PMDD - After the Hysterectomy

In my first post, I shared what it was like for us in the trenches with PMDD.  This installment, I want to discuss what happened after my wife's hysterectomy, or how we finally got to life without PMDD.

The decision, I remember, was discussed a handful of times regarding whether my partner should have a hysterectomy. I remember us doing a lot of due diligence on the topic, mostly surrounded around her health. We knew we were at peace with the idea that we would no longer be able to have children—we already had two beautiful, healthy kids and we were truly blessed. The larger conversations centered around "then what?" What are the guarantees? What are the potential complications? What if the surgery doesn't work and what would the domino effect be, knowing she just had her entire reproductive house torn down and she still had PMDD?!

The decision was ultimately hers. She decided it was worth the risk of everything we had discussed, knowing the reward would mean so much more.

She had her surgery. It went well and we were told there would be no major side effects, just 6-8 weeks or physical recovery time. All good, right?

Let's harken back to PMDD and how most of us, even doctors, are learning on the fly. I obviously wasn't prepared for the three months after surgery and how PMDD kept creeping into our lives. It wouldn't go down without a kick in the gut, a roundhouse right to the head, and headlock for good measure. One of the hardest battles lied ahead and I was not any wiser to what the hell it was—again my preparation—or lack of it—didn't matter.

My wife fought for three months after her surgery. It was probably just as hard as when she had PMDD. I remember the emotional strain it took on her—how her body would never be the same. How the same place that had housed our children for almost 10 months was gone. It was an emotional rollercoaster. The fights still existed, the threats of divorce were still present, and it seemed at times as if one of my fears had come true—IT DIDN'T WORK!

As each day went by I was looking for a ray of hope. After she was fully recovered physically (try more like 3 months, not 6-8 weeks) some normalcy started to happen and it felt odd. We were always waiting for the next fight to happen. I was always tracking her episodes on my iPhone, trying to prepare for the next hostile takeover. We went back and forth at times really questioning if the surgery worked 100%.

It was a long road back emotionally for my wife post-surgery. It was harder, and took longer than any of us expected. PMDD gave us one last fight and didn't go down quietly...why should I have expected it to?

For whoever reads this, I leave you with this: It can and will get better. There are options for you and your partner. You don't have to live this way any longer. I know it is easier to run like hell than to stand and fight. I chose to stand and fight when at times I wanted to run far, far away.

I leave you with three points to help get you through it all:

1) Remember why you fell in love with her. It will carry you at times through the muck even though the woman you fell in love with might be a shadow of herself during PMDD.

2) It's okay to feel the way you do, no matter how much you might feel guilty for feeling a certain way. Things will cross your mind during her PMDD episodes that will have you questioning your sanity. You will feel like snapping at times. You will feel like doing irrational things just in the hopes that your wrong behaviors or attitudes are not so much payback for PMDD, but a pathway between staying balanced and losing your mind.

Talk about the way you feel with others even if they might not fully understand it. Just letting it go and letting out a good cry is also therapeutic. Don't hold it in. Find an outlet for yourself too. Your health still matters.

3) Lastly...Don't give up. She needs you still. She is fighting a swarm of demons that she doesn't want around. She doesn't want this any more than you do. [Whichever treatment option(s) you choose] Work towards achieving healthy solutions for both of you. There are solutions out there. Do your homework, reach out to PMDD survivors and their peers, and never, ever give up Hope.

You are stronger than you ever realized, partner, and God wouldn't give you anything you couldn't handle. Call it cliché but it's true. You were built for this for now, but it is not yours or hers to live with forever.

Liana's note: For more information on the basics of PMDD, please read my posts Dealing with PMDD - Advice for Men, and Confusion City.   Also worth reading are Top 20 Tips for Dealing with PMDD, and More Tips for Men Whose Partners Have PMDD.  All four posts are included in my book PMDD: A Handbook for Partners.  For those who prefer to have all this information (and much more!) in one convenient place, it's the book with the blue cover at the top of the sidebar. 

