Let's see, last time I droned on about the topic of my impending barrenness, I focused mainly on the tidal wave of anxiety produced when rapidly diminishing hormones meet life in general. What I failed to mention was the undercurrent of depression that lurks just below the deluge. So, guess what today's topic will be? Go ahead, guess!
I am not, as over ten years of blog posts will attest, a depressive person by nature. I am a pretty happy-go-lucky, look on the bright side, glass is half full, the sun'll come out tomorrow, kind of gal, so; this lackluster feeling of ongoing ennui is of particular concern for me. I don't like it. The fact that it is considered a "normal" part of perimenopause, to be expected and simply endured is absolute bullshit, in my opinion.
I'm doing my best to combat this particular symptom; I'm trying to focus on things that bring me joy, peace, and a feeling of accomplishment, but, often that's easier said than done. I'm also reminding myself that this is merely a season of my life; "This, too, shall pass" and all that optimistic bullshit, but, wow, some days that's a tough sell.
Emotional symptoms aside, the most obvious signs of this stage of the process include dry skin (I have discovered a plethora of moisturizing products to recommend!), weight gain (8 pounds of the almost 40 I lost two years ago have somehow managed to creep back onto my ass; I'm blaming perimenopause, but, between you and me, I think the more likely culprit is tortillas. Hey, I gave up sugar and soda, a girl's gotta have a vice!), intermittent hot flashes, and, obviously, a wonky menstrual cycle. It really is soooo much fun to be female!
On the bright side (see? I try!), perimenopause typically lasts 4-10 years (yes, I said years), and, I figure I'm in Year 7, so, the end has to near.
Right?
Oh, lord, please tell me I'm right.
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