PMDD Symptom Play by Play Number 1

The following guest post was written by the blogger Cheekyminx. With her permission, several of her posts about PMDD are being featured on this blog. To find out more about her work as a PMDD Advocate, please visit her Facebook page, PMDD Life Support.

Talking and writing openly about Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder is something I'm compelled to do, both for myself, other women, and the people who love us. I'm trying to understand myself and this very complicated phenomenon that seems to slip and shift into unrecognizable forms within a recognizable framework every month. Since learning about PMDD, I am now free to witness the cyclical changes taking place in my body and mind with some objectivity. As my body becomes more and more sensitive to the hormones surging through it, I'm less fearful about why I'm suddenly losing control, wondering how much worse it will get. It's easier to pay attention to the process, fascinated and taking notes.

Truly, as hard as it is to understand, things can be very different month to month. What I've done here is journal some of my symptoms in the days leading up to one period a few months ago. Were I to do this monthly, no doubt the expression of symptoms could be different each time. Typically, women begin to experience symptoms 14 to 11 days out from menstruation. The actual period tends to bring relief either instantly or within a couple of days. But again, this is only generally speaking. What I have garnered on the forums and from my own experience is there are exceptions to this rule, and a woman should not rule out PMDD just because she doesn't fit some erroneous profile that was originally established on a very small base of women. And if, like me, your hormones are in flux anyway due to perimenopause, you might indeed be a bit all over the symptom map!

With 11 days to go...The first thing I notice is an almost instant loss of my sense of humor. It was there one second, gone the next. My husband noticed it since we had been laughing for days prior. It isn't that things have ceased being humorous so much as that I have stopped being able to find humor in them. Even my face feels like it has forgotten how to move upward into a smile. The next thing I finally notice is growing fatigue. In fact, I'd slept 12 hours for two nights in three days. This is an absurdly long amount for me to sleep. I didn't even wake to relieve my bladder which is a common occurrence during a night of much less sleep. I gave into this need for sleep instead of fighting it off, and I think it did me a world of good. I also notice my body feeling colder. I wear a sweater and my hands ache with cold even though the temperature isn't that different from weeks prior. Then there's the hunger. I'd probably be eating all day long if I could. The menu? Salty chips, roasted nuts, dark chocolate, and butter on all manner of cakey-bready things. Unfortunately, the baker where we used to get our organic sourdough stopped taking orders, so I'm left with unfulfilled pangs and cravings for hot buttered toast or French toast. When it comes to food, I know I can't give into every craving anyway. I'd be the size of a buffalo. So, I balance things as best I can eating oat crackers and high-quality chocolate along with the grapefruit and parsley juice and salad and fruit. For the weeks leading up to this time, I was making banana shakes using almond milk, including the spices turmeric, cardamom, and cinnamon...each known to alleviate various PMDD symptoms like depression. I've also started taking magnesium which is supposed to help with symptoms. We'll see if I notice anything.

With 6 or 7 days to go...I felt like I was doing better this time around contrasted with last month. Is it the spices? The magnesium? Luck? I've noticed that, generally, I have good months and bad months. This makes the whole concept of PMDD even harder to understand and, for some, to believe. And yet, other women express the same experience. Some say every third period is the worst. I seem to have three on, three off...way off. Will this be a good month? Weepiness has set in and my legs are starting to feel like two leaden logs, so maybe it is too soon to tell. (Note from Liana: this good month/bad month pattern has been explained by whether or not the woman is ovulating.  If  you ovulate, you will experience PMDD symptoms.  As we enter perimenopause, we have fewer and fewer ovulations.  No ovulation = no symptoms.)

5 days and my mind is off and racing. I can't stop over-analyzing, over-thinking, and over-compensating. Some who know me might say I'm always like that. Okay, so, imagine that ramped up by 10. I've become afraid of the world, and what were merely challenges have become insurmountable obstacles. My husband is doing his best to distract me and also to listen to me without himself becoming depressed and defeated. Somehow, I've managed to regain my sense of humor, and this is really saving the day. Squirrel! 