PMDD Doesn't Do Normal

A guest post from a reader who understands her PMDD well, but didn't always...didn't understand it at all for more than two decades...  I am posting this because she could be any one of us...  Any one of us at all.  

Living amongst demons.…

I THOUGHT I suffered depression for years and the depression was like a rollercoaster sometimes out of control and sometimes more manageable but always there in the corner like an unwanted house guest. 

I THOUGHT I “just” had bad PMS and could get enraged at the drop of a hat.

I THOUGHT that was just my way of life now—I was unhappy in my marriage but accredited that to my issues with ‘depression’.

I THOUGHT about all the symptoms I had and how some didn’t quite fit in the depression tick list and how I couldn’t even fit depression correctly.

I THOUGHT pills were a way of life but why did they never really resolve anything?  I would up my dosage until I couldn’t anymore...only to find the rollercoaster was now an even wilder ride than before.

Then, just over 2 years ago, after receiving counselling for a childhood issue, I found the courage to leave my unhappy marriage. I spent some time alone and the plan going forward was to concentrate on me and my children and this ‘depression’ that had blighted my life…

...only life doesn’t go to plan and instead I ended up meeting and falling in love with the man who was to change my life in so many ways, including discovering PMDD.

The unveiling of a Monster….

Through a series of unrelated events I met my PMDD.

So here I was, deliriously happy, in love for the first time in what felt like an eternity…

An innocent joke made by a friend:  “You may be happy now but has he seen you at that time of the month, kicking cupboards, punching walls, and slapping him?  That love at first sight feeling may drain then, eh?”

I laughed, and said, “I never hit my ex—always punched objects or throwable items only.  Kicked a few doors through.ˮ

My friend realized I was being serious and asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yes.  Every woman does for a couple of weeks before their period, don't they?”

“Er, no.”

Silence.

Growing up, periods and “embarrassing” women’s problems were not talked about in my house.  At all. I wasn’t told what periods are. I instead have an horrifying memory of blood trickling down my leg in the school changing rooms and me sprinting all the way home, crying, thinking I was dying. My mother ran through a textbook version of This is why and don’t talk about it...

...So I didn’t.

Until a joke about periods made me wonder.

Isnʼt it NORMAL? Doesn’t every woman have extreme rage over silly things? And I don’t mean get a bit moody (although that is in abundance also) but no… rage, like a bubbling anger inside you, a pressure cooker just waiting to explode at the most unexpected time?

Isnʼt it NORMAL?  Doesn’t everyone bleed so a packet of Always can be polished off in a day?  Doesn't everyone have to wear two pads at a time and it still ruins clothes and underwear?

Isnʼt it NORMAL? Doesn’t everyone have a migraine about two weeks before the big day? Not just any old migraine, but a crippling, debilitating, every-sound-is-magnified-and-echoes-around-your-head-like-tiny-hammers migraine, where your strongest painkiller that usually packs your headache away in minutes won’t touch this baby—in fact, it reduces you to tears every month?

Isn’t it NORMAL that your stomach swells to the size of three large melons for a couple of weeks a month, so that none of your clothes fit anymore?

Isn't it NORMAL that cravings take over, where every carbohydrate becomes your best friend and worst enemy all rolled into one?

Isn’t it NORMAL that anxiety reaches climaxes that debilitate you, where day-to-day tasks feel like a high endurance challenge you haven’t the energy to even think about, let alone complete? Where facing people in any situation makes your heart feel like it is going to pound out of your chest?

Isn’t it NORMAL that depression pushes you deep into a pit where you feel complete despair but don’t really understand why, and nothing positive can be included in your world right now because no positivity exists anymore and the world is a dark hell?

Isnʼt it NORMAL to experience so much pain during your period you feel you should be in a hospital, and not on a couch with a hot water bottle?

