50 PMDD Melt Downs Later
Jose is hauling boxes up the stairs, his feet clanking heavily as he does so. Curious as to what the racket is. I force my fatigue ass out of bed and begin my treacherous journey downstairs.
By the time I reach him, he's popping a large box on the dining room table. It lands with a thud shaking the second floor. I jump slightly at the sound, forever easily startled.
“What's this?” he says, nodding at the box, sounding slightly out of breath. “There's four more out there just like it,” he adds, pointing towards the front porch.
“It's my books,” I say flatly, with zero enthusiasm, unable to feel excitement.
As a child, I'd dreamed of becoming an author and now that I am, it feels meaningless. Senseless even. Another month. Another devastating dance with PMDD, robbing me of any joy that comes my way.
He hands me his pocket knife and I carefully slice into the box. Halfway through, I can see pretty shades of green and blue, peeking out from underneath.
With the same amount of enthusiasm as before, I began unloading the books from the box and placing them on the dining table. With a depressive cloud under the chair, I begin signing, adding personal touches to the names I recognize along the way. I continue this way until my hand begins cramping.
Capping the pen, I sense eyes on me. Glancing in the direction of the gaze, I see Jose staring at me from the top of the steps. The only sound that can be heard is the roar of the waves crashing outside our back porch. Our eyes meet and I give him a small, pathetic smile.
“Coming up?” he asks expectantly.
I nod slightly, rising from my seat. On the way up the stairs I make sure to flip off the light switch so as to not disturb the sea turtles. As I make my way up the steps, the waves drown out the sounds of my footsteps.
Jose, waiting for me at the top of the steps, stops me before I can enter the bedroom.
“I know you've been avoiding your email, but I think there's something you should see.”
