I thought I had me figured out.
I thought I had me under control.
I thought I had been on this long, tortuous (anything-but-spectacular-now-that-I’m-where-I-am-now) journey and that I’d learned the greatest lessons of life, reached the age of wisdom, and I could deal calmly with anything that was thrown my way.
I don’t know what happened or when exactly, but I was really really wrong.
Now I find myself asking me: “So what’s the deal? I knew life was always going to have its ups and downs. I figured that part out. I lowered my expectations completely and started enjoying whatever it was I did have. But I thought I had learned self-control. I thought I had gained inner peace. WHERE THE FUCK HAS THAT GONE???”
Does this mean that just as life has its ups and downs, self also goes through uncontrollable rollercoaster-rides of emotions? But why?
Or is this just me bolting right into pre-menopause? I have to warn you now, if this is what my menopause is going to be like, if I have to go through this for several years, you will all want to run out of my way starting now. Because this ugly. This is really ugly.
And then I think, “Why has God made women’s hormones so difficult to deal with? I mean: this is God we’re talking about. G O D. God can do anything. God gave us tornadoes and tsunamis and poverty and asshole dictators. God knew life was going to be rough. Why add insult to injury and give women undulating hormones?”
I promised myself when I studied menopause in med school way back in yesteryear that I’d never take hormonal replacement therapy. I’ve changed my mind. I’ve definitely changed my mind. Once I know I’m going through menopause, I’m going to DEMAND that doctors give me all the meds they have.
I don’t know if I’ve just been very hormonal lately or if I’m entering an obligatory new phase of self-discovery (I really don’t know if I want to do that anymore. It’s EXHAUSTING). Now that I’m here, I’m starting to regret all the Facebook statuses I wrote about the importance of self-discovery and of learning self. Fuck self! Self sucks big time. Maybe God is trying to tell me: Stop playing the role of guru because you know nothing! NOTHING!
I really did think I had stuff figured out. I had reached that ultimate stage of wisdom where I realized that I did not need to have answers to all the questions. I decided it was perfectly fine not to know. I made peace with doubt.
All that’s gone. Poof! Out the window. I need answers!
I’m right back where I was years ago. Religion – ALL religions – make no sense to me anymore. People of religion – well, lots of them anyway – scare the freaking daylight out of me. But I’m still OK with God and some spiritual aspects of religion. When I ask myself why, the only answer I can give myself is: “Because if I didn’t have God and spirituality I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’d be completely and utterly lost. It’s the last remnant of stability and ‘truth’ I’ve been able to hold onto. If even God and my spirituality turned out to be a bunch of mumbo jumbo, it would be like being thrown into an endless black hole. I’d be lost for eternity. It’s all I have left to explain some of the basics of life and to deal with them.” Religious people can stay the fuck away from this blog post, by the way. So can people who want to explain life and the world to me through science. I don’t want to hear a peep out of either of you. NOT A PEEP!
And then there’s motherhood. I’m 100% convinced that I’m right up there with the top ten worst mothers in all of human history. There’s nothing else to say about that. Leave me be to drown in the horrors of my shame and guilt.
I’ve also been wondering about my friends. I don’t think they’re right in the head. I have some GREAT friends in Egypt. I have friends who literally treat me like royalty every single time I come to Egypt for a visit. But I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve that friendship. ZILCH. How have I ever been a good friend to anyone? How have I ever reciprocated? Another thing to add to the list of failures.
And then, as if all that wasn’t enough, I think I have my underwear on backwards. It’s a sad, sad day when a woman can’t be certain which is the front and which is the back of her underwear.
Of course, theoretically, all this could just be a bad bout of premenstrual syndrome. It is that time of the month. My sense that all this has been going on for weeks could be exaggerated – by a few weeks. You just never know with these things. It’s like the backwards underwear. Or religion. You just can’t be certain.