Sometimes, I think not. My mother is an uptight borderline crazy old Asian lady. She calls me today to ask how I’m feeling and blah blah blah. How’s work? How’s school? How’s Dave? The usual. However, she “suspects” something’s wrong with me. Because she is my mother she knows how to push my mothers and gets me upset. She says I’m depressed. I need help. You haven’t been the same person the last couple weeks. Mind you, she only saw me once the last couple weeks. And, she said I was acting bitchy and not happy…I was at temple…I didn’t want to be there…so of course I was acting pissy. (But, no one else notices my bitchiness and pissyness because I’m not telling anyone how I’m feeling. I bet Dave doesn’t think I’m depressed and I live with the man!) Blah blah blah. Here’s my thought:
I am suffering from extreme PMS. The most intense extreme PMS I have ever felt in my life. It will pass. I don’t want to be like my mother who runs to pills when she feels she’s out of whack. That’s that. It’s not like I’m going to commit suicide. Because I’m not.