Through a Glass Darkly

Despite the sapphire-blue sky and the endless stream of sunshine outdoors, today was a dark day for me. I just couldn't get going. For what seemed to be the umpteenth day in a row, I lay in bed past 10:30 this morning, only managing to rouse myself because I remembered that my husband had asked me to do him a favor--and he was coming home at 11:00. The rest of the day passed in a groggy haze. Somewhere in there, I fulfilled the favor and also cleaned up the kitchen from the dinner I had made the night before: my only noteworthy accomplishments for the day.

Last month, my doctor told me that I'm probably suffering from a condition known as Premenstural Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD). It's basically like PMS times ten, except that it also involves a chemical/hormonal imbalance in the woman's brain. A few weeks ago, through gritted teeth, I informed a nurse at my doctor's clinic over the phone that I could feel the equivalent of coke bugs crawling all over my body. Had the conversation occurred in person, I probably would have torn the uppity nurse apart with my bare hands. She was upset at me because the clinic had just "wasted" a pregnancy test on someone who, in her opinion, clearly wasn't pregnant. I restrained myself, with unimaginable effort, from suggesting that she call a meeting to share her "expertise" with the rest of the clinic's ill-informed staff.

It seems I am forever biting my tongue. I grew up under the rule that "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." How I hate that rule some days! Sometimes, I'd like nothing more than to stomp and foam and inform select people of their pettiness and idiocy. I avoid large box stores like Wal-Mart whenever possible, just because a sudden urge to kill everyone in sight overtakes me shortly after I walk through the door. Truth be told, I should probably be taking pills for this--except that I hate pills, too. And I'm trying to get pregnant.

Fortunately for today, I have only had to restrain the urge to cry.