Sometimes I miss the pill.
I don’t miss having to remember to take it every day at the same time, and I don’t miss the way it reduced my libido to diddly squat, but I do miss how it regulated my fucking hormones.
I had 10 PMS-free years on the pill. Oh how I look back wistfully on those glory days. Just simply popped 21 pills in a row, took a 7 day break, knew exactly when my period was due, and it was over in 3 light days.
These days I have a motherfucking war going on in my uterus each month. And the mood swings.
Oh my god the fucking mood swings.
It’s Dave I feel sorry for. For the first 8 and a half years of our relationship he only ever knew me on the pill. He had no idea what my PMS was even like. To be honest neither did I when I came off it – it had been 10 years so I’d forgotten the cramps, the irritability, the sluggishness, the bloating, the insatiable hunger.
And the rage. The PURE FUCKING RAGE.
Bless him. I bet he looks back now on those PMS-free-wife days and thinks about how lucky he was.
For those reading that don’t know, the pill gives you fake periods. There are no natural hormones at play. Your ‘bleed’ is just artificial. So you don’t really get true PMS on the pill. Well I never did.
There are several stages. If you’ve ever been in a relationship with a woman for longer than a month, or lived with one, you will recognise these stages well. They can come in any order. They can be unpredictable. You can switch between all of them within the space of minutes.
The Emotional Stage
Brain: You’ve got to cry at a lot of stuff.
Me: But why?
Brain: Just do it.
Me: *tearfully* Okay.
I have gone through this stage and come out the other side now.
It started on Friday. I learned a close friend of mine was suffering a miscarriage. I laid in the bath and sobbed my eyes out for her and her child. Then on Saturday I watched a horrendous programme called Catching a Killer about the work of police to successfully prosecute a man who subjected his wife to horrific domestic abuse over several years. Hearing what he’d done to her, and how he’d killed her, and how she put up a fight til the bitter end just made me constantly weep. And then to see her children at her funeral just broke my heart. Then on Saturday night I watched the Britain’s Got Talent final and sobbed my way through the Missing People Choir’s performance of ‘With You’ from the musical Ghost. Then I cried EVEN MORE watching the unfolding footage of the terrorist attack in London overnight into Sunday. And just when you think I couldn’t cry anymore, I watched the One Love Manchester concert last night and ejected the last of my tears during Robbie Williams’ performance of Angels and Coldplay’s Fix You. Eventually, it all came to a head and I got my period. Thank fuck.
The Pour Chocolate Into Me Through An Intravenous Drip Stage
This doesn’t really need any explanation. I would dive head-first into a massive muff and suffocate quite happily. A chocolate muffin that is. And I did tonight. Quite guilt-free. Fuck weigh-in day on Thursday.
The I Can Take On The World Stage
Despite my heavy CD1 flow today, I was feeling all gung-ho and gangsta when I got home from school. I put on my kickboxing DVD and practiced aiming uppercuts and roundhouse kicks at Dave’s head. I felt a lot better after it.
The I Will Fight You If You So Much As Breathe In My Direction Stage
Dave, if you’re reading this, this will probably come tomorrow (Tuesday). Stay outta my way.
The Take My Womb And Let Me Sleep Stage
When it feels like your uterus is literally turning itself inside out and creating a crime scene in your pants, you want to book a hysterectomy, curl up on the sofa with a hot water bottle, watch a chick flick and fall asleep. But you can’t. Because it’s midday Wednesday at work. And bills.
The I Don’t Even Care If You Fuck Me In The Ass Just FUCK ME I’M HORNY Stage
Inevitably this falls at the end of your period and you’re desperate to be shagged, and I mean DESPERATE, but your sensitive other half refuses to go anywhere near there until you are totally, utterly, 100% off your period. Yeah, yeah, I’m clean, whatever, just STFU and give me your dick. Dave, this’ll be Thursday FYI.
The Thank God That’s Over With For Another 3 Weeks Stage
What? Why are you cowering away from me like that? I wasn’t that bad…
To all the menfolk out there who suffer these stages on the sidelines: we’re sorry.
But just wait til we’re fucking pregnant.