You’ll be going about your life normally. Make breakfast, go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch something on Netflix. Then, one day, seemingly out of nowhere, your mood will darken. You will wake up in a cloud, but not a good cloud, not a fun cloud. No. You will wake up in the middle of a fucking storm cloud and everything you liked the previous three weeks will be EVERYTHING YOU HATE.
Everyone will bother you. You will question why you ever liked people… ever. You will get mad over the most nonsensical shit, like who the fuck is this guy sleeping in my bed? Oh, he’s my boyfriend? YEAH STAY ON YOUR OWN SIDE OF THE BED, DUDE.
Friends will ask you to hang out and you will decline because you are in no emotional state to be around people. All you will do is complain. You will complain about how much you’re complaining and you will add yourself to the list of people you can’t stand. You’re the worst!
You will hate your body, your face, everything about how you look. You will put on normal, public-facing clothing if it is absolutely necessary and the moment you are home, you will shed off all those layers, free your boobs from their torture device (fuck this bra) and practically break down in tears the moment a pair of sweats hits your skin. So soft! So comfortable! So stretchy! FREE THE NIPPLE! FREE THE VAGINA! *cries*
You will be so sensitive. Someone could just look at you in a judgmental way and you could crumble. Why do they hate me? What have I done? What am I doing with my life? What’s the meaning of anything? Who am I? Where have the last [insert literally any number of years] gone? Why is there so much hate? Why can’t we all just love each other and hug?
You will crave french fries. You will feel like french fries are the only things that understand you. You will eat them and they will be salty and delicious and perfect and it will be a temporary reprieve from the bullshit your uterus is drumming up for you. You will be so mad at your uterus, yet so happy for your french fries. How can one thing be so great while another is so terrible? It will be your greatest question in that moment.
YOU WILL EAT CHOCOLATE. YOU WILL GO TO TARGET AND BUY CADBURY CREME EGGS THEY ARE HERE FOR EASTER YOU’RE WELCOME WOMEN OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!
You will hope it’s PMS, but you will not know for sure. You will spend anywhere from 1 hour to 5 days worried that you are pregnant, even if the last time you had sex was literally forever ago. YOU WILL STILL WORRY THERE IS A BABY GROWING INSIDE YOU THIS. IS REQUIRED OF WOMEN. You will think about women who are unable to have children and you will cry. You will think of all the children who go unadopted and you will cry. You will think of the children, all the children, ANY CHILDREN…and you will cry.
You will think of all the stereotypes of women PMSing and you will hate that you have turned into all of them. Damn it! The stereotypes are right… every single month. You will turn into a pre-menstrual Hulk and start smashing shit (in your mind) and you will curse the day you were conceived and had to be born with the capabilities to experience PMS because fuck anyone that doesn’t have to deal with this!
You will be annoyed with yourself for even writing about PMS or making jokes about it or being some caricature of women, but it’s not your fault. YOUR UTERUS HAS TAKEN OVER YOUR BRAIN AND RENDERED YOU INCAPABLE OF THOUGHTS PERTAINING TO ANYTHING OTHER THAN CRYING, BABIES, HULK SMASHING ANYONE WITHIN SMASHING DISTANCE, CHOCOLATE, THOSE FUCKING CADBURY CREME EGGS, AND FRENCH FRIES.
SOMEBODY TAKE YOU HOME TO THE FRENCH FRIES. ALL HAIL FRENCH FRIES. FRENCH FRIES FOR PRESIDENT.