The other night I was lying in bed alone with my thoughts and my (litrally) raging hormones and life seemed dark. I didn't know it at the time but I was PMSing. Everything had suddenly taken a devastating turn into a hard bricked wall, I felt completely alone and misunderstood. My usuall optimistic, high-on-the-idea-of-life self was being surreptitiously manoeuvred to the other side. I felt angry at my circumstances, at my friends, at my age especially, at myself for being the way I was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in a bad enough state to be thinking about ending it all or doing anything rash, but still, I was cynical and vengeful and that was harsh enough.
Then the next morning harmony sung its song, but only until I saw something that triggered an inner storm and then I felt happy again and then red lights and then pretty rainbows and then red and then green and then red. On off on off on off.
Then at some point during my emotional charade, as I strutted myself through a mall full of people who didn't understand me and who would judge me by first glance and who were dumb and useless, my poor friend (who poops sunshine all the goddam time) felt faint so we rushed off to consume sugar cubes. while sitting at the table feeling erritated beyond what should be allowed with a sweet, understanding friend I began to tear up. Yes, at that point, life was just too much, I was spilling so I did what any normal PMSing girl would do. I cried. Not too loudly as I didn't want to alarm my next door table neighbours, not that they'd care, but I cared. So softly I released myself, ate a smooshy prawn sandwhich (which I could have done without, but thanx to my indecisiveness I tend to panic and choose something I never end up liking), pulled myself together because I was being selfish, non-sensical and unpleasant-I would have slapped me- and smiled on the outside.
The next day I started my period. Life was understanding again.