I wish I could recognise my PMT
Posted Wednesday 6th May 2015 By Ericka Waller
So I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a bit ‘headstrong’. I’m not the kind of person you’ll find in a yoga class or class or studying mindfulness. On the whole though, I think I’m pretty level-headed. I do the British thing of saying sorry when someone walks into me and say: “fine thanks, you?” when someone ask me how I am, even when I am not. But then it gets to the last week of the month, and I turn into a mutated version of teen-wolf. I know I am not a teenager who should know better, and I know I sound like my three-year old when I say this, but it’s not my fault. PMT (premenstrual tension) makes me do it.
I’ve been having periods for (does easy maths and gets confused, then bored) a long time. I should know the drill by now. I even write ‘due on, do not leave the house’ in my diary, but I ignore it every time, utterly convinced that my seething rage at a split bin liner is utterly justified and nothing to do with my period.
This month I have sunk to new lows. I did public shouting in the playground when someone asked how I was. I ridiculed the TESCO delivery man for his alternative food offerings. “What the hell am I supposed to do with these. [waved them in his sweaty face] I asked for Kit Kats and you have sent me Rocky Roads. The advert does not say ‘Have a break, have a Rocky Road, a bloody caramel one at that, it says HAVE A BREAK, HAVE A KIT KAT!”
It gets worse. I had a stand-off in the car park, with my aunt Christine in the car. My lovely gentle aunt who would not say boo to a goose. I went to pull in a space, when a car appeared from nowhere and attempted to drive in from the other side. Well,‘I’m not having that’ I thought, so I drove half in (fast), and she drove half in, and then we both sat there glaring at one another, with our cars doing the hokey-cokey (left wheel in, right wheel out). After ten minutes of eye-balling one another, the younger of the two women got out. “Ericka” began my aunt, but I cut her off with a sharp “I’ll deal with this”. The woman swaggered over. She had a dead tooth.
“We’ve been waiting for ten minutes, so you are going to have to.. push off” she slurred at me.
I am not at all proud of my response. I replied with: “My aunt’s got cancer, you push off.” I was not lying, she has, but it’s a terrible way to try and win a parking space. My aunt stiffened beside me. This was not the nice jaunt out in the countryside to get a coffee I’d promised her.
I was still grinding my teeth over the whole affair when I went to sleep that night, but when I woke up in the morning I felt, better. Lighter. Calmer. Then I went to the loo and saw I’d come on, and it all started to make sense. “That’s why I smashed my friend’s teapot, and why I was cold in the night, and why my car was pulling to the left” I thought. It’s true. PMT is responsible for everything.
What does PMT make you do?