4-2 days: Could I actually get through this month without losing it completely? I've had three social obligations in the last three days, and though as an introvert I'm feeling the drain, it isn't debilitating. The fact that I could even be social just a few days before my period is somewhat of a miracle.

1 day to go and everything I thought I'd managed to escape this cycle has come down full-force. The internal pressure I feel...how to describe it...has increased dramatically, making me very antsy...agitated. I feel like a combustible material. Pour the wrong remark over me and I will blow up.

So what happened next? I was attempting to control an out-of-hand ant problem (yes, ironic...me being antsy and all). My husband was pressuring me to leave for grocery shopping because the stores would close soon. He wasn't helping or taking part in what I saw as a near-disaster. Yes, I realize ants are not a near-disaster, but PMDD magnifies everything by about 1000. Couldn't he see what I was dealing with? I became furious.

So my husband asks, "Why are you acting like an asshole?"

Wrong move. That was it. The end of marital bliss. I may well have been an asshole, but I didn't need anyone pointing it out to me, thank you very much. I tore the shopping list in two, gave him his half and wished him luck. Despite wanting to call a truce in the market, I couldn't bring myself to do it because of the way he was now behaving...like an asshole.

The thing is, if I act like a big-enough asshole, then eventually, so does my husband. And then, we're lost. We're lost for an hour, a day, a week...hard to tell. But I know I can't engage with him AT ALL if he's also going to be a two-year old. And then I hate him because he doesn't have a "hormotional" excuse and could be making all this so much easier for us both.  (emphasis added)

Why couldn't he just have grabbed me, hugged me, and told me the ants were a little problem and that if I could just walk away I would feel better? Herein lies the greatest PMDD difficulty for me and countless others. Our behavior becomes exceedingly difficult if not impossible to control. (Liana adds: and once we have reached that tipping point, we are literally unable to go back, to retreat, to regain control.  All our efforts to soften our PMDD symptoms (meditation, herbs, vitamins, exercise, rest, nutrition, mantras, art or music therapy) are done in an effort to not reach that tipping point.  Because once we have, all is lost for that day or that PMDD episode. This is what most people do not understand.  We can't stop, once the emotional cascade begins.)

We're not doing it to be difficult. We're not doing it because we like throwing tantrums. We don't even get any pleasure out of it. Well, maybe some do. I don't. Mostly, I see a madwoman taking over my body and wonder how on earth to reach her, calm her, and love her. It is no easier for our significant others who try desperately to understand us as we're suddenly shooting daggers at them when five minutes ago they could do no wrong.

My husband and I talk about this stuff when we can. When I'm back to my old self again and after he's recovered, we talk about this funny thing called PMDD. We strategize and decide we can handle it. We make-up and go about our lives...laughing, loving, sometimes bugging each other, but getting over it. But then, when it rolls around again, it seems neither one of us remembers what to do. It's a common amnesia.

When I can, I will do another symptom play by play post. In the meantime, have you noticed similar symptoms in your own or a loved one's life?

The Voices of PMDD -- The Rising and Passing Storm

Today I am honored to be able to share the work and insight of guest author Julie Peavey, who initially wrote this essay about her PMDD for an English class.  I believe it will strike a chord in many hearts, and says things that have been left unspoken for far too long.  Millions of women the world over are losing precious days and weeks of our lives due to this menstrual disorder, with no real relief in sight.  

How much longer must we suffer like this?  

How do I effectively describe what I go through each month?  How do I compare who I really am to the ugly beast that raises its head, without sounding like someone who is insane?  Every month, because of Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, or PMDD, I temporarily become someone other than myself as I enter a storm that I cannot control and must wait for it to pass.