Isn’t it NORMAL to not be able to look in the mirror because you are so unhappy with this person vacantly staring back at you?

I started to suspect maybe not, maybe this isn’t NORMAL after all...

...then came the Eureka moment, the grand unveiling of my PMDD.

This came from being in so madly in love that one second away from this man made my heart ache…

then suddenly…

I am looking at this man and wondering Why am I with you?

I don’t fancy you.

I definitely don’t love you.

My man protests. “Whatʼs wrong?  You do love me, darling.  Look at all these texts, these photos, these little love videos we sent to each other!ˮ

And then he says:  “Why does this keep coming up every now and then? I don’t understand!ˮ

So I look at these texts, these videos, these photos of a happy couple—but it’s not real.  It isn’t me.  That can’t be me.  Not the real me.  I can’t just “imagineˮ all of these negative feelings I am feeling now, in this moment, not to be real.

“No! Youʼre lying!ˮ

Now I am angry at you.  “Don’t lie! I wouldn’t love you!ˮ

Now youʼre clicking my pressure cooker rage on. I DON’T FANCY YOU, NEVER HAVE, NEVER WILL, AND NEVER WILL LOVE YOU….

Then my period comes and I am awash with love for my man, my beautiful man.

I am now full of another feeling—guilt—guilt that I have treated my beloved like a stranger, and an incompetent, unattractive, unlovable stranger at that. I feel like I was featured in an episode of Supernatural and was being possessed by a demon.

I could see what the demon was doing but had no control until the period exorcised it from my body and mind.

So now it was clear… The reason it wasn’t crystal clear to me for the 20 years previously was my unhappy marriage.  It is easy to blame depression and complete lack of insight regarding a woman’s cycle, but now I have found my soul mate and for two weeks a month we have a relationship that people find sickeningly sweet, the kind where “You put the phone down first, I love you,ˮ “No, you, I love you more…” so WHY, WHY would that change?

EUREKA! 

PMDD!

So for the last two years I have been researching this demon, liaising with my doctors, checking, comparing, having ovulation tests, making notes, diary entries...

...and the conclusion is this monster lives in a closet in my head until it’s time for its centre stage moment.

What have I learned?

PMDD is like a chameleon that can adapt and change to capture its enemy and inflict the most damage.

For example: it goes for my relationship feelings, every month, but my partner is amazing.  We adapt better, we know when it is coming.  I get a mist, literally a mist, I look around and it is like the room has suddenly become foggy. This is my sign it is here, the monster has arrived....

So we don’t panic anymore. We go to PMDD mode.  I give the heads up to my partner.  Instead of sloppy love texts, just four words set in place a temporary change in our relationship.

“the mist has arrived”

From this moment on we are now buddies, just good friends, no attempt at affection because he knows I no longer love him, he knows when what he is saying or doing is setting the pressure cooker switch to on so he backs off, allows me to explode in a safe way or just allows the hurtful words to roll off him.

I am lucky. I have a partner who can help me get through another month, survive another cycle.

BUT…

PMDD is clever.  As I said, it adapts. So now it knows I am getting good at battling my demons. So now it changes... now it cranks my anxiety up to uncontrollable levels where I am panicking about everything and anything... I worry my children will fall down stairs, will choke when cleaning their teeth, my partner is going to be killed in a car crash, have an electric shock from the toaster… and bigger and bigger, more extreme thoughts, thoughts that don’t stop….

It throws me into a pit of depression where I can’t leave my bed for days. Everything anyone says around me sounds loud and doesn’t make sense. 

Why doesn’t anyone understand this hell I am in?

There is no way out… the world seems a dark place… I am broken….

So far I haven’t found anything that pulls me out of this pit of despair.  For now PMDD has won yet another round.  I will let it have its minor victory until I can adapt, until I can change, until I can throw up a quick ladder out of the pit, until I can press pause on the vortex of negative thoughts that engulf me…

And so it is… My cycles have now become rounds in a boxing match… Some I will lose, and some I will fight, and will come out battered…exhausted…bruised… and a little more clued up to this hidden enemy.

