It’s official.
Am not really raving loony. :)
Am actually Peri-pausal. :(
Have discovered that there is legitimate reason for me wanting
to throw myself under every passing bus and cement mixer lorry, eating to ridiculous amounts - until
I feel that I might really actually explode, having a prolific bad attitude with fucking
knobheads who wind me up (which is practically e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e I encounter) and wearing the same stinky
leggings for three weeks in a row despite them having a hole in the crotch and
being three dress sizes too small.
And whilst waving goodbye to ridiculously unsanitary sanitary
wear, acne breakouts at 40+, stomach-ache that feels like someone’s kicked me
in the fanny, tits so sensitive that I would happily commit murder should
anyone be stupid enough to even touch them and a temper to match Hannibal Lecter’s
. . . . .
Somehow saying hello to hot flushes, cold sweats, sleepless nights,
amnesia, apathy and mood swings to shame Dr Jekyll seems somehow a fucking sorry, shitty
exchange for all those years I spent being a smelly, neurotic, spotty mess once every single
month for 33 years.
‘I suggest Prozac’ My GP said.
‘Eh?’ I exclaimed.
‘I’m menopausal Doc. I’m
not a fucking manic depressive.’
He looked down at my bag and nodded at the multi-pack razors, two packs of garden twine,
three boxes of reduced priced paracetamol and a miniature bottle of Blossom Hill for my friend and sighed..
‘Maybe not . . . '
'But you probably will be if you don’t start taking these tablets.’