Months Later
It's another chaotic day at the office. 100 orders have come in since last night and I currently have more than thirteen tabs open on my screen and inside my brain. With each spastic idea that comes to my head, another tab opens — trapping me beneath a digital avalanche. Emails ping back and forth throughout the day as invoices reach my desk at lightning speed. And to my horror, the inventory refuses to count itself. With so much to do, I briefly contemplate squeezing in a couple more hours at the office, but it simply isn't in me. I've reached the point of mental exhaustion.
Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. It's just the pesky PMDD creeping in, making its way inside my skin.
When I lock the office door behind me an hour later to head home, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The only place I want to be right now is my bed.
On the drive home, a familiar hum of anxiety starts to buzz within in me. I swallow it down and force myself to focus on something else, but it's still there — buzzing in the background, like a frantic soundtrack to my misery.
Checking my calendar at a stop light, I see that I was right.
Great. Definitely PMDD again. At least part of me is punctual, I guess.
While life can be unpredictable, PMDD is reliable. It always shows up right on time, whether you want it to or not. This month is no different.
The next day, is a day straight from the pits of hell. Rage, irritability, and the impending sense of doom take over my reality once again.
Fuck PMDD!
