Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Please Maintain Sanity

PMS is probably the worst thing that can happen to a woman. Contrary to popular belief, it's not an excuse for snapping whenever we feel like it, it's not overrated and it's most certainly not our way of seeking attention.

PMS is like a monster living in us that unleashes itself every month, creating havoc that even we can't control. It intensifies every single emotion we have, subconsciously causing us to melodramatise until we no longer recognise ourselves. It gives meaning to 'making a mountain out of a molehill'. It is like a booze that causes us to be high one moment, and puking the next. It makes us think of things that aren't humanly possible, and yet we somehow believe in its existence. It activates the tear glands in our eyes that would otherwise be dormant. It gives us courage and stimulates senseless behaviours which we'd normally frown upon.

Every worst nightmare resurfaces whenever PMS comes along. Everything you've worked so hard to maintain - happiness, fulfilment, peace, self-worth - just goes POOF. The most frustrating thing is not merely about hitting a brick wall. It's hitting it once, knowing how much it hurts, and yet, you can't help but hit it again, and again, and again.

Sometimes, I wonder: If PMS is part of us, and if every emotion we experience is so obviously a part of us, then who are we, really? The one who's "sane" and controlled, or the one who's emotional and dramatic? Are we being ourselves when we're not suffering from PMS, or are we being hypocrites precisely becos our true animalic selves are being suppressed? When we lose our cool and blame it on PMS, what are we pointing the finger at? "It's not like me to behave like this," we say. But who exactly are we? How can we be so sure that the PMS-ing us is not the real us - the vicious reckless lion that has simply been let off the leash?

Who are we? Who am I? I don't have an answer, sadly. This is one of those instances where you have to blame the sin, not the sinner. PMS is uncontrollable and unstoppable, making even the most composed of all women, a walking wretch. If you have a cure, please share it. If you don't (especially if you're not a woman), please keep the silence. And if you know exactly what I'm talking about, say amen.

Posted by Jo at 10:35 PM