            I can feel the PMDD approaching, hovering, waiting.  It feels like a another presence, a shadow, that lives inside of me and it’s slowly making its way to my mind where it can take over my thoughts and emotions.  It’s behind me where I can sense it, but not see it.  I’m aware of it there and can push it back for a little while, but I can’t stop it and it slowly creeps forward, closer than it was before.  I try to prepare for the inevitable, knowing that I can never really prepare myself for what is about to come.

Darkness, despair, and swirling thoughts descend upon me.  There is a part of me that wants to give up.  I could easily spend hours lying in silence, trapped with my own thoughts in my head.  I question my existence and purpose.  “Why am I here?  Do I really matter?”  My thoughts jump from one to another so quickly that I can’t even fully register them.  Except for one.  One thought keeps coming back over and over again no matter how hard I try to push it away or change it.  That is the thought of being alone and wishing that I had someone I could connect with at that moment, someone who would really understand me for who I am and what I’m going through.  I feel the loneliness in the pit of my stomach and the tears start to flow.  I am unable to stop the emotions once they start, which only leads to frustration at my inability to control the crying.  The tears flow heavier.  I beat myself up for my lack of self-control.  In my head I am yelling at myself to stop crying, to suck it up.  It doesn’t help.  I cry harder, I wail like an infant who yearns for her mother’s embrace, because I too, am in need of a comforting touch to ease the pain of loneliness.  My mind lies to me as I’m not truly alone, but I can’t comprehend that, I believe the lies.

            The loneliness and sadness overpower me.  As a tornado twists and turns and destroys everything in its path, so do those two emotions.  They swirl inside of me destroying any rational thoughts and creating turmoil.  I feel as if I am wrapped in a heavy cloak of loneliness.  Its weight is present in my every thought and action.  My desire to reach out for help is shattered by the false realization that there isn’t anyone I can turn to for even a moment of comfort.  I have no need to share my cloak; all I need is to feel a small amount of weight lifted by the simple connection with a positive soul. 

            Then the depression starts and I go in the opposite direction and want to avoid contact with people.  I write in my journal “Go ahead, lock me up and put me away.  Help me escape this existence called life.  Medicate me until I can no longer remember my name or feel this pain.  Isolate me from the world and allow me to create voices in my head.  At least they will understand me.  Take from me what I do not want and give me peaceful bliss instead.” 

I stay home from work and spend hours wrapped in my blankets thinking that this will somehow help.  I finally pull myself out of bed only to sit in front of the television and numb the emotions with food and hours of watching Netflix.  This is only a temporary fix and somehow I finally garner the strength to reach out to an online community, a family of understanding souls who also suffer every month.  The support comes; words of encouragement and wisdom are given with empathy and compassion.  We know better than anyone else what each other goes through and because of that we are there for each other if only we ask.  “This too shall pass” is shared with me, one of our favorites, because we all know that this eventually will pass.

            And it does pass; the storm ends and the waves of depression subside as the beast settles down to rest until my body decides to send the chemicals needed to wake her from her sleep once again.  The sadness and loneliness are gone and the heavy cloak is replaced with a veil of happiness.  Life has meaning again and I laugh easily and freely. I feel peaceful and calm as I rise early to watch the sun crest the horizon and wash away the darkness.  There is light in my soul again and I stroll in the sunlight and witness nature’s glory all around me.  I experience delight and appreciation in each passing moment, basking in the joy of life.  Like the butterfly that emerges from its cocoon transformed, so too, have I emerged from the storm transformed back into my true self.  I reconnect with my friends and family and vow to always treasure the love and close bonds that we share.  I re-visit the online community and this time, I am one of those offering support and words of encouragement, because I understand exactly what they are going through and wish to ease their suffering if I can.

            The days move forward and I search for a remedy from this madness called PMDD.  I am hopeful that with the help of my doctors I will eventually find a solution that will lessen if not eliminate these symptoms.  I am temporarily free, and yet I can’t help starting the countdown until the next battle begins, and I hope, I hope and pray for the strength and courage to make it through the storm one more time.

