And that was when I cried cos the zip on my sleeping bag was broken


So. Grandma’s birthday. The entire extended family is crammed into one house so my sister and I have been downgraded to the living room floor with sleeping bags and sofa cushions.

Hashtag glam life.

I am being a moody bitch for no reason whatsoever. I’m exhausted and stressed over dull life things but that doesn't really excuse it. My sister is handling it like a total pro cos she’s a babe and owes me a few remaining-calm-when-the-other-is-being-an-unreasonable-cow moments.

Getting to bed was a total faff. There are three loos in that house but all of them were taken up and I seriously needed a wee (goddamn you prosecco). There was a clock in the living room, aka my bedroom for the night, that had a tick louder than London traffic and my phone charger broke so I couldn’t look at instagram cat pictures.

None of these are major life-is-over issues but I was not handling them well AT ALL. When I finally made it to my sleeping bag and sofa cushions I had used the word ‘fuck’ more times than was really appropriate given there were cousins in the house who are under the age of 10.

I lay down, slotted my feet into the end of the sleeping bag and pulled the zip to zip myself in and be a snug little bug.

And that, my friends, was when I cried cos the zip on my sleeping bag was broken.

Let’s talk about hormones.

Us gals will know that on a semi-regular basis (and actually, not just at that funfun time of ze month), our hormones do batshit crazy things and we suddenly discover we are capable of feeling approximately 825 million emotions ALL AT THE SAME TIME. None of which have any correlation with our non-hormonal mood or with events currently taking place in our life.

Fun, no?

Only, we can’t mention it. Every girl that I know has experienced this yet I still feel like I have to fabricate an excuse for my bad mood when it happens to me. Basically inventing fake reasons as to why I’m crying... when actually there is NO REASON for my tears (song lyric?).

No, I’m not having a rough time.
No, I’m not upset over something.
No, I’m not mentally ill.

I’m crying because my hormones have decided it’s time to have a fucking party and all I want to do is eat 242 bags of maltesers and wrap myself in a duvet until I resemble an obese caterpillar.

Trust me, my non-hormonal self (the one you were chilling with yesterday, who was laughing and acting, well, normal) is currently floating above my head going  “Um, what are you doing weird weepy woman?” but I can’t hear her right now and she probably won’t be back for a while.

You’ve all been there.

And I’m mentioning it because it frustrates me that I’m not supposed to.  That it’s not the ‘done’ thing.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a solid few days in a weird funk. I went to visit family for my Grandma's birthday and ended up crying cos I couldn't zip my sleeping bag up. The hormones were out to play and they were worse than usual. Don’t ask me why, like I have time to examine the ins and outs of my emotional state; girl gotta go to work. But I was so much more aware than usual that my hormones were making me feel a certain way and that this did not correlate to how I actually felt about things. I was actually pretty darn happy and excited about life at that point but hormonal me was stressed about everything, from cleaning her teeth to the likely occurrence of a terrorist attack taking place on my route to work (non-hormonal me kinda worries about this too, she’s just more rational about it). I could float above myself and scream omg cheer the fuck up as loud as I wanted, it made no difference. I just had to ride out the storm.

Which I did.

The weight lifted and I cracked on with life like a happy chappy again (mostly... I’m not so chipper on a Thameslink train on a Monday morning for example). But it was a lot worse than usual which I think is why I suddenly had an urge to write about it.

So yeah, just wanted to tell ya that I cried cos the zip on my sleeping bag was broken, even though it was actually comfier to sleep with it strewn over me, I’d have died of heatstroke if I’d slept with it zipped up. Still cried though. And walked around in a grumpy, emotional haze for the next week.

And if you've been doing the same; well, I feel ya girl.

So this is me mentioning that hormones are a bit shit sometimes because they are and, hey look, I said it out loud and the the world didn’t implode.

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