Burning Bras and Flipping the Birds

I haven't written anything for a few days because putting things in writing makes them real, and I haven't wanted to feel anything real for nearly a week.  I'm just going to say it... I was on a bender.  And at 47 years old and in the throes of perimenopause, a bender looks like too many light beers that guarantee crippling anxiety, low, low depression which feels like choking on tears that come from nowhere, and extreme irritability.  So you see why I wouldn't want to put that in writing?  Instead, I turned on the TV, played stupid, mind-numbing games on my phone, and drank.  Sometimes 5 beers, sometimes 10 throughout the day.  I'm not going to get into the details, but there was one point I wanted to run away from my family.  I tried to convince myself they would be better off without me, but when I looked at my bank account, I quickly realized that I couldn't even afford a roadside motel in the seedy part of town.  But holy shit, this recent depression was HARD.  

I've been tracking my alcohol cravings and my moods and have noticed a trend:  about a week around my period and about a week around ovulation, I just don't give a fuck.  And because I'm perimenopause, sometimes these weeks happen back-to-back, sometimes they come late, sometimes early.  It's a guessing game these days.  I'm not using this as an excuse as to why I drink a highly addictive poison in excess, but I'm just throwing it out there as an educational point for any women who are wondering what I have wondered:  What the hell is wrong with me?  Nothing, honey, there is nothing wrong with you.  Your hormones are hijacked by booze and time, your brain and body are hijacked by hormones, and booze just hijacks it all.  That's a lot of hijacking going on.  No wonder I feel so out of control.  Case in point:  on Monday I bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked 5.  I quit smoking 10 years ago.  

Any who, I've woken up to a bit more clarity and a bit less heavy, dark, thunderous clouds over my head and heart.  Ovulation must be coming to an end.  It's these moments that I can get some shit done.  I'm not kidding; Saturday I snapped at my son, who retorted with some choice words, which sent me into a spiral of pitiful, can't breathe, self-hatred.  Because I thought he was right.  I thought I was the worst human in the world because I screwed my kids up beyond repair.  That I didn't deserve to be a mother.  That my boys and my husband would have a much more peaceful life if I just left.  I always wanted to travel.  But since I couldn't afford the rent-by-the-hour motel up the road, I was stuck.  They were stuck with me.  I called my sister in tears who put things in perspective.  It helps to have a therapist sister.  That was Saturday.  Sunday I spent the morning napping, an hour long yoga practice in the backyard, a long walk in a desert nature center, and too much to drink Sunday night.  Monday rolled around with crippling anxiety, Tuesday much the same, and this morning, sunny skies and smiles.  Whew, I survived another hormonal roller coaster.  

What shit am I getting done?  Well, I pulled out my quit lit from 2020/21, chose Quit Like a Woman, and opened it to the beginning.  I must say, it seems more inspiring than when I first read it 3 years ago.  It's the light up your feminist spark, reclaim your power from the patriarchal alcohol industry, burn your bras, kind of book.  I'm liking the way it makes me feel.  Empowered.  

The first time I quit in 2020 was for 45 days.  In those 45 days a couple of things happened that allude to the power of one's confidence when they quit drinking for even a short while.  First, I bought myself a white bikini.  I have never had the confidence to wear a white bikini.  But I did and I felt AMAZING.  (Lizzo songs are playing through my mind right now.)  I still wear it.  I also went to a salon and bleached my brown pixie-cut to an icy platinum blonde.  Again, something I always wanted to do but never had the confidence for.  (I'm currently growing out the pixie but keeping the blonde.)  

I'm not burning any bras today, but I am doing finger exercises to warm up my fingers.  I'm not just flipping one bird to alcohol, I'm flipping two.  

And if you must know, my son is no longer allowed to drive my car until he apologizes.  It's been 4 days... nothing yet.  At least I'm saving on gas.