PMS Is Real
Some months, I feel the precise moment when the lights go out. One second, there is goodness in the world; in the next, it vanishes. Other months, the clouds descend gradually, till happiness is just a muted haze.
The months when I can feel a muffled happiness are the good ones. Joy reaches me bundled in cotton, but at least it’s there. Having appropriate emotional responses is as hard as moving through treacle, but at least I can move. Sometimes I only remember what time of month it is when I find myself surprised at how hard joy has turned. The light is glowing on the chestnut branches, a friend’s eyes are glittering — but inside me, there is only a flicker.
Sometimes it’s not cotton, but glass between me and the good world. I see the chestnut and the friend clearly — but I’m on the other side, and though the glass is invisible, I can’t get through. Other times, everything loses its glow. The trees which ordinarily call out “Go for a walk!,” the books which say “Read me!,” the problems asking to be solved all go mute. I can’t find my happiness — I can’t even find my wanting. My hands and face go numb along with my mind.
Clinically, this is called “dysphoria.” This is precisely what it sounds like: euphoria with a minus sign. An unshakable sense that all’s bad with the world. Free-floating…