To find out more about PMDD and what is being done (and what needs to be done) to help women with this disorder, please visit the National Association for Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder/Gia Allemand Foundation, or the NAPMDD Facebook page.  

Also, until midnight October 26, 2016 NAPMDD is participating in the Love Is On Revlon challenge in an effort to raise One Million Dollars for PMDD Research.  We are currently in the top 12 of 150 competitors.  With your help, we could reach number one.  For more information, go here. 

She - An Inside Look at What It's Like to Have PMDD

I can sense she is coming, as my world starts to blur, she climbs into my body and claims it as hers.
Nobody sees her, she causes such pain.  She is nothing like me yet goes by my name.

It's like a possession no priest could exile, she's taken me over, she's stolen my smile.
My body is hurting, I'm wrecked and alone.  For two weeks a month, my body's her home.

Her rage has no limit, she's hurtful and cruel, she says things I wouldn't, and I look like a fool.
She drags me by force to the depths of despair, until I don't know myself, I am no longer there.

She damages my friendships and destructs my work, has me laid up in bed, exhausted and hurt.
And when I'm broken and lost and she's had her fun, she climbs right back out, I've survived another month.

And I take back my body, my mind and my heart, I repair all the damage, I make a new start.
I'm back and I'm happy, I'm thankful and free, though I know in good time she'll return for me.

Maybe one day I'll be free from her hell, she will no longer own me, and I will be well.
Until that day, I will swim the rough seas.
I won't let her drown me, for she isn't ME.

by Nicola James, 2016

Hello! It’s Not Just PMS. PMS and PMDD Are Not the Same Thing

Let's set the record straight once and for all, shall we? PMS and PMDD are not the same thing.

I remember PMS. I had it as a very young girl and woman. It was signified by the typical energy drop, irritability, cravings, weepiness, bloating and leaden legs that preceded my period. It was a pain in the...well, you know. It made it a challenge to go about life as usual, but I managed, because PMS is manageable. At least, it was for me. I have a huge pain tolerance!

At some point in my life, something switched on...or maybe off. Either way, PMS started to transform into something a lot less friendly. I was markedly becoming an entirely different person for several days before my period, changing back again as soon as the blood flowed. This wasn't about bloating and irritability. This was about marked personality changes characterized by extreme sensitivity to stimulus and anger. Simply put, I couldn't stand to be around people, and I couldn't handle the simplest of frustrations.

Enter peri-menopause. Now at age 48, PMDD has become an even bigger nightmare. With the shifting of my hormones comes a much more unpredictable barrage of cyclic symptoms including anxiety, rapid mood swings, rumination and self-sabotage the likes of which even years of extreme personal development can't help me tackle. Add to the mix suicidal fantasy, full-on rage, and an aversion to my partner with its characteristic withdrawal and silence that is completely destructive. Marked personality changes have become unrecognizable personality! Day-long crying jags have replaced weepiness. And bloating and cramping have morphed into days of constipation, muscle aches, headaches, and other inexplicable weirdness including strings of 12 hour naps! This ain't PMS, folks!

I wonder how many of my well-meaning associates who say they have or had PMDD really know what they are talking about. Did they have those simple cramps, bloating, and mood changes I recall from my youth? Do they think that is PMDD? Do they understand that PMDD is a life-altering, destructive, and altogether demonic monthly possession which leaves one feeling completely effed-up? I have to wonder. Because often, something in the way they say it or look at me or how they live their lives makes me think they don't. The dead give-away is of course, "It went away with exercise and dietary changes" or "You just have to think more positively".

These two female "things," PMS and PMDD, are often lumped together. There is no harm in that, necessarily. The problem arises when everything that is generally known about PMS is transferred to PMDD and an assumption is made that they are in fact the same thing or so closely associated as to be kissing cousins. In actuality, they are entirely different races. And speaking of races, it's a lot easier to run the PMS race, let me tell you. The PMDD race? Honey, it's a never-ending marathon of trials over which a woman has very little control, no matter the extent of her efforts.