But for once, I fit a symptom tick list…

I now KNOW what I am dealing with.  And that PMDD is not NORMAL.

And that makes all the difference. 

Until the next round, PMDD.

I will be waiting.

~K

The Voices of PMDD, A Guest Post on Shattered Dreams

Continuing with my Summer of 2014 Voices of PMDD series, here is a post written in 2012 by a woman with PMDD that addresses the reality that what you see/experience of PMDD from the outside, as a partner, friend, colleague, or family member, is only the tip of the iceberg compared to the devastation that is going on inside the mind, body, heart and spirit of a woman with PMDD.  

Aside and apart from the episodes of PMDD themselves, there is no way on earth to measure/account for/quantify the cost of the shattered hopes and dreams of PMDD women (and our loved ones) due to our PMDD.  The fallout from these broken dreams is something a woman with PMDD has to deal with every single day of her life--not just during an episode.  The weight of our perceived failures, while staggeringly heavy when we are not in the PMDD zone, can prove unbearable during an episode.  This, I believe, is a good part of what leads to suicidal thinking. 

That said, I give you "The Hidden Injury of PMDD"

“I wanted to quit because I was suffering. That is not a good enough reason.” – Ted Corbitt

I almost decided not to write about PMDD.  The thought of sharing what is considered a mental weakness leads to an automatic assumption that I am a little off my rocker.
 
No one intentionally judges someone with bi-polar disorder or depression.  It is a slight shrinking away from the unknown and the unstable.  PMDD is similar to being bi-polar.  The difference is the consistency.  PMDD will hit every two weeks like clockwork.  About every third cycle, in my case, it is so severe I have to talk myself out of suicide.  My muscles and joints hurt so bad I feel my bones will crumble if I move too fast. Typing hurts.  Rolling over hurts.  The sadness is so deep there is no hope, no joy, no future.  It is only darkness for days and days.  And right as the pain is going to consume my mind and body, my cycle begins and the world is turned upright again as if the previous two weeks never happened.

It is vicious.  It is destructive.  It is painful and it is never ending.

I am told by those around me I am outgoing, extroverted and can do anything I set my mind to to. That is until they see me fall and wonder what happened.

I was just as confused until September 2011, when it became clear there was a pattern to the insanity.

My husband and I were in the middle of trying to start a photography and real estate business when it became clear we were facing something much bigger than we could have ever imagined.  I would soon discover my ambitions would be pulled out from under me like a ugly, worn out rug.

Up until then, I had hope I would one day shake whatever it was that tripped me up so much.   We thought it was connected to the abuse from my childhood or maybe my walk with God was really weak or maybe I was just a weak person in general.  Maybe, just maybe, if I tried harder, or prayed harder or exercised harder or ate better or something!!!!!  There had to be something I was doing wrong.

After we narrowed the diagnosis, I began facing the fact, I couldn’t do everything I dreamed of doing….and that pain is another post entirely.

I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea the symptoms grew worse and worse as you get older.  It made sense though, as I was moving into my 40’s, why the intensity was growing.
Friends only see me when I can leave the house. I venture out when I have energy and drive. This causes so much confusion when I meet new people.  I am vibrant and joyful at first and when I am pressured into social situations during the “luteal” phase, they see a quiet, sad often “sick” stranger they don’t recognize.

I can’t imagine how it is interpreted.

I cancel coffee dates, go two weeks without answering my phone, drop out of obligations I make during my good weeks.  I’ve since learned the crash will come and I have no business volunteering, working, serving or reaching out to anyone.

I’ve lost jobs, quit jobs, started and quit businesses, started and quit homeschooling over and over, lost friends, went on uncontrolled spending sprees, started arguments and walked away from relationships to save them from myself.

