When I don’t have pockets, I tuck it upstream of my wrist underneath my long sleeve shirt. I walk briskly to the restroom hoping no-one will see what I’m holding. When I’m not wearing long sleeves, and no pockets, I hold it against the palm of my hand, so it’s sandwiched between my phone. One way or another, I keep it hidden, until I make my way to the bathroom, where I’m free to utilize this blood sponge of a tool.
Then one day, as I quietly pulled it out of my purse so my male coworker wouldn’t notice it, I felt a twinge of resentment.
Why the fuck do I have to be so shy about this? Women get their periods every goddamn month. Every month our bodies try to make a baby.
Somehow, in a male dominated, cubicle infested corporate environment, where there are no defined written rules about this particular topic, I brought it upon myself to make sure no-one ever sees I’m carrying a tampon.
Where did I learn this? Was it something my mom taught me when I was a teen? I don’t remember.
But it’s ridiculous, don’t you think?
My period is so painful. It’s 2 to 3 days of serious pain, and I used to take 1200 milligrams of ibuprofen a day before my doctor prescribed me Naproxen. The Ibuprofen was taking a toll on my stomach. If I wait too long, and the cramps reach their peak before I swallow those pills, you’ll see tears roll down my cheeks. And I don’t take birth control. Just not interested.
I legitimately want to take sick days until my body can heal. I just want to rest.
That’s the physical pain.
The mental pain? It’s like wondering if you’re really bipolar, or if it’s all in your head, or if you think it’s all in your head and no matter what you say to yourself to convince you’re not crazy, you can’t deny that your life isn’t falling apart. But don’t worry, because once you’re off your period, you can always build your life back up.
Last Monday I woke up, and I was utterly disinterested in planet earth. Everything sucked. Everyone will hurt me, leave me, or doesn’t care.The world is dark, filled with evil and suffering. Animals are tortured and abandoned, greed overpowers all consciences. I want to stay in bed, nothing can go wrong if I don’t leave this white cube of safety.
I snapped out of it for a second and scolded myself.
“Christina! What the fuck is wrong with you? You are so blessed, in every way. You are healthy, you have all of your limbs, you are a college educated American citizen, you have unlimited opportunities. Yeah you’re a little fat but you can fix that!”
“Yes yes you’re right. I just need to lie to myself. My ego is getting the best of me, that’s why I’m being so irrational when life is simply wonderful and beautiful and bright. Come on Christina, let’s do this, let’s get to work, and have a great day, and eat a salad for lunch, and shit maybe put on some makeup!”
But the lying didn’t work. Every day was the same or worse. I didn’t eat salads. I didn’t exercise. I came home from work and took a nap. The nap turned into sleeping until the next morning. Each day I got to work later than the day before, each morning filled with misery and negative thoughts.
Then I started getting grumpy and irritated. I got snappy at my coworkers, whom I love and adore. The idea of working where I work felt like a bad life decision.
Me #1: Christina maybe this isn’t really what you want, maybe this is the reason you’re unhappy.
Me #2: Really? Because this job seems to encompass everything I value, AND it pays well! It allows me to be creative, and I love who I work with …
Me #1: Yes but there are plenty of other places where you can be creative, maybe you should explore your options, you don’t need this place if you don’t feel fulfilled.
As the week progressed I lost hours at work. I left early because I didn’t want to be there anymore, only to sleep and suffer in loneliness at home. Isn’t that stupid? To call it ‘suffering’?
It’s more than 3 days, I thought, usually this would be over by now. What the fuck is going on?
Friday morning came and I was sitting at my desk. My coworker came up to me and said hey, do you want to do A Cam or B Cam for the shoot this afternoon?
Me: What shoot?
Him: The shoot we’ve been planning for all week. It’s a big one.
Me: How is it “we’ve" been planning for it all week and this is the first time I’m hearing about it?
Him: Well we talked about it inside all day yesterday…
Me: Yeah but the people’s whose desks are out here aren’t always in there to hear what’s going on. There should be some sort of group email with all the written information. Just better communication you know??
