So this whole menopause thing is not as much fun as I thought it would be.
Aside from the tiredness and ANGER, the weight is creeping on, taunting me menacingly, especially because I’ve tried everything in my dietary power to keep it off. It’s not like I’m so vain to really care about a few extra kilos at this stage in my life, but it’s annoying when I’m restrained around biscuits, I pick at food like a mouse and I’m still lardy.
I can’t work out where the weight comes from. I eat far less than I used to – although I’ve been told that stress can cause some unfortunate suckers to actually gain weight.
And then there’s the tiredness and ANGER…
Found on Pinterest.com, originally for Buzzfeed.
It’s also becoming increasingly hard for me to distinguish between the anxiety caused by menopause and the anxiety caused by my inherent bat shit craziness that is constantly exacerbated by the behaviour of my bat shit crazy son.
And all those symptoms aren’t helped by the most evilly, relentless night sweats. They’re not so unbearable that I’ve actually contemplated giving up alcohol or coffee yet – Hell, NO! I’m a fighter…all the way to the death if needs be… but they’re annoying enough to make me tired, cranky and basically FUCKING HOT most of the time.
We’ve spent thousands of dollars over the past twenty-five years on a worthless spare room, and now, when I really need my own space to sweat in, the sofa’s my only option for a decent night’s sleep.
The big argument the old man and I have at the moment is about whether I can open the window in our bedroom at night. You see, the old man is a heat conductor, which worked really well when I was younger and slimmer and had the circulation of a corpse, but now I’m menopausing, we’ve both become conductors, and even these chillier Autumn nights feel like some nightmare where someone has locked the door of the sauna and won’t let me out.
And obviously I can’t kick the summer-weight doona off, because…hello…mozzies! I know they’ve been waiting for that one sign of weakness.
The Princess’s insistence of sleeping between us doesn’t help the situation either.
And then there’s my mind. It’s so far off it’s game, it’s almost farcical, and the kids obviously think I have early onset Alzheimers by the looks they give me when I can’t remember their names, which with my hypochondria is detrimental to my insomnia. Between you and me, I’m not sure how I’m holding down my job at the moment; it’s lucky that my ‘faking it’ skills haven’t been affected too much, yet.
And I’m hungry all the time, even though I haven’t read that as being an atypical symptom of this stage of life. I get depressed after each meal, wondering how I’ll possibly get through the following five hours until my next calorie fix. And I’m craving the worst food-fixes, like crisps and lollies and all the stuff I thought I’d trained myself a long time ago not to dare think about.
My libido is obviously shot, too. Sex doesn’t revolt me yet, I just can’t really be fucked, because it involves energy I don’t have and would prefer to spend on something interesting like painting my toe nails in a new metallic Loreal shade. The old man and I have struck a deal where I’ve agreed to have sex with him as long as I can lie there, eat chocolate, watch tv and he doesn’t talk to me but just gets on with it.
He was so understanding when we made the arrangement – sometimes it touches me just how much he really cares.
And did I mention that I’m spotty for the first time in my life? I never even had pimples as a teenager, but now only three layers of the gloopiest, age-concealing foundation smeared all over my pores will hide the embarrassing truth that I am a grown woman with acne.
So where exactly are the benefits if this menopause-thing? I’m still getting periods and associated monthly joy – so there’s no liberating knowledge that I will never have to have another baby or even save money on sanitary-ware to put towards wine.
And I have no energy to pour into all these exciting, middle-aged projects that should be presenting themselves to me now that I’m approaching fifty, feeling more confident in who I am and aware of exactly what I want from life…