Friday, April 01, 2016
Well, despite those of you who seemed determined to label me a hormonal, post-menopausal whack job (AHEM) (Seriously, guys, the only way it could've been worse would have been if you'd suggested I was upset because I was "on my period", so to speak) (JAYSUS CHRIST), the doctor thinks it's a problem with my brain chemistry, which got knocked right the eff out of whack when I was repeatedly exposed to an unmanageable situation.
She wants me to start taking Celexa (sp?) daily, immediately, and Zanax (sp? I haven't picked up the prescriptions yet) on an as-needed basis when I start to panic out.
And I sure hope I start feeling better, because I'm getting tired of feeling like I'm about to be run over by a train.
HORMONES MY ASS.
(Sorry. I know hormonal imbalances can and do wreak havoc. But for me, hearing someone being called "hormonal" seems to imply disdain, like that person can't handle something because they're a woman. See Donald Trump and his "She had blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her ... wherever" bon mots. Just ... don't.)