He looked at me concernedly and I couldn’t even make eye contact. I frowned and looked off to the side and rolled my eyes like a petty teenage girl.
He wisely walked away and I started to feel the anger inside me bubble up like a volcano. Everything I had been suppressing was about to blow.
What do I do what do I do. This isn’t normal Christina, you can’t ignore it anymore. You need help. You need to talk to someone.
I decided to walk over to our hiring manager’s office and ask if there was a counselor on site. I didn’t even know if we had one.
As I walked down the corridor tears swelled up. I made that ugly scrunched up face where you try to breathe so the tears don’t burst out. I managed to hold it until the restroom, but there were 2 people in the stalls so I grabbed a tissue and walked downstairs to another restroom.
I cried. I leaned against the bathroom stall and let it out.
This is soooooo stupid, I thought. There is nothing wrong. Nothing happened. No-one died, there’s no crisis, and you have NO reason to be angry.
But, now that I’ve cried, maybe I don’t need to talk to anyone. I can just go back to work now.
But I knew I wasn’t stable. I kept walking. I calmed asked to see Sarah. She saw my face and asked what was wrong.
“NOTHING!” I cried as I exploded into tears. “LITERALLY NOTHING IS WRONG.”
She got up and ran to look for a key to an empty office next door. We walked over there and I sobbed as I explained,
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. They prescribed me Zoloft last year but I never actually took it. I don’t want to. But I can’t stop feeling depressed and I don’t know what to do. And it feels so unprofessional but I think I only get like this when I get my period, but how can I explain that to my supervisors or my coworkers?”
She comforted me and told me it was okay, and that she feels that way too, and that I should call the company’s health advocate and talk to someone.
I didn’t realize until later that she probably didn’t want me to give her too much information. What you tell a health advocate reminds confidential, but a company hiring manager, who knows.
I called the health advocate. 3 transfers and cheesy hold music later I spoke to a mental health counselor.
I told her, last year when I was unemployed, the depression was really bad. But once I started working and going to school full time, I was too busy to get depressed. And I only felt the blues a few days before my period and it went away.
She asked, “So you think this might be PMDD?”
"I do. I don’t know. Maybe. I just need to figure it out because I don’t want to lose my job, and when this happens there are no alarm bells that go off that tell me, “Christina if you are late one more time you could lose your job”, and it’s like I’m self sabotaging myself."
She said, “It sounds like you dipped pretty low this time. We’ll set you up with a mental health advisor and you get 5 free sessions. I just need to ask you a few safety questions. Do you ever feel like harming yourself or others?”
No. That’s the truth. Despite how low I feel, suicide is never something I really think about.
So what’s PMDD, Steemit? A quick Google search of “Premenstrual Depression” will show you this:
And this:
I don’t want to write too much about it because I have not done enough research yet, but after I meet with my health advisor I will share what I know.
I went home that day. I clocked in at 9am and clocked out at 1030am. After I left, my colleague messaged me:
“Hey did you know they wanted you to do behind the scenes photography for the video shoot with the lawyer? I just didn’t know if you were aware.”
I thought about turning around. Sucking it up and going back to work. Not because I didn’t want to let them down, but because that is the kind of assignment that I LOVE. That I CRAVE. That kind of work gives me joy and happiness. And I lost the opportunity because I can’t control my emotions? Ain’t that some shit.
Oh but you know what Sarah told me? She said she was proud of me. For asking for help. And I’m pretty proud of myself also.
In all my embarrassment and shame, after apologizing to my friends at work for leaving early, they showered me with empathy.
“We’re here for you and hope you’re okay. Don’t worry about work, we’ll cover for you.”
After Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade died, everyone posted “If you ever are in a dark place, I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk.”
But come on - Who honestly wants to complain to someone about their happiness when they are obviously privileged? It’s more complicated than just ‘reaching out for help’.
Would love to read your comments about PMDD or similar situations. Next week life will be better. And if you’re feeling sad, all those people who said they would be there for you? They really will. It’s time to be honest.