Biology Matters

I’m feeling a lot of compassion for teenagers these days, and for my teenage self, and finally, for my current self.  If it weren’t happening to me I wouldn’t believe it were true: At certain times of the month I’m prone to losing control of what comes out of my mouth. 

It’s scary.  It reminds me of being drunk, ugly drunk, out of control, like an unpredictable demon takes the wheel and I blurt — and then the remorse, the hideous remorse and self-flagellation, apologies, and commitment to be better.

Truth is, I am better, I’m better than I used to be because I’m aware.  I know that I’m the problem, my moods are the problem, not the clutter, the finances, the muddy paws on the white sofa, or the guy who was, objectively, wrong.  When I’m in a decent mood all those same circumstances can be in play and it doesn’t feel like it’s time to stab people with a knife, not even close.

When I was a moody teenager I didn’t know big moods happen, I didn’t know how hormones make them more drastic, I didn’t know all the non-pharmaceutical methods for feeling better.  Today I do, and it’s still rough some days.  But I also know those days pass. 

I’m not as bad as I feel, I get to keep learning and growing and trying to help myself and others who maybe can relate on some level to being an imperfect human doing the best she can one day at a time.  Some days I’m better than others.  I’m gonna keep going.