Are you suffering from PMS or PMDD? Learning the difference can make a world of difference in understanding yourself and your symptoms. For more information, visit the National Association for PMDD/Gia Allemand Foundation website. 

Liana's note:  The above guest post was written by the blogger Cheekyminx. With her permission, several posts she has written about PMDD will be featured on this blog in the months to come. In the meantime, to find out more about her work as a PMDD Advocate, please visit her Facebook page, PMDD Life Support.

PMDD Quote of the Week

PMDD - It's not just mental and emotional.  

~Horrible, horrible anxiety tonight, along with every joint in my body aching.~

~Exhausted, and falling asleep against my will all day...~

~PMDD is sometimes like being a prisoner of your own body.~ 

~The thing is, at the toughest time of the month, I don't "cry" -- I just close my eyes and tears stream out of them.~

~I have almost taken my life numerous times in the past, unaware of what I was dealing with, thinking it was some moral failing on my part.~

PMDD can also affect us physically and spiritually.  We can feel on top of the world one minute, and the next be on our knees praying for the strength we need to get through the next day, hour, even the next minute.  Most times there's no way to prepare for its arrival, as the nightmare that is PMDD can creep in slowly, or broadside us in a blink, and totally without warning.  

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 Voices of PMDD, She's Just a Devil Woman

I posted Juliet's story once before, but then moved it to another page, and am now moving it back again, as I am rearranging my blog.  So, if you think you have read this before, you may well have, but it is well worth reading again.  If you are new to my blog, then welcome.  Once you read a few pages, you will learn you are not as alone as you might think you are, but in very good company!  Thank you so much, Juliet, for sharing your story with us, not once, but twice! 

She's Just a Devil Woman

Today, if you’ll forgive me, I’m allowing myself a small indulgence, little bit of self-therapy if you will. I’m having one of my PMDD days. Have you ever had that feeling that some other power or entity was taking control of your mind, orchestrating your feelings and directing your actions? Well, I get that once a month, and it’s never a positive experience. Thanks to a complicated cocktail of brain chemistry and raging hormones, on a four-weekly basis I find myself mutating into a fearsome, irritable, totally unreasonable monster.

Now, the vast majority of friends and not-so-close family will probably find this quite unpalatable. Most of them know that I pride myself on trying to keep an air of affability and co-operation, in fact my job demands that I maintain this, and 90% of the time, this comes as the result of a heartfelt personal passion that people are nice, deserve a fair break and should be treated with kindness. 

I’m so glad that these people don’t live with me.

When the time comes and the internal switch within me trips, you really wouldn’t want to be around me. Ask my family, I border on the psychotic, with episodes ranging from a disgruntled huffiness and tactical withdrawal to an all-out psychotic rage-monster screaming abuse for the smallest infraction.  It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s also something I’m not in control of. It’s called Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder, what I would only describe as PMT’s Evil Twin. It’s a condition that the medical world has only really started to recognise in the last couple of decades, but, you betcha, it’s been around a long time before then. History is peppered with tales of Mad Women, those possessed by demons and hurled into flaming pits, burned at the stake, drowned on ducking stools or thrown into archaic asylums. I can’t help wondering if a fair majority of these women were fellow sufferers of PMDD, especially as the whole ‘possessed’ moniker rings such a familiar bell. I know that, when I am in the throes of a particular bad rage episode, it feels like the ‘Red Mist’ has come down; I want a fight, but I don’t even know what I necessarily want to fight about. No amount of calm negotiation, reasoning or fair discussion can drag me down from my self-created pedestal of indignation. What makes it all the worse, is that, once the dust has finally settled down and I’ve returned to my ‘normal’ self, the whole episode is nothing but some misty half-memory. That wouldn’t be such a problem had I been the only victim of my angst-ridden screeching, however, it is my nearest and dearest that suffer too. As I slump in my chair, cup of coffee and much-needed chocolate bar in hand, I am forced to face the wreckage  of my emotional explosion- frightened children, an affronted husband and maybe even a terrified cat. It is then that the guilt floods in at the horror and turbulence caused by my ‘other self’ kicks in, and I find myself desperate to make amends. It is this desperation that usually sparks off stage 2 of my condition, the deep, hopeless depair.