I wish at times, I had a physical ailment.  A limp, a scar, a broken bone or even cancer.  At least then, when someone met me they would have evidence of my disease.  They would be able empathize and process the injury in their own mind.

Instead, the injury is inside my mind.  It is not visible unless you live under the same roof.
It is hidden behind a mask I wear everywhere I go.  I can’t escape from the betrayal of my mind and body every month.  It is always taunting me…always waiting silently to paralyze me yet again and destroy everything I begin to build.

I’ve learned not to build anymore.  That is what hurts the most.

The Voices of PMDD, A Guest Post by Alice

I have a demon living in my head, and it is a part of me. There are two of me existing in the same space. We share the same face, the same experiences and the same memories, yet one half of me is a rational and pleasant person to be around, and the other is living a crazy, illogical and chaotic existence. 

The sensible and sane version of me feels weak and small, and powerless to resist the overwhelming and destructive demon that can only be caged for 10 days of the month.

I have a fear that builds within me on day 8 of my cycle. I sit and wait for the demon to come crawling into my headspace and start making a mockery of me. The moment I open my eyes of day 10, the paranoia starts rumbling in my solar plexus. It starts as a vibration, then rumbles into a deep thunder roll, before bringing a brain fog down over my eyes. My ears are open, but I cannot hear. My eyes are open, but I am blind. My hands are strong, but my body is weak.  I am aware of this happening to me, but I have been removed from my body and I am watching myself from above. I am screaming at myself to stop, breathe and take heed, but I cannot make myself hear. I begin to live the next two and a half weeks behind a think pane of frosted glass. I see and hear the evil bubbling up in my throat, ready to come blurting out. Some days I can gather my strength and control the demon and suppress it, but others I am overpowered and subdued.

When the demon is released, I feel it creeping out the crown of my head. I feel a cold, slimy gel like substance slide down over my face. My eyes get heavy. The muscles in my face drop, and feel sad. The corners of my mouth droop, and the tone is lost in my neck. My eyelids are heavy and downcast, and my soul retreats. My shoulders slump, and I become a hunched shell of a woman. My breathing slows and my abdomen tenses and flops at the same time. My legs are heavy and my shoes feel like they have lead soles.

Then the anger sets it. The demon steps into my shoes and grows tall. It stretches its limbs and cracks its knuckles ready for battle. It starts to look for a fight. The anger simmers in my chest, using my heart as a power source. I feel it spreading out. A burning rage runs through my veins. A chemical fuelled fire that burns so hot. I am now in the cage. I cannot get free. I watch this demon take over my body. I scream, shout, and destroy everyone and everything around me. I hit myself and slap my face. I scratch myself and tell myself I am stupid, pathetic and don’t deserve to exist. I am evil and utterly disgusting. I hate myself. I am a vile creature, not worthy of love, not worthy of being called a person, not worthy of life. I wish that I had the courage to end it all, but I don’t really want to die. I just want to be free.

I collapse in a heap, exhausted. My life is in tatters around me. I have told my husband to leave and have cried and begged for forgiveness. I want him to touch me and then I want him to hurt me and then I want to be alone.

The next day finally arrives and I am so exhausted I cannot move. The demon is sleeping. For now. I hurt. Every muscle and joint in my body is excruciating. My pelvis is mobile and I can feel each bone grinding. Every step is an effort. I cannot think how I will make it through the day. I force myself out of bed because if I don’t I never will. I feel like my back will split open and my hips will fall out of their sockets.

I am riddled with guilt.  I hate myself and am filled is embarrassment and disgrace. I have humiliated myself and all of those around me by seeking to destroy every relationship that is there to protect me. I have spat in the face of love and kicked it when it was down. I deserve to be in the gutter. I did not deserve to wake up today. Everyone would be better off if I had never opened my eyes again. The demon would be dead. I would be gone from everyone’s life. Their suffering would be over. My pain would end. I no longer have the strength to think about this anymore, so I allow the brain fog to be my shield.

