Corkscrewing through life, moody AF
Let’s talk about The Pause. Perimenopouse. Perimenopause is like the jury duty of women’s health. I’m like, what can I do to postpone this shit for as long as possible and hopefully I’m just dead before it comes around again. Protein, supplements, chugging water, exercise – ALL THE THINGS – just to avoid (or at least mitigate) the dreaded Pause.
It’s like the fucking Crakin’ lurking in the sea below. You never know when it’s tentacles of hot flashes, insomnia or moodiness are going to pop out of the ocean and grab your unexpecting body. Before you know it you’re drowning in your own night sweat puddle, trashing through the waves (which are really just your damp bed sheets) swimming for your goddamn life.
It’s like when your family convinces you to get on a roller coaster that you really, really don’t want to ride. You climb into the seat with a lump in your throat, knowing what’s to come. The bars come down and you’re locked in baby – no choice but to ride this crazy train till the end. It starts off slow and you think, “Ok I can handle this, I’m a big girl.” Suddenly that shit speeds up and you’re flying around like an emotional bat out of hell. Up, down, sideways you don’t know what’s going on. You’re just corkscrewing through life, moody as fuck. Just when you think it’s over and you can see where you are in relation to the ground again, BAM! it goes around for another nauseating loop!
It’s the fucking Hotel California. That’s right you can check out, but you can never leave.
It’s like getting stuck in an elevator and just waiting for that shit to plummet to the ground.
It’s like a wine bottle and no corkscrew.
It’s like choosing the bathroom stall with no toilet paper in it.
It’s picking the coconut flavor in the box of chocolates (again – does ANYONE like that shit?!).
It’s having teenage acne and old lady wrinkles simultaneously! Wait – that actually IS a perimenopause thing!
Anyway, you catch my drift. The Pause is the pits. That’s right! The Pit of Pause. You can’t go under it, you can’t go over it, you have no choice but to just go through it. Splish, splosh, splish splosh. Yes, that’s the sound of me going through it (and also the sound of my bed sheets at night).
Whether you’re sailing the hot flash sea or endlessly riding the emotional roller coaster from hell, or both – (think Splash Mountain) – I’m right there next to you, holding on for dear life and praying to the estrogen gods to bring this ride to an end!