A great amount of credit must go to my family for suffering this too long. My children are still too young to understand why Mummy flies into unprecedented rages over behaviours that, sometimes just hours before, elicited nothing more than a wry smile and an exasperated sigh. It must be a very confusing time, especially exacerbated by my repulsion at that time for any unsolicited physical contact. Poor kids, one minute they’re the butt of their mother’s rage, but then the usual offer of a cuddle just doesn’t make it better. As for my husband, well, the poor man has endured twenty years of the monthly Screaming Harpy episodes, and has done me the favour of never threatening to leave (even though he’s been shown the door or many an occasion). Together we have worked through many coping strategies and he has finally seemed to have settled on a vague acceptance and the eternal knowledge that it is only a passing phase. He is, indeed, my rock in the tumultuous seas of my hormone-addled mind, and I am forever grateful for the times he has held me as I weep on his shoulder in waves of remorse asking, yet again, “am I really like this every month?”
My PMDD has ruined more holidays, trashed more days out and screwed up more anniversaries then I care to remember. 

Of course, in this storm, there is a rainbow. Today, the medical world is coming to terms with the fact that such a condition of mine does exist, and we have progressed a long way from being diagnosed with “women’s troubles” and sent away from the doctors with a prescription of “deal with it, it’s part of the wonders of being a fertile female”. Medical experts the world over are still pondering over the actual causes of PMDD, some argue it is purely hormonal, others think it is cerebral. Some again cite environmental and dietary factors. For me, what seems to work best is a daily minimum dose of Prozac. It seems to help a lot, not so much in altogether preventing the attacks of irritability and rage that strike me, but more in allowing me a ‘buffer zone’ between my Jekyll and Hyde, the balanced me and the monster. With this buffer I have the opportunity to examine the causes of my anger for what they really are, and not to pick a monstrous fight over a pointless issue.

The best medical breakthrough for me, however, is not the treatment of the condition, but the recognition. To a degree, I feel vindicated, I’m not entirely mad. There have been many times, believe me, that I truly wondered if I was a mental-case, and therefore better off removed from normal society. That’s what PMDD does to you, it divorces you from your normal, rational self and throws you into a pit of rage and despair. The only positive thing for me, is that it’s a transient thing, relieved later in the month by the realignment of my hormones.  So many women dread the arrival of their period, I warmly welcome it. I cannot begin to understand those who suffer from other mental health problems from which there is no respite,  that must be another level of Hell altogether.

I only wish that this disabling condition had been recognised sooner in my life, and then, maybe, some relationships may have been different. My own mother, with whom I have good relationship today, openly admits that she “hated” me during my adolescent years, a feeling, no doubt derived from my sporadic and undeserved outbursts. Add to the mix an alcoholic father, whose own moods were driven by an entirely different but no less unpredictable ‘chemical’, and no wonder my teenage  home-life was sometimes a difficult and dysfunctional one.

Still, I live to tell the tale and I hope that my own daughter does not suffer in the same way that I did. Although, even if she does, at least I have the advantage of understanding her in the way my own family did not have the capacity for.

Thank you for reading my tale. If any of you are fellow sufferers, I hope you gleaned a small amount of understanding and knowledge that you are not alone. And for those of you who are fortunate enough not to suffer, at least you know when best to avoid me. Or better still, leave large gifts of chocolate at my doorstep before ringing the bell and running for your life!

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.