The Monthly Blues

It’s that time again. My body feels like aliens have invaded it, my clothes do not fit and I do not recognise the bloated specimen staring at me in the mirror. Yep, it’s the blues. You know the one; it comes every twenty-eight days. And each time it comes, you do not want to get out of bed, you do not talk to anyone and you certainly do not want anyone getting on your last nerve. The last person that did that almost got a permanent pass at the local A & E.

 

My last monthly blues ended with me at the doctor’s. Being a woman, I thought she would empathise with my fragile hormonal state but obviously, I was wrong.

“I’m stressed!” I told her.

 

“That’s life though isn’t it?” she replied.

 

An agent from the evil one. I should’ve known.

 

In my blue haze, I could barely hear the Holy Spirit speaking to me. Even my doctor didn’t think I was worth her surgery time. Never mind the fact that I went there for some relief for my pendulous pair. Their pain level seemed to have rocketed this menstrual cycle. I left the doctor’s feeling distinctly unloved and hating the world. I determined to have the world’s biggest pity party and single-mindedly decided that nobody was going to take that right away from me, not even the Holy Spirit. I deserved a pity party, I’m the one having the monthly blues. It’s alright for You Up There. I’m the one down here who has to deal with the fact that I really want to kill somebody. Anybody.

I can imagine millions of women around the world commiserating with me; “Tell it like it is girl!” Don’t worry, I am and I will. As if it’s not bad enough that your body’s seems like it’s playing hostess to uninvited guests, someone is determined to say ‘Praise the Lord!’ fifty times, specifically to get on your nerves.

 

I hate feeling like this.

 

It cannot be normal.

 

Today, in my thoughts, I’ve physically harmed my sister at least fifty times just because she left me alone when I yelled at her to leave me alone. Like I meant it. Being a woman, you would think she would understand I meant, “Join with me in feeling sorry for myself. Let’s pray that God will take us Home one week of the month for the rest of our menstrual years.” But no, she LEFT me by MYSELF. BY MYSELF. Like that’s any fun.

 

Traitor.

 

Well, now it’s the evening and I still feel extremely cranky and no, I don’t particularly feel like talking to the Holy Spirit. It’s all His fault anyway. Being the creative power of the Trinity, He’s lumbered me with a body that develops its own mind on certain days of the month. But then, He’s also given me the ability to carry His very own for nine months before bringing them into the world.

 

Cool.

 

Thank You God.

 

I guess we’ll take off from here next month. In the meantime, a couple of high-level stress situations down my doctor’s way would be much appreciated.