Several years into the future, each month is the same thing. Again and again.
Rage, pain, anguish, panic, repeat.
Plus, the unshakable urge to run away from everyone and everything.
Especially life. I wanted out.
And death seemed like the swiftest relief.
I spend each month in a state of survivial that doesn't feel like much of a survival at all. Futhermore, half the time, I'm not so sure I even want to survive it. I just want out.
Whatever that meant.
Rage, depression, and suicidal ideation would soon become the familiar parts of my personality while the other parts of me, the good pieces, little by little were buried.
Month after month, it's the same thing on repeat. Again and again.
Until one day, decades later, the rage finally doesn't come.
To my shock, even my usual state of depression doesn't grip me and I no longer dread existence.
Well, that's weird.
Maybe most people would just be relieved by the lack of mental torture, but I however was perplexed.
You see,this state of unwell, had become all I'd really ever known.
My doctor had told me that PMDD was life long, something to be managed but never cured. Only endured and medicated.
Which was really unfortunate to me, because the meds never seemed to work quite the way they were supposed to.
To have these series of symptoms just suddenly vanish after all these years, was foreign to me.
At first, I'm even in denial about it's departure.
So I wait patiently for it to arrive.
After I decide I'm finally done waiting for the familiar rage and anguish to come, I wait some more.
Only it doesn't come.
And it was just like that, that the rage that had plagued me month after month since childhood, was gone.
Along with the old familair urge to run. It was gone too. They seemingly left together, all at once.
This is the story of how it began and how it finally came to an end, after decades of suffering.
I don't want to start from the very beginning, so let's skip forward just a bit.
