So. STILL WORKING ON THE PLAN to become Un-Befunked. I WILL post it this weekend because I am putting it into FULL THROTTLE MAGIC ACTION on Monday. I am gearing up. I say this to you in with Scarlet post-radish puke vehemence: On MONDAY I begin to fix this crap via SHEER ANIMAL WILL and maybe chutzpah.
Let me say a few thingies to clarify my rushed Part %@!^#)^$)(+_. I think the abbreviated version I spewed out after the one I worked on for three days got magically deleted (and here we understand “magically deleted” is a euphemism for SELF-DELETED because I have the attention span of a goat on LSD and am apparently TSTL) made a few things unclear.
This is not hormones. Not to medically overshare, but I can tell a few people think I had an Abdominal All Organs Must Go Fire Sale, but really they only took out a single, solitary organ that was trying to KILL me.
SO I am just as lunarly looney as I ever was, and come the full moon I still rear up and kill people and paddle about in their blood like a happy duckling for looking at me funny, then the next day I weep into their dead hair and tell them they are still, LIKE, MY BEST FRIEND, MAN.
Ahhhh lovely flower that is womanhood! I am not yet done with your tender joys and homicidal rages! My doctor even said.
This is the Deep Mean Blues. I know the difference, as I spent a year before in the Deep Mean Blues, and I have spent EVERY MINUTE OF MY LIFE being a moody hormonal disordered jackanapes. I recognize them as two separate but familiar entities. Unlike my flash-pan hormonal wild ape swings from emotional treetop to pit trap and WHEEE BACK UP! this is steady and ongoing and inexorable and heavy. It does not sway or deviate. My moodiness happens on top of this. This simply abides.
First and foremost-ish, because I have HUGE and BIZARRE drug allergies and reactions, and whatever side effects a drug CAN have? I get. I am hypersensitive to many chemicals and I don’t have a year to screw around puffing up and vomiting and falling over from dizzy spells, much less experiencing liver failure, suicidal thoughts and actions, and my all time favorite, sudden death.
By the time we found a drug that worked even remotely, I would probably have, if left chemically alone, already come out the other side.
Even if I didn’t have such a checkered and bloody history with pharmaceuticals, I would still avoid Better Living Through Chemistry because a part of me knows this is a piece of my Serious Crazy; this is where the books come
from. You don’t kill the goose that lays the pretty eggs you love, even on those days when the goose poops in the house and makes untoward comments about your mother.
Case in point, the last time, the first Blue Year—I came out the other side with both Maisy Jane and gods in Alabama. Things I never would have had without that bleak flat sorrowing year. And I also know, this time, several things I did not know before.
1) I know I am sad. I missed it last time until it was over, so couldn’t really work to counteract it.
2) I know that I CAN come out the other side. Because I did before. This is SUPER HELPFUL TO KNOW.
Fake lastly, I want to say I know all this “oh noes I r sad” crap is SUCH a first world problem. I can feed my kids. When it rains, I can toddle into my nice house. I have clothes. Some of them are EVEN CUTE. My car (I have my own car! It is ORANGE!) can drive me to yoga, and I live near YOGA. I am SUPER GRATEFUL FOR ALL THIS. Every damn day. Really.
DOUBLE REAL ACTUAL LASTLY, Thank you. Thank you for your comments. I like my little warm hole I have carved out here on the internets. I like YOU. I like US. ESPECIALLY FOR REALLY AND MOST OF ALL thank you to the people who simply shared their own experiences. Solidarity. Some of you clearly have deep mean blue pits you visit, too, and maybe we can scootch ours over by each other—friendly neighboring chasms. We can have barbecues and suchlike. Eat Super Foods. Say mean things about the HAPPY neighbors. Who’s in?