To Sleep, Perchance to Scream

This turns out to be a post that I composed several years ago by now. It never left my draft folder. I don't remember why. Most of the dramatic stuff has past with just a lingering afterburn left by now. With the wisdom of passing time and crisis lived through, I'm thinking definitely hormones. Fuckers. Now that I've used that word, I might have to turn on the "adult content" warning on this blog. No, I think I'll wait until I get an evil digital overlord warning. Considering the tiny audience, I'm guessing no one will be too scandalized. So, for any ladies "of a certain age" out there who happen to stumble on this in the future, this is for you. In case you need it to feel sane or empathy for someone you know who seems, well, a little unhinged. Maybe. Maybe just got the raw end of the DNA dice roll.

I think I need a shrink. Or a sports car and a boy toy. Or both. The other day, it occurred to me that this might be what is often called a midlife crisis. For men, at least. That's because, besides the somehow fey "male menopause", there's not really a male-centric word for it like there is for nearly everything else. Except, come to think of it, there is that "men" in there. I feel crazy. But not that cinematic, cathartic, find-yourself, feel liberated sort of crazy. It's more like, "oh, my god, how did I allow things devolve into this? What am I doing?" Is it my life, or my hormones, or both? Is this what it feels like when the estrogen goes bye-bye? If it is, then I understand why Big Pharma sold so many of those little HRT pills. And I haven't even gotten to the daytime commercial content yet.

I need a life viagra. I feel like I've been slapped around and all my dopamine pulled out. Is that even legal? To be on the street with no visible means of mental support? It feels perilous. If I weren't so dutiful, I'd have already called in crazy for the last year, I think. That bit where you find yourself in your twenties…it's seeming so good right now by comparison. When you're twenty, you don't have much, if anything, to lose, presuming you aren't already married with kids (yikes!), which I can't imagine many are. If you're lucky like me, I was finishing up college then. World is my oyster theme. Except for the oyster seemed really far away and looked more like, well, more like an oyster, but with no shell. And definitely no pearl. Formless. What a dumb metaphor. I wonder how many people are on the far side of the oyster and still no sign of pearl? Probably more than I think, 'cause that's always the way it is. You just don't realize it until, well, you're my age.

It feels like a bad trip. Or, rather, a good trip gone sort of…mediocre. At least with a bad trip, there is drama and that sort of hyper-sensitive, over-stimulated, exposed nerve ending feeling that at least lets you know that something is definitelygoing down now. Although, at the moment, I do have a spooky sense of exactly that sort of feeling. But I know how to "correctly" (I hope) interpret it. I know I'm not going to die right this second.It's almost like the beginning of a panic attack, of which I've only ever had one in my life, brought on by an unfortunate ulcer drug cocktail interaction.

So here I am. Experiencing the same old hormones leaving the body moments experienced by a bazillion women through the ages. At least I hope that's what it is. Could be some crummy relationship crud in the mix too. Could be some crummy work situation issues in the mix. Could be my sorry ass is just that. I wish I had the energy to scream. Maybe tomorrow.