The Death Spiral (no.19)

Post #19

“I call it the death spiral” she confessed. My dear friend & I lay in the dark approaching midnight as we chat in our Ojai hotel room beds, as I tell her about my life recently.

“It’s like I exit my body and a demon enters. I step outside myself and watch the goings on. I cried all day Friday after this awful call with someone from my team. This thing has taken over my life.” 

She nodded knowingly. As I continue, “I didn’t even know if I was going to wanted to see you this weekend, I don’t feel like I’m fit to be around people, I’m never sure how I am going to react, it’s terrifying and equally exhausting. I don’t sleep, I can’t concentrate, I forget things, I’m bloated and my back is always in pain.” 

Even though I can barely see her, I can feel her empathy and knowingness in my trials. She said “it’s called PMDD and you’re not alone, I went through it, I call it the death spiral.” 

I can feel myself exhale, there’s a name, I think. I’m not just going crazy a few days a month??

Turns out Pre menstrual Dysphoric Disorder impacts about 5% of women’s daily lives. Causing severe mental distress, interferes with work, school and relationships. It disrupts a woman’s life so severely, she may despair that life is not worth living. 

Thankfully, mine hasn’t gotten that severe but I check the box on every other single symptom listed in the literature.  

A++ there I go again, even in my dysphoria I’m an overachiever. 

The literature suggests that it’s not clear why some women are more sensitive than others, some risk factors may include stress, being overweight and past history of trauma. 

Check, Check. Check. 

Course then my doctor points out that other literature points out that the additional weight can protect the body from several symptoms when women hit the perimenopause age, so in other words, "we don’t really know. It’s all a crap shoot". 

Other fun things that PMDD include are anxiety, depression, anger, panic attacks, sadness, breast tenderness, cramps, headaches, muscle pain, fatigue. 

Yep. Sign me up for that bag o fun.

Chalk this up to other things my mother never told me.  I do remember her moodiness when my mother went through the change and hot flashes but that seems fairly mild in comparison to this extensive list.  My friend took a whole bottle of pills and had her stomach pumped. You'd never believe that if you knew her, she is one of the happiest people I know. 

This is some serious shit. 

I had a commitment recently. I don’t miss commitments, like ever. I’ve never called in sick to work, I keep my word. Could be my intense dance training growing up or the film industry relentless work ethic. I am not bragging, this is more of a confession. I’ve since learned it’s not a super healthy thing to not give yourself a break.  

I just couldn’t pull it together for this thing I had to do, a presentation for a group I belong to. I tried all day, pulling out all my tools. 

Meditation, prayer, movement, journaling, comedy, processing with a friend, listening to a podcast. At the last minute I finally bailed. And I don’t think I could’ve let myself off the hook if it weren’t for the unconditional container this group offers.

Then there’s the judgement I have of myself. I’ve had mostly easy menstrual cycles for the majority of my life. So I didn’t fully believe women when they said they were PMS’ing, I thought it was an excuse for bad behavior. I know, I’m embarrassed to admit, karma’s a bitch, aint it. 

What is going on here?

First there is the judgement of people like my former self, then there is the space to allow oneself a break. Add on top of that the jokes about women PMS’ing and having access to nuclear codes. It’s no wonder women don’t speak more openly about all this fun we have to endure. 

There is this unspoken belief, that we have to hold it all together, jobs, motherhood, partners, families, friends, parents, serve a nutritious healthy homemade meal, sign the permission slip, send the birthday video and do it all with a smile and looking fabulous.

Whilst our insides are tearing us apart--biologically designed.

And if our bodies are our greatest feedback, what is it trying to communicate?