There’s something I’ve been dwelling on for months and it’s finally bubbled to the surface in a frothing, hormone-fuelled rage.
Back in December, researchers at the University of Toronto published findings in Gender Medicine magazine saying PMT didn’t exist.
The (largely female!) team, led by Dr Sarah Romans, examined 47 studies from between 1971 and 2007 and concluded the results “failed to provide clear evidence in support of the existence of a specific premenstrual negative mood syndrome”.
Well eff that for an effing joke. Tell that to my bleak, terrible mood. And it will suggest you eff off too.
I’ve gone through two full menstrual cycles since I read those stupid findings and I strenuously dispute them. Especially when I have PMT. When I have PMT I dispute them so ferociously it takes a good weep and half a bottle of white to get me off the ledge.
I mean, if PMT doesn’t exist, why does the slightest criticism during the week leading up to my period make me want to weep and wail and gnash my teeth and rip out my hair? Sure, I’m not great with criticism at any time, but it only pushes me to the brink of sanity when a bleed is on the way.
And why does it make me feel like this (courtesy of “Warning: This one’s about PMT”) …
I spend two weeks every month in a hideous blur of emotion, aching boobs and pimples. I want to hide under the bedcovers. Forever. I want to cry. Make that sob, uncontrollably. I rage at Husband that he “doesn’t love me”. I want to hit people (fortunately not the Sprogs, I just yell at them). I am so, so down. I want to drink the wine rack dry. Even the gamey rose. Then there’s the boob situation. I had to hold them during running races with the Sprogs the other day. When I take off my bra at night … yeow! That little drop (she kids herself) feels like I’ve thrown my tits over a cliff and they’ve gone splat at the bottom. All explody, like when I was running late for a breastfeed. Back when I was fecund, not perimenopausal. As for the pimples, there are no words. That’s a lie, there are six words: Pimples at 43? So. Not. Fair.
Actually, now that I come to think about it – how can PMS not exist when all those hormones are rushing around giving me pimples in my 40s and boobs that hurt like hell?
Perhaps, as The Huffington Post points out: “The research did not touch on premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), a clinical disorder that affects the mood while a woman is on her period. PMDD symptoms are often more severe than mood swings in general and these may include depression, anxiety, insomnia, fatigue and headaches, according to Mood Disorders Association Of Ontario.”
There you go, I have PMDD, so those stupid PMS study professors can blow it out their arses. Eff them. And eff you too. Eff everyone. I’ve had it with the lot of you. Nobody love me. My life is a dark room.
Don’t tell me there’s no PMT, don’t you bloody dare. Talk to the hand. And when you’ve finished I’ll clip you around the ear with it. Because you’re effing wrong.
And don’t tell me I’m being irrational … actually, I am being irrational. And it’s BECAUSE I HAVE PMT you stupid researchers.
PMT IS REAL. (AND SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!)