I spend the day trying to apologise, but each time I do it becomes less and less valid and more meaningless. I am a liability. I cannot be relied upon to be stable. I scared my husband, my one true love. I made a mockery of our marriage.

Then the cravings start. I have to have food! I don’t care what food, but it must be now and it must be good. The pain in my stomach is unbearable. It feels like I haven’t eaten for a month. I could cut off my arm and eat it. I need sugar. I need carbs. I need starchy and stodgy food. Give it to me now or I will kill you!

I know I should do the washing up, clean the bathroom, vacuum the house, wash my hair, brush my teeth and change my underwear. But I do not care. I cannot move off the sofa. I will do it another day. I will do it later. Anything but do it now.  I try to overcome this lethargy by writing a list, but I get distracted, I get tired, I get frustrated. I panic. I freeze. I cannot breathe. My heart will explode. I am going to die if I do not hide under the blanket and suck my thumb.

I go to bed. The tears roll down my face. They are warm and soothing. The demon runs over me and claims me for its own. The sobbing is uncontrollable but feels so good. I sleep.

I wait for my period to come. I wait for the release. The flow of blood that drains my anger, drains my anxiety, my despair and my hatred from my body. I am cleansed. I am released from my cage.  The walls of my cage are stripped away as my womb cries with relief. I can breathe fresh air. I can feel the touch of my husband. I can laugh again.

The demon is a hot, fierce animal that lives within me. Only it is me. I am the demon. My greatest fear is that this will always be a part of me. I fear that I will fight this demon until I take my last breath. I fear that it will take away everything that is precious to me and leave me a shadow of the woman I could be. I will not let it win. I cannot let it win. This is not who I was born to be. I can be great, I can be wonderful, I can be beautiful.

I have PMDD, it does not have me. I am beautiful. One day I will believe this.

The Voices of PMDD, The Other Side of PMDD

This week I'm going to redirect you to two of my favorite posts....after a while, posts get shuffled out of sight, and unless you know they exist, it's hard to find them.  But based on letters I've received and comments I've read over the past few weeks, these two are well worth posting again... 

The Other Side of PMDD

and

The Other Side of PMDD, Continued

Each is about what it is like to experience an episode of PMDD from inside a PMDD woman's mind.

May these posts bring you some answers and relief.  They can also be helpful for partners to read.

Be blessed,

Liana

Liana Laverentz is the award-winning author of two books on PMDD, PMDD and Relationships, and PMDD: A Handbook for Partners.  Both books are based on the most asked questions by her readers, and therefore the most popular posts on her blog, Living on a Prayer, Living with PMDD.  Both books are also an excellent resource for understanding your PMDD and starting a meaningful conversation with loved ones who want to know more about this debilitating disorder we live with daily. 

The Other Side of PMDD

"My wife has PMDD 2 weeks each month. I can now track it on a calendar. The meanness, sharp tongue, irritability, over-sensitivity to the slightest comment...it's all there each month, like clockwork. I used to make the mistake of reacting to her negativity, which results in a showdown at the OK Corral with talks of divorce, etc., etc. Now, I just keep my mouth shut, offer my help, not reacting to the negativity. It's not easy at all. My only escape is to go to the gym when it seems everything I do is wrong in her eyes. But I bear it each month because I love my wife and I know it's not her. I say she becomes Mr. Hyde once a month for 2 weeks, and I just learn to keep my mouth shut. A big exercise in tolerance and patience. If you love your wife or special someone, tolerance and patience are vital. If you don't have them, you will suffer."

This is my most recent comment.  I thank God for Anonymous, because it allows me to print this comment in full--and use it as the subject of this post. 

This man is suffering.  My heart goes out to him.  My admiration and respect go out to him as well, because he loves his wife and refuses to let her PMDD ruin, end, or dissolve their marriage. 

