PMDD or that-time-when-you-get-so-depressed-and-anxious-you-just-want-to-kill-yourself-first-thing-in-the-morning

I have been wanting to write this post but kept on postponing it until today. I wanted to write about PMDD or Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (the word premenstrual should give you an idea) or that-time-when-you-get-so-depressed-and-anxious-you-just-want-to-kill-yourself-first-thing-in-the-morning. Never heard of it before? Well, I just found out about it myself a couple of months ago, when I again fell into depression just days before I had my period and had a terrible argument with my partner about it. I tried to explain about PMS so I looked up on the Internet and found out about PMDD. When I read the descriptions, I realised that it's the very thing that has been damning me for my entire adult life.

I remembered the symptoms weren't so bad when I was younger, but they got more severe in the past years. Obviously, different factors are involved because the hormones that drive you to insanity or depression are affected by external factors, such as diet. But anyway, the symptoms were less severe before, they were barely noticeable, and now they are in full swing, ready to bitch-slap you into the pit of dark depression.

In the articles that I read about PMDD, it always involves a subject about "how to live with someone with PMDD" because to be really honest, people who are close to people with PMDD will definitely get affected. In this case, it's my partner. My solution, so far, is to always communicate every changes that I feel in my moods and feelings. It kinda sounds stupid, but at least it gives some kind of a warning to my partner that it is approaching--this crazy tsunami of depression is now close and going to drawn me in a matter of days. That doesn't mean he won't get hurt by the nasty things that I (might) say to him when I am drowning. It requires a lot of work, from both sides to make things work. Not only my partner needs to understand that it's not something I can control, but I also need to be able to cope with my depression in a positive light. It's hard to get out of the depression when I realise that I have hurt the person who cares a lot about me.

I have read several people said that it's like a demon, an alien part of oneself, who comes out every once a month destroying every bit of your sanity and then leave when it's done and satisfied. I used to see it that way, but somehow it stopped making me feel better. Instead, now I see it as, like I have mentioned before, a tsunami. I can see (well, "see" as in check the calendar) it coming--good thing that I have a reliable menstrual cycle--and prepare for it. Also, prepare my partner by giving him lots and lots of warning. And then, prepare myself to swim and dive if necessary because there's just no other way around it. I can't stop it, I can't run away from it. When it hits me, it hits me hard. It is also painful for me (not to mention the real actual physical pain of PMS) to be depressed for most of the time, becoming very lethargic and losing appetite and weight and just generally feeling sad all the bloody time without any good reason.

Some people will laugh about this (one friend actually did and told me that we, modern people, tend to "pathologise" every single problem that we have--well, fuck him). Some people will just shrug and dismiss this as a "women's thing". The problem is, I don't want this shit and I bet other women with PMDD don't want this happening in their life because I am not having fun, at all. And no, it's not fun to be angry all the time either.

What kind of moral conclusion I can draw from this post? I guess it's always good to try and understand things from different perspectives because in my case, by trying to understand my partner's perspective and feelings, I can be more positive, and vice versa.

p.s. you can read more about PMDD from this blog.

When did sleeping get so difficult?

On a morning like this morning, I wonder do I ever wake up and feel refreshed? Feeling like I actually have enough sleep? I haven't felt that for a while. I read or heard somewhere that you don't sleep well when you are slightly depressed. It makes sense, of course, when your mind is too preoccupied by either good or bad thoughts, your sleep is going to be weird.

I have a gazillion things in my head. Maybe these things stop me from having a good night sleep. I don't quite know how to stop them though. I tried to be fully relaxed before I went to bed anyway, but that didn't really work.

I woke up with a headache and clogged nose, an early sign of minor cold. I have been feeling unwell for the past 3-4 days and today my body didn't want to wake up. I felt I should have at least tried to get up and start working, but my brain was dead (it still sort of is dead now) and decided to engage in Facebook world instead. And that led me to here.

I don't have anything important or interesting to say other than: I miss that time when I woke up and actually felt I had slept enough and the world was a better place.

And my nightmares are so regular, I don't even call them nightmares anymore. They're just part of my sleeping pattern.

Anyone have a good suggestion for a good night sleep? Feel free.

The peculiar case of Peculiar

One morning I was still quite tired since I didn't sleep well when lots of noises woke me up. I remembered that it was the moving guys, loading my sister's stuff up on a truck, to be delivered to her new house, somewhere in filthy Jakarta. So, I got up, thinking my cats would be in the way of the moving guys, since they liked to find ways to go out of the house. I put two cats in my room and the other one went hiding since he hated strangers.

After a while, the moving guys were done. The truck was packed and ready to go. My dad asked me to wait by the front door because he needed to move the car away. So I did. Then, I saw two kids, one on a bicycle and the other on foot, heading towards the truck. One kid, who wasn't on a bike, was carrying something in his hand. That something was wriggling. That something was a tiny kitten. I was surprised, especially because the kid turned to a small alley in front of my house where a stream flow nearby. I honestly thought the kid would have thrown the kitten into the stream. I was ready to run.

But, two seconds after the kid went out of the alley, the kitten followed suit. I was relieved and still ran anyway, since the truck was still nearby and I didn't want it to get squashed. I grabbed it to safety and saw that it's really tiny and weak. Its body temperature was kinda low too. Not good. I put it on a corner and tried to feed it milk, but it didn't want to drink. It was probably to young to drink by itself. So, I put it into a carrier and make sure it's safe. My mother, noticing the little creature, immediately expressed contempt. She didn't want a dirty little thing, she said. I told her that I was going to take care of it, regardless. My father soon showed the same reaction, with a more hurtful comment. I would not repeat it here. It was just a tiny kitten. Why would anyone be mean to it, I don't really understand.

Luckily, my parents had to leave to Jakarta to help my sister. I immediately took the kitten inside and tried harder to feed it. I cleaned it and tried to make a warm nest for it to sleep. The other cats were curious but I kept them away from it, since I didn't want to risk any transfer of viruses or fleas. The other cats sulked, the kitten mewed.

I spent the whole day just trying to keep it alive. I couldn't go and find a kitten milk replacement because I didn't want to leave him alone. I didn't want to risk it taking it in the car and get trapped in silly traffic jam. I was talking to my boyfriend on Skype the whole time, panicking and feeling so helpless. He did his best to comfort me, but the kitten wasn't doing well. I finally took it to the vet when the traffic eased a bit. It's a he, and he got several shots and the vet told me to give him worm meds. I got some soft cat food too. And then I spent the whole night just trying to feed him. That didn't work well because he was vomiting. I thought he's going to die. I didn't really sleep that night.

In the morning, after I slept only for 2 hours, I woke up finding Peculiar (my boyfriend named him) still breathing. I decided I wouldn't be able to take care of him by myself and he needed better attention and care. So, I took him back to the clinic and hospitalised him.

Peculiar is still at the clinic now, recuperating. Last time I saw him, he was a bit weak but really playful and noisy. I took that as a good sign. Peculiar the kitten, with his peculiar origin, taught me more about humans; how we are capable of so much love and how we are capable of so much contempt. Again, like what I have written before, it's a matter of choice. We sometimes choose to be blind about different things just because it's easy. But it hampers our full potential to love. When you are blinded by yourself, you are not capable to express anything truthfully. I learnt that it's okay to care, no matter how difficult it is to care and along the way, I found other human beings who were wiling to help and support me. I also found other people who had selective affection; reserved only for pretty things.

Peculiar might be just a tiny orphan kitten, but he has a big place in my heart. I just hope, even the worst comes to worst and he dies, I just hope he dies knowing that he was loved and cared, and that he wasn't alone.