The random thoughts of an architect-turned- lawyer from the deep south living in Washington, DC...

Monday, January 08, 2007

Dealing with crazy

(*Disclaimer - my male readers may not want to read this one.*)

The small print in the unfolded four foot instruction manual said the little pills might cause a shift in moods. Personally, I believe it should have been in 36 pt bold underlined font and it should have said something more to the tune of "these pills will completely take over your mental state, swing it back and forth like a pendulum, then turn you into some raging hormonal beast that ends up crying by yourself in St. James Park because your boyfriend (who took off work early to be with you) is taking too long to arrive." But hey, no one asked me to write the warnings.

For reasons beyond the scope of discussion on this blog, in my 29 years of living, I have chosen to never take birth control pills. (Mom, if you are reading, it's because I'm a virgin.) Anyway, back in October during my girlie doctor visit I spoke with my doctor about my three week trip to London and asked her what she could do to make me not have my "time of the month" while I was there. She put me on a form of the pill that makes me only have my period every three months. Now, I should tell you that when it comes to girlie stuff, I am somewhat of the anti-girl. When I am "pms-ing" I don't get sad or irritable, I actually get hyper; strangely happy and bubbly once a month. Furthermore, I don't get bloated or inflated, I actually drop 4-5 pounds during my girlie time. Nevertheless, I had no idea how this pill would affect me since I'm all assbackwards everywhere else. Case in point: first week on the pill, my face broke out. Everyone said "wait, that can't be right, the pill is supposed prevent acne." Yeah, I'm an odd one.

My face cleared up and I headed off to London with my little green container of pills. I expected that my first week there would be somewhat of an adjustment period. I had not seen Ben in 128 days and neither of us really knew what to expect. However, I really did not expect to be yelling and crying by day two. I cannot even recall, nor do I want to re-live, all of the absurdities that arose in that first week. Just to set the scene: I got my feelings hurt because I brought him "America" chocolates and he didn't eat them right away; I cried because he told me not to turn the water down on the pasta; I got angry and ignored him because I crossed the street and he kept walking on the other side. Every. Single. Thing. pissed me off or hurt my feelings. All he could say was "I just don't understand why you are acting like this. It's not you." When he would go to work, I would spend quite a bit of time over-analyzing (as only a girl can) and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. We didn't have a single fight this summer. At first, I went back to his words that this behavior was not me. I thought that maybe he didn't really know me. Maybe if he knew the real me, he would not like it. Shortly thereafter, I shifted to the possibility that maybe this is my subconscious trying to tell me that he's not all I thought he was. Maybe the honeymoon is over and I am seeing things for how they really are...and how dare he not cross the street with me? Bastard. I took my sadness and anger as signs that perhaps something was just not right with us.

I spoke with a friend about what was going on and she said "wait, didn't you tell me you were going on the pill?" "Um, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?" She responded (while laughing) "sweetie, welcome to my world. When you first start taking the pill, this is all completely normal." Not once in that first week did I consider that the pill I was so diligently ingesting every morning might be the cause of my multiple emotional breakdowns. I welcomed the realization that my emotional insecurities were the result of a tiny green pill and not because Ben and I were incompatible. When he got home that night, armed with this new knowledge, I had a long conversation with him. We discussed whether or not I would continue to take the crazy pills and the repercussions if I decided to throw them away. In the end, he said he would absolutely support whatever I chose. Still, the next morning, I think I saw him wince as I took my pill. Every day after that, my man just dealt with crazy. And this must be real because he still likes me.