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14 September 2006 @ 09:56 pm
petty refrigerator politics  
I suppose my angry reaction to this situation adds yet more evidence to the case of why I should never live with others in any situation short of joining households for the long term with a significant other, in which we would purchase food for the unit as a whole by mutual agreement. At that stage in the game, the S.O. would be, like my family, experienced in dealing with my hormone-induced flailing, and would also be aware that there is worth in putting up with me, for the long dark week will come to an end, and I will regain my senses.

To put it more simply: I have a boss who believes in conspiracy theories, so I do not need to come home to housemates accusing me of eating their organic peanut butter and two granola bars, oh the drama! ... and especially not when I'm anywhere near the low point of my menstrual cycle.

Then again, this squabble over two granola bars and a wheat tortilla makes me realize that my problems are still not under control. This seems strange to say, as I generally keep my thoughts, opinions and actions under fairly tight rein. It is rare for me to speak without gratuitous qualifiers, and while my chirpy attitude may sometimes seem completely carefree, there's a surprising amount of thought construction beneath it. I worked to get that smile back.

Although I have made significant progress in coming to terms with myself in the past year, I should not think I have reached the end of this track of development. I have gotten over the "I hate myself" phase, yet I must still figure out or stumble onto trust of self. Why do I put such barriers on my tongue and heart ...? I dread what may result should I let them loose, of course! If I do not wish to live in fear of others, why am I so afraid of myself?

I only react. The fact that my rigid safeguards fail every month when Aunt Flo comes knocking should be adequate proof that they do not address the core problem ... they merely attempt to contain it. If I act, I would likely find such restraints to be a convenience rather than a necessity. What I need to do is clarify the chemical cause of both my depression and my period-associated drastic mood degradation, and take possession of my plan of treatment. There is no shame in taking medication. It is not weakness. There's an imbalance somewhere upstairs, an issue which was once out of anyone's ability to correct. Medical science has given me the tools to address the problem. I should take advantage of the technology, and spare myself much of the hatred that comes when hormones run free ... and those around me from my subsequently snappish behavior.
 
 
Current Mood: irritatedirritated
Current Music: "Scattered Rain," Tsuneo Imahori