my Gynae appointment I thought I was a genius by just stripping down my bottom half only getting my old bra a little wet, You know the ones where the washing machine has eaten part of it and the wire is coming out. But who cares no one will see it right. Well how rude of the gynae nurse, she didn’t need to look down there and after I’d gone to so much effort, instead she sent me off to cardiology for an ECG. well I had a student man boy do it and had to whip my top half off. But instead of keeping quite, I tell him that I’d only showered the bottom half and made my unnecessary apology. Poor boy. He asked me had others in the past measured out where to put the stickers in relation to the ribs, to which I pointed out, I don’t think most women care what you’re doing, all that is going on in our heads is that “I’ve got my tits out.” This was all while this poor lad was lifting my bosoms up and down to put the sticky patches on underneath. Have you ever tried to weigh yours? I have. I put them in a plastic bag and tried to weigh them on the kitchen scales. Hygiene must come first you know. Do you think your Pru has too once the great British Bake off has finished filming or between breaks?
    I also realised when I got home that when I was talking through my medication list with the nurse, I crossed off the laxative suppositories and blurted out, I don’t shove things up my arse.
    This is what happens when you are mostly housebound. I’m starting to go ferille

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    1. Ellie

      “Ive got my tits out” & my armpits smell like the devils chocolate star fish, this man boy is young enough to be my youngest son …Oh & everything hurts

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  2. plzdolife

    Thank you! I live this life as well, but there is no one to observe, so I tuck it away in my forgetful mind. Yes, I came to computer to do work and have just remembered that after 2 hours of sitting here.

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  3. Ellie

    Cramp bark, otherwise called Guelder Rose or its proper latin name of Viburnam Opulus, does what it says on the tin – relieves cramp! Not sure if it is a histamine liberator, cant find any info on that.
    How the hell long does Peri menopause persist? – a few years ago I lost my bank card eleven times in less than a year, I found hair products in the fridge & my car keys in the bin. Now I have conversations with myself – usually asking what the bloody hell Im up to. Can totally relate to the driving comment, I nearly rammed someone out my way (on purpose) because they did an emergency stop at a green traffic light, I was driving up the road with my head out the window making up new swear words with my hand on the horn. I currently have NO fuse for my persistently apocalyptic bad temper, everything but the puss kids gets shouted at… the hoover, the car, the bicycle lock & the idiots at the council. Ive always been a little eccentric but now Im totally bonkers, at what point does the dementia set in?!!

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    1. Jak Post author

      LOL! Sounds about right Ellie. I actually do worry I have early onset dementia cos I’m totally bloody bonkers these days!!

      I’ve been in peri for 6 years now and no sign of it stopping, just getting worse. Don’t know how much more I can handle :-/

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