All it took was an overflowing garbage can. When I came home from work utterly exhausted, sore, tired and grumpy, and saw that he had not emptied the garbage, I exploded. A full-on diva hissy fit was had, resulting in him leaving the house and me being even more mad. Lose/lose all around.
Of course, it wasn't about the garbage. Or work. Or the intense, painful, not-relaxing-yet-necessary massage I had right after. It wasn't even because of the not enough sleep/having to get up early combo, the full-on body pain, the bone-deep exhaustion.
It was all of these annoyances put together, plus PMS, plus my depression = full-on meltdown.
Guys, PMS is no joke. It's not a convenient excuse for rude behaviour - it's a curse. Your emotions completely take over, and you are powerless to stop them. Instead of being in charge of yourself, you are a helpless bystander, being swept up in a tsunami of epic proportions.
On the day of the meltdown, I was on edge all day. Being the modern, tough-it-out woman I am supposed to be, I showed up at work just like I am expected to. I smiled, joked, did my job (maybe with a bit more attitude than usual), and played the part. On the surface, I was a calm duck, gliding serenely across the pond; but underneath it, I was furiously paddling. Everything annoyed me: having to interact with people, talking, listening, being in a group. Not being able to get away. I wanted nothing more than to bolt and run straight home, to hide under the covers and be alone.
But of course, we can't do that. So I gritted my teeth, quietly boiled on the inside, and got through it. Once the blasted 8 hours were finally over, I still didn't get to go home - I had made a massage appointment for my permanently sore shoulders (thanks, work and yoga), and just not showing up is not an option - the German in me won't allow it.
My massage therapist is usually chatty and we talk the entire time, but he must have sensed something: after the initial small-talk, he grew quiet. I sort of zoned out, and was in a weird in-between place: not asleep, not awake, but also not in relaxation bliss (it hurt too much for that) - it was bizarre. After the hour was up, I felt like I had just gone through the wringer - everything hurt.
Such was my state of mind (and body) when I arrived home: Hurting from head to toe, exhausted from having to deal with people all day long when I didn't have the energy for it (introvert here), and PMS. The meltdown was inevitable, because my energy reserves were empty.
Obviously, I attacked the wrong person. But just as obviously, all the penned-up frustration needed to get out. That's the ugly genius of PMS: Everybody suffers. Not only the person having it, but also the people around her. Usually family or close friends, because they are the ones we expose our true selves to.
There's no moral of the story here. Basically, all I'm saying is this: We all have awful days. PMS sucks. Some days, all you can do is try to hold it together somehow, yell at the wrong person, pout, then feel bad, apologize, take a hot bath and go to bed.
I promise you: The next day will be better. Pinky swear.