My God. I am feeling like the worst kind of stereotypical, tampon commercial/terrible sitcom crazy menstrual lady right now. I just ate an entire packet of liquorice allsorts, some pickles and cheese on toast, and a hefty chunk of banana bread, and then washed it down with several hot chocolates and glass of juice. It's like by getting my period, my body is reminding me of what it would be like to actually be pregnant. Or at least giving me a preview of how I am going to eat when pregnant. Whichever.
What's worse is that I've quite stoically, pragmatically gotten through the stresses and sadnesses of the past week and now suddenly, because of one stupid day of hormonal fluctuation, I am sitting on the floor crying, reading the sad parts of novels and letting the tears slide off my nose onto love letters that I foolishly keep in a shoebox and freezing with panic when I realise that the person who wrote them doesn't love me any more. Honestly. This is pathetic, right? I know that. But instead of getting up and cleaning up the banana bread detritus in the kitchen all I want to do is curl up in a ball, under the blankets, fully clothed, and close my eyes so hard that I get dizzy and see little spots, and fall asleep wishing that the doona were somebody else's arms.
I know this will pass. Tomorrow I'll get up and wash my hair and go to work and write some half-embarrassed, self-deprecating comment here about being so melodramatic. But right now I think I'll go and have a bath, despite the drought, and drink gin, and cry, and hold my eyes open underwater and listen to my own wretched heartbeat echo off the porcelain sides of the tub. Because right now I'm terrified that I can't hear my own heart beating. And I'm scared that no-one else ever will.
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