What he says is true.  "If you love your wife or special someone, tolerance and patience are vital.  If you don't have them, you will suffer." 

I suspect he is talking about himself, here, but he could just as easily be talking about the both of them.  Much is made over the suffering of the non-PMDD partner in a relationship.  But let me say this -  as much as you are suffering by being the brunt of her emotions, she is suffering at least twice as much inside.  She doesn't want to be doing what she is doing.  She is often as horrified as you are by what comes out of her mouth.  Perhaps in that moment a part of her malfunctioning brain wants you to suffer as she is suffering, but overall, none of us wants to have PMDD, much less every month.

To partners like the man above, I am grateful beyond measure.  One, because you treat your PMDD woman with love and respect, and two, because writing that comment allows me to see where you are coming from, and to respond to what you see from the outside with what is happening to me on the inside.

Notice I didn't say what is happening to your PMDD woman.  That, I can not know for sure...but by explaining what happens to me, I might be able to open the door to a conversation between the two of you about what happens to her.

I'm going through an episode right now.  It started about two days ago.  I'd like to say I can pinpoint when the slide began, but I can not.  It seems like a gradual shift, a slow sinking into the darkness, as opposed to coming out of an episode, which I have literally felt in my head when my "brain" snapped back into place.  The return to sanity can be instantaneous.  The gradual slide into anger, despair, and hopelessness can take what feels like forever. 

So...while this is what you are seeing on the outside--a moody, irrational, unreasonable, emotional, maybe even rude or strangely acting woman--I'm going to tell you what's happening on the inside.  My head hurts, my body hurts, I didn't want to wake up this morning.  I feel like I have been drugged.  My mouth is dry and there is a tightness behind my eyes reminiscent of a hangover, but I have not had any alcohol.  I feel fat and smelly and ugly.  Yesterday, in the hopes of cheering myself up, I decided to organize the photos from my Trip of a Lifetime six months ago.  In every single photo I was in, I hated how I looked. 

Normally, my looks do not bother me.  At all, as I know I am loved just the way I am.  Yesterday, I was obsessed with my body image.  Couldn't find enough flaws to point out to myself. 

Okay, so that project didn't turn out.  Yesterday, I also went to a funeral.  It might not have been the best of ideas, but really, you have no choice when these things happen.  You either go or you don't go.  I felt that paying my respects was more important than hiding in my cave.  I waited until the last half hour of the viewing, so that if anything went awry, I had a natural exit.  As it turned out, there were several people there I would have loved to have stayed and talked with.  Sad circumstances, but I enjoyed seeing them all again just the same. 

The funeral itself was lovely and poignant...one of the most beautiful services I have ever attended...

But it sparked thoughts of death and dying for the rest of the day.  Who's going to go next?  How long do I have?  How many of us will be here next year?  What do I want to do with the time I have left?

This very question nearly devolved into an argument between myself and my partner last night.  Normally I am happy to let life unfold as it will.  Last night there was an urgency, an almost desperation behind my thoughts and words.  We need to do this, and we need to do that, and we need to do it NOW. 

I will feel very foolish when that feeling goes away next week.  I know this already. 

If he had argued with me instead of  patiently "listened" to me, I would have (at least mentally) declared the relationship hopeless and over.  There would have been harsh words and an explosion of tears. 

I suppose I should be happy that I'm only going to feel foolish.  Especially if he takes my dark words to heart....while I've blissfully gone back to my "It's all good" mode.

If you were my partner, wouldn't you be confused?

Another example:  Our church music minister plays guitar, has a beautiful voice, and chooses upbeat songs.  Normally I love to sing along with her.  Last night her music irritated the hell out of me.  She didn't do anything different.  I was the one who was different.

Inside.  Inside I was different.  But I never let on, not on the outside.  If I had, I'd only come off as crazy.

