That’s all I’m giving you. One fucking hour. Not one minute
more, not one minute less.
One fucking hour away from him, away from her, away from
everyone and everything.
If you don’t calm the fuck down in one fucking hour, you
will drive yourself to the hospital and demand they do something… Like lock
your ass up!
You’re a monster.
Out of fucking control monster.
They deserve so much more than you. They’ve never done
anything to you but bring you joy and here you are freaking the fuck out on
them time and time again. Because he dropped some fucking play-doh on the floor,
because she didn’t want to eat the goddamn meatballs you took all of 60 seconds
to nuke. You freak the fuck out on them. You know you’re doing it. You know you’re
scaring them. Your voice gets so loud. Your face—dear god, I can only image the
face I make when they fucking set me off!
You make them cry. You berate them. You torture their
feelings, their thoughts, their innocence.
You fucking monster.
Deep breathing, stepping outside, food, listening to The
Doors… nothing helps anymore. And you know you can’t drink because you have no
control. So just go and get some help already. Send this to someone. Show
Anthony this so he can see just how royally fucked up you are. But why hasn’t
he done something by now? Other than warn me that I’d end up like this? That he
could see little child under a table hiding from Mommy, telling him, “Mommy’s
in the bathroom crying again!”? Why not get me some fucking help instead of
mocking me. Fuck Anthony. Fuck the kids. Fuck you!!!
***
One week later:
My PMS is out of control. Clearly. I just got my period
yesterday and just like that I can come here and be rational. I don’t need to
spew such god-awful things. Look what I wrote up there. Look at it. Maybe I
should just take this to someone. But who?
I could show Anthony but I can’t see him saying anything
more than, “I told you so.”
Yes, he told me he worried for the safety of our children
before we had them. Yes, he told me he worried about my anger.
But I was sure it would subside with kids. And it did at
first but it’s just gotten so bad lately… this past year. So very bad. And
scary.
I’m a completely different person when I’m PMSing. It’s not
a fucking joke. I really need to get help- for them. They really do deserve a
better Mommy than who I am most of every month.
Editor note: This piece is fiction but it comes from my reality with PMDD.
I bet if we're honest, everyone will see a degree of themselves in both sides.
ReplyDeleteMy boys have called me a monster. I have three extremes: happy, sad and angry. My mood swings are horrible. My doctor put me on Lamictal and it has helped so much. As long as I take it, the moister within stays away.
ReplyDeleteps. I loved your honestly and really could relate to this post. I began following you for those two reasons. :)
ReplyDeleteHormonal crazies are the worst. I hate that out-of-control feeling, which you captured beautifully.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you circled back and made her more the monster. Great writing!
ReplyDeleteThis was really vivid. It actually made my heart beat a little fast! Well done.
ReplyDelete