It’s PMS time again. Or, to be more accurate, PMDD. (I’ll stress that they are NOT the same, it’s just easier for people to figure out what I’m talking about if I say “PMS” rather than “PMDD.”)

I hate when I get this way. I hate it. And it’s not because I feel crappy. It’s because I don’t feel happy in my place. I know it’s temporary, I know it’s a product of hormones and it’s not real. But that doesn’t take the feeling away.

I liken it to phantom limb pain: There is no limb. There is no “true” source for pain. And yet saying that and knowing that don’t eliminate the fact that the brain is sending pain signals and the person is EXPERIENCING pain. It’s real pain. The brain is just attributing the pain to a false source.

I feel real feelings. My brain is just attributing them to false sources.

I feel ignored, I feel angry, I feel alone, I feel like he doesn’t listen to a word I say, I feel like he hates me, and I feel like he feeds off my issues and becomes hostile. Almost like my emotions can control him, or are used as an excuse to toy with me until I crack. Now, don’t get me wrong, I hate feeling all this. But it’s not the real issue.

The real issue is I can’t deal with those feelings. I can’t absorb them, I can’t spin them, I can’t ignore them, I can rationalize them, and I certainly can’t embrace them. I want nothing more than sympathy and comfort and tolerance and kindness. I feel like all I get is isolation and teasing and a man with a way shorter fuse than normal. Maybe, outwardly, I am asking for (or earning) that. But it’s not what I want or what I feel I need. (In fairness, it may not even be what I’m receiving. That’s the beauty of PMDD – I can’t even tell.)

But most importantly, I lose the ability to grasp that however things are, that’s the way they’re supposed to, because he says so.

I hate that when my stupid hormones have me in a stranglehold, I feel ten times as upset, isolated, alone, angry, etc. BECAUSE of my position in this relationship. It’s almost like… I don’t know. Like there is someone else inside me who surfaces when I’m approaching my period. And that girl? She is NOT a slave. Not in the least. And she deeply loathes being treated this way.

And me – the real me – well… I’m stuck in the corner, like some warped and muted voodoo doll, watching that other girl and my Master deal with each other – sensing and understanding every emotion she feels, and suffering every ounce of his frustration and displeasure.  Feeling everything, unable to do anything.

It’s a lousy gig, lemme tell ya. Not just for me, for Antonio too.

I guess my point with this was sort of spurred by reading a post in dk’s blog. I was struck with the depressing knowledge that as long as I’m fully equipped with hormones and PMDD, I will always struggle.

Maybe the struggle is okay? Maybe what’s important is that I win the struggle, every time.

Now… If I could just figure out how to do that, I’d be all set.

That’s right!  I don’t experience PMS!

Let me just revel in that while you ladies out there revel in seething hatred.

…

For a minute…

…

Or two…

…

And now…

…

 </jealousy>

You see, the reason I don’t have PMS is that I have PMDD (Premenstrual Dysmorphic Disorder) instead.  The super-great thing is I’m just figuring it out now.  As in, today.

No, the symptoms weren’t magically apparent just recently or anything, but I’m literally putting the pieces together right now.

For reference, here are the diagnostic criteria:

All of the symptoms need not be present and they may vary from month to month. At least 5 are required to make the diagnosis, including at least one of the first four.

1. Very depressed mood, feeling hopeless
2. Marked anxiety, tension, edginess
3. Sudden mood shifts (crying easily, extreme sensitivity)
4. Persistent, marked irritability, anger, increased conflicts
5. Loss of interest in usual activities work, school, socializing
6. Difficulty concentrating and staying focused
7. Fatigue, tiredness, loss of energy
8. Marked appetite change, overeating, food cravings
9. Insomnia (difficulty sleeping) or sleeping too much
10. Feeling out of control or overwhelmed
11. Physical symptoms such as weight gain, bloating, breast tenderness or swelling, headache, and muscle or joint aches and pains

(These are adapted from Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, Text Revision, 2000.)

