I am a hormonal psychopathic monster.
I am the worst possible human on the face of the earth.
I hate you. I don’t care who you are; I hate you.
I am the size of a blimp and my brain is as cloudy as a stormy sea.
I can’t stop the surly words rolling out of my mouth; can’t shrug off the look of irritation permanently etched to my face.
Whatever I’m a part of, I just need to quit.
I know you’re talking badly about me; I know I’m not doing a good job.
Seriously, why are you such a moron?
FIIIINNNNEEEE, I’ll make dinner. God, you ask for so much.
I’m so tired I feel like I’m made of concrete.
Oh! I feel so much better.
The hormonal rollercoaster at work inside of our bodies is fascinating to me. The chemistry of our brains is fascinating to me. The fact that we can be So. Sure. Of. our Horribleness one day (and act like a jerk all day, too), and then feel totally different the next is just… remarkable.
How do we remember these moments are temporary? How do we remind ourselves that our brains and bodies are playing tricks on us? How do we hold on through to the other side? How do we put at bay the Monster that dwells inside? How do we remember that, indeed, spring will come?
Well. I suppose that trusty old formula of Faith and Trust (and, if you’re Tinker Bell, throw in some Pixie Dust), is a pretty good place to start.
I need to have faith that on the days that the Monster wakes up first, that Monster will probably sleep soundly the next. I need to trust that the people I snap at and scoff at on my Monster day will still love me on the day that I beat the Monster out of bed. And if that faith and trust feel too hard to grasp on to, I need to reach out to someone. Text someone. Write a Facebook post. Pick up the phone. Go outside and talk to a neighbor. Watch Candace Payne don that Chewbacca mask, and laugh with her for the millionth time. Whatever it takes to remember that the Monster isn’t me. The Monster might try to tell me otherwise, that arrogant SOB. It might do everything possible to convince me that the Monster is absolutely me, that we’re one in the same. That it belongs right there squarely in the center of my heart and my head. But we’re not. The Monster is just a trick; it’s smoke and mirrors and will dissipate as soon as I take my rightful place back in my own heart and my own head. I just need to blow that smoke away, and re-find me.
How can you find faith and trust on the days that the Monster inside is roaring?