My One Week Of Cray

If you're not into TMI this blog post isn't for you. If you're don't enjoy moaning women. Again? This won't be your cup of tea. This is about my one week of cray. And by cray I mean crazy but I am trying to be all down with da kidz like a brummie Kim Kardashian. It's about PMS. It's about the one week a month where I am on an emotional roller coaster and have learnt to embrace the fact that during this seven days? I am screwed and so is anyone who gets near me.

I am generally a chirpy person. I like to make people smile. I enjoy being silly and from reading my blogs and watching my videos I think you should know by now I don't really have much shame. I am a totally open book. And then along comes my week of cray and I turn into a shadow of myself. I want to lock myself away, lie face down on the bed all the time rather than the five minutes I do each day about 5:45pm. It's horrible. And I hate it. It changes me and it only seems to have got worse since I have had children.

I am a shadow of my former self. Whilst last week I could have howled with laughter about something someone said? This week someone could say something similar and it would make me weep and shout. A joke my husband makes about the washing up that would have once been met with a "f*ck off" and an eye roll could send me off crying for two hours. He's baffled, bless him, but he's come to understand that during this week of cray he is better off out of my way unless he brings chocolate and a compliment about my hair.

You better bring me chocolate or I'll fight you

And yes I have tried Evening Primrose Oil. I've even (god forbid) given up caffeine in an attempt to stop the anxious panicky feeling I get. But now I have just embraced it. That this is just me. That for  quarter of the year I'm just not that great to be around. My patience wears thin and I have to be SO mindful when I am around the kids. That I don't lose my sh*t when they accidentally spilled a drink. There is a lot of standing behind closed doors, counting to ten let me tell you. There is also a lot of moments of lack of self worth, paranoia and wishing I could run away.

But I don't. As the seven days pass and it's back to normal and I have three weeks of glorious respite where I am back to being me. I go into the staffroom singing a bit of Britney and I don't hate my husband quite so much. And I can almost forget about the one week of cray. Like my other crapper nastier version doesn't really exist anymore. Like Beyonce's Sasha Fierce. Just in total reverse. Hormones are funny old f*ckers aren't they? Now excuse me whilst I go and eat a Mars Bar, down a caffeine free diet coke and stalk ex boyfriends on social media whilst crying. I will be back on form by the weekend. Promise.