When the DSM says “at least one of the top four” it means the top four are crucial, and usually the most severe. 

I have… Every. Single. One.

In the time leading up to my period, Antonio says I literally turn into a different person.  And it’s true.  I snap over nothing.  I cry constantly.   I see insults and fights in half of his words and actions, and while that’s different than me actively seeking fights, it lands me in the same place.

Then there are the random depressing things. Like the fact that I don’t even understand humor.  He makes jokes, and I can’t see them.  I get offended, I withdraw, I freak out. Sometimes, over him lovingly teasing me.  Antonio is stuck with a woman he would never want to spend any time with.  I am too; I’m stuck in this body that is raging beyond my control, and it hurts SO much to watch myself struggle and (try to) manipulate and hurt my Master.  I don’t want to do it.  I just feel like a caged, rabid animal.  I am unpredictable, insane, and always ready to attack.

Anyway…

I bring this up because I’m struggling with accepting what I might have to do to try to fix it.

I might have to go back on medication.

And while you’d think “Hey, it’s a hormone issue, so you’ll get hormones, what’s the big deal?”  That’s just not the case.  The FDA approved treatment for PMDD does include certain hormones (a specific birth control called YAZ), but the real treatment comes in the form of SSRIs.

For anyone who doesn’t know, SSRIs are Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, and you may have heard about them because they are used, mainly, to treat depression.

I have heard of them one, because I’ve studied psychopharmacology, and two, I was already fucking ON them.  Grrrrrrr…

And THAT’S why I kept saying to Antonio over the months, “I really didn’t do this before I met you. I wasn’t always like this before my period.  This PMS is insane, and I swear I SWEAR it’s never been like this.  I don’t know what’s happening to me…”

Because I was on an SSRI (in fact, one of the four the FDA approves for PMDD, called Lexapro) for years.  I was taking it to treat depression.  And, unbeknownst to me or my doctors, it was simultaneously treating my PMDD.  No one knew I had PMDD, because it has been suppressed/treated for ages.

Now, though, it’s unbridled and MAN is it rearing its ugly fucking head.

(Incidentally, I want to smash its ugly head with a hammer.  Smash smash smash.)

All right…Onto my issues with treatment…

First, the SSRIs.  I have an issue with them for two reasons.  One because, stupidly, I am prideful.  I managed to get OFF all my medications, and I felt SO good.  SO proud.  And SO un-zombie-like.  And I don’t want to go back to feeling bad, ashamed, and zombie-like. Do Not Want.

Two, because of the side effects.  Decreased libido, anorgasmia… Aka, no desire for sex, and the inability to orgasm.  No-fucking-thank you.  Yeah, I’m here to be used by him and it isn’t about my pleasure.  But… It’s not the same for Antonio if I don’t crave use, and crave him.  It’s not as satisfying for him if I have zero interest in him sexually.  Obviously.

Then there is the YAZ. Which, at first seems like the lesser of the two evils.  But it is, in fact, MUCH worse.  It’s birth control.  Fabulous!  Except NOT for people who are at risk of blood clots.  And I am.  My father is on life-long blood-thinner treatments for have DVTs, the precise form of blood clots YAZ can cause. 

You know what would happen if I got a blood clot?  The definitive END of all playtime, that’s what.  I mean, you have to be careful not to cut your gums when brushing your teeth, and not to nick yourself shaving when you’re on blood thinners.  So, as you can imagine, you have to avoid, at all costs, activities that can possibly result in bleeding, bruising, or blood-flow restriction.  There could be absolutely no hitting, no spanking, no restraints, no grabbing, no rough sex.  At ALL.

So, yeah.  In a nutshell, I’m an abominable wench every single month, I hate myself with a passion for it, and the treatments are almost certainly worse than the illness.

*sigh*

I know this isn’t that interesting.  I know there’s nothing to be said or done by anyone reading this.  I guess I just wanted more of it out here, so there is less of it in me.