Hanging out with the hormones on a Saturday night

Forget about me stalking. Hormones are stalking me today, and judging by the tears and just how low I feel today, they’ve found me, tied me up and are conducting some mind freak experiments on me. My period started today, the first since the miscarriage in May. Actually given just how irregular I am, the miscarriage must have kick started them back almost to normalcy. Two months timeframe is almost record breaking. I did wonder if this was coming because the hormones have been popping up their ugly, hyperactive heads on the last few days and giving me a painful nudge. A little “hi, feeling ok are you? huh? huh? screw that, we’re back…” And two pregnancy tests said no go.

I have some experience with less sunny side of life. You could say I have dabbled in depression, gotten down with feeling down. Today I feel especially emotionally tender, like a big walking bruise. It is hard for M, I know. The dark side is fairly foreign to his nature. But he knows me now, especially after this last year. He’s good about encouraging me to keep moving and I have learned that generally does a lot more for me than curling back to bed for the afternoon. So we went to the farmer’s market, had brunch and did a few home-decor related shopping.

A nice, easy going day to gently rev me up for tonight. It’s my friend’s stagette. C is a good friend, one who also ventured on the dark side too many times, and I wanted to be there for her and join the debaucherous fun. (Plus I can drink now, right?) Just as we found a frame store to re do a watercolour painted by my late Nana, I hit some kind of do-not-pass-go wall and burst into tears. I wanted home, my couch, my bed, my dog, something. This time, it was not gonna work to keep moving, or shopping, or sniffing the frigging flowers at the farmer’s market. 

Tonight, instead of learning to pole dance (boa optional), drinking cocktails and toasting my friend, I am embracing the cliche of emotionally wrought woman everywhere. It’s me, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, a couch, lame Saturday TV and maybe, if I feel like totally living the life, all while in some pjs. 

A couple of Sundays ago, I helped with C’s bridal shower. It was an effort, for various reasons, but I made a lemon-rose cake, put on a dress and even a slap of perfume and make-up, and helped to create a special party for her. It felt to be there with a job. You know, I had a role. I had busy hands that hid to a certain extent, a heavy heart. I felt like an imposter, or a pseudo Stepford wife with a fake smile going through hostess motions, without really feeling the part. It was an odd, disjointed feeling. I want to feel normal again.