When we got back to the car, after a very uplifting service, I told my partner, "Right now, I could tell you what is wrong with anything.  You just name it, and I will tell you what is wrong with it."

This is where the "I can't do anything right" sentiment comes from in partners of PMDD women.

I spent most of yesterday alone, as my partner was busy elsewhere.  Even while my PMDD self was irritated beyond words at that, I was glad that he was not here, having to bear the brunt of my irrationality.  I knew, as he would have known had he been here, that there was absolutely nothing he could do right yesterday.

So it was best that he was elsewhere.  The same went for my son.  He walked in the door, aiming for a quick change of clothes, and within two minutes I was not speaking to him.  It was best for him, and for myself.  He left after giving me a big hug and telling me he loves me.  As I shut the door behind him my thoughts were, "Yeah, right."

I adore my son, and we get along great.  Anybody who knows us knows he loves me, too.  He can get manipulative, like kids do, and I let him, like Moms do, but the love is always there. 

Not yesterday.  Even though it was being freely offered, I wasn't feeling it.

Yesterday I was feeling my most unloveable.  Old, dumb, lazy, overwhelmed, uncertain, weepy, morbid, incompetent, uncaring and unkind.  In real life, I am none of those things.  If anyone had been around me yesterday...if I had not spent the day alone (except for the funeral)...I would have snapped and snarled all day.  Why? 

Because I was feeling extremely vulnerable.  I was feeling worthless, useless, and like every decision I'd ever made in my life had been wrong.

Hello?

For one, that's not even possible.  But there you go.  PMDD doesn't make sense. 

So you're walking around, feeling gross physically, mentally, and emotionally, and you just...well, you're miserable inside.  Nothing can make you happy, and nobody better try...because if they try they will fail, you'll see to that...and if they don't try....well, you'll have something to say about that, too.

It's no wonder I get letters from PMDD women who fear they will spend the rest of their lives alone.  Who can deal with someone like that?  Where nothing you do is right for days, sometimes weeks, on end.

Yesterday I could have gone on a rant like you wouldn't believe about what was wrong in my life.

Funny, I was perfectly happy with my life three days ago.  Feeling rather blessed, actually.

Okay, so this personality change is bewildering enough to watch from the outside.  Try to imagine what it feels like from the inside.  Try to imagine what it feels like when your brain feeds you lies all day long.  Nobody likes you, everybody hates you, you're nothing but a big screw-up, a slob, a loser, a bad (mom, sister, daughter, friend, wife, girlfriend - fill in the blank), you're fat, you're ugly, you're disorganized and uncoordinated and talentless, your life is a mess, even your own (fill in the blank here) doesn't like you....

You spend all your energy fighting off these lies in your head.  Another blogger, Laura, put it really well.  PMDD is a bully.  So here you are, being bullied by your PMDD.  You're feeling your worst, and at your weakest.  Someone says something to you.  Something that in your PMDD state, your brain twists around to the most negative implication possible.

What are you going to do...fight or flight?

The primitive brain has us fighting.  That's where I think my brain goes during an episode of PMDD.  Into primitive, reptilian, survival mode.  It's fight or flight, survival of the fittest, baby, and I'm going to see to it that you go down in flames.

The opposite of fighting is withdrawal.  Withdrawal into ourselves--where we let the PMDD bully run rampant inside us--and withdrawal into depression--where we accept what the PMDD bully says, and beat ourselves up even after he or she is long gone.

Try living with a bully inside your head for two weeks a month and see how long you last before you lose it one way or another.  Either through anger or tears, or both.

So yes, while it is undoubtedly hard on our partners and the friends and family who love us, keep in mind that PMDD is no picnic for the woman herself, either. 

She's doing the best she can with a temporarily malfunctioning brain.  She doesn't want to ruin your party, your weekend, your vacation, relationship, or marriage.

She just wants to feel safe, from demons neither of you can see.