Turns out there *is* a psycho bitch inside me

We’ve all heard it before… Women are crazy. And although I’ve met my fair share, I’ve also met my fair share of crazy men. Case. And point. Naturally, I thought the statement was an unfair stereotype. Until recently. I’ve since discovered that women are crazy. And I can be one of them.

It all started about 18 years ago when I was a hormonal teenager. I was crazy; flying off the handle for little to no reason, crying at the drop of a hat and in general, just being difficult to be around. A few years later, I went on birth control and stayed on it for nearly 10 years. Despite horror stories I’d heard about birth control, I never really experienced any side effects. During that period of being on the pill and the period of being off of it, I maintained a fairly even demeanor.

Fast forward to a month ago. I decided it would be best to go back on the pill, just in case. I went to my doctor and we discussed it. He gave me a script for the last pill I was on and said “Let’s see how it works for you this time… even though it worked for you in the past, doesn’t mean it’ll work for you now.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

It took me a week and a half to finally get it; I started losing it.

Something that would normally make me go “Oh that sucks” and bum me out a bit, now made me become a blubbering mass on my couch. The train of thought escalated to such a degree in my mind, that looking back, I have a hard time processing how I actually got there. But boy, oh, boy, did I get there.

This happened four times in less than a week. I was a wreck. Even at the time, I could look in on the situation from an outsider’s perspective and think “You’re acting crazy”, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Not only would I cry at the drop of a hat, I would also get seriously pissed off about things that would normally only irritate me slightly.

I truly thought I was losing my mind.

One day, as I was sitting on my couch having a pity party complete with tears and snot, I tried to think about the situation logically between sobs. “When did I start doing this? Why is this all such a big deal?”. I couldn’t figure out why I was suddenly a train wreck.

And then it hit me. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed my pill pack. I went psycho four days into taking the pill. Four days is probably just enough time for it to get into my system and start causing mayhem. I was so happy that I wasn’t crazy, that it was just the pills, that I spent the next two hours crying “because I was just so relieved”.

Doctors orders and internet research all yielded the same advice. It can take 2-3 cycles of being on the pill before you really know how your body is going to react. If after this time, you’re still experiencing side effects, you should switch brands and see how that one works for you.

I looked at this and thought I could potentially be a crazy bitch for the next 6 months to a year depending on how long it takes me to find something that works for me. My decision:

My weekend in a nutshell…

I had Gorm over for Music Day the other day. For those of you who don’t know what Music Day is, it’s when Gorm and I get together and play music (aptly named, I know). He plays piano, I play guitar, we sing and bicker like an old married couple in between fits of laughter. It’s great.

During our two hour break for dinner and chatting, he asked me how it was going with Thailand, I said “Good… …. of course there’s drama, but it’s good”. He said “So if it’s ‘good’, I assume it’s normal drama"?”. I confirmed. He got a weird look on his face and said “It’s you… so I have to wonder if this drama actually falls anywhere close to ‘normal’”. Slightly offended, I said “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” His response?

Touché, Gorm.

At the end of the night, we were discussing his upcoming wedding; in an attempt to be uncharacteristically supportive, he said “Just think… in a couple years, it might be you and Bangkok…I mean, Thailand getting married.”

I’d like to officially unofficially change his name to Bangkok, but I think Thailand sounds better, even though Bangkok is much more descriptive.

I had my brother over for dinner the following night, he too asked how it was going with my beau (he doesn’t know his name is Thailand, and he also forgets his actual name). I told him it was going good and that I was still seeing him. He asked when he gets to meet him. I laughed and said “I dunno… I don’t think we’re “there” yet.” He asked “What’s with all the secrets?”. I was like “What secrets? You know about him, so he’s not a secret!”.

His wife pipes up; six weeks into dating my brother, she told her mom that she had started seeing this guy. When her mom found out it had been going on for six weeks and she didn’t know about it, she got mad, asked “Why are you being so secretive?!?” and stormed out of the room. Jacqui looked me straight in the eye and said “SIX WEEKS, Heather!”… I get the feeling that they don’t approve, given that we’re nearly four months in.

That, and Danny said “After all this time, you really should be “there” by now.”

Today I’m supposed to drive Thailand to the airport, which is weird in and of itself. You might be wondering why it’s weird, after all, he drove me to the airport a mere two weeks into our situationship. It’s weird because Thailand doesn’t ask me for anything, let alone driving him to an airport in a whole other country (he’s flying out of Bellingham). He suggested making a day of it and going down so we can have lunch before he has to catch his flight. And then he left his toothbrush at my place. What’s next? He’s going to want to put his things in my drawers?? (… … oh wait, he already does that…)

Back in the saddle? No…

I’ve had to take some time off of dancing. And that makes me very sad. I was in a very minor car accident about six weeks ago; three weeks ago, I had my car repaired and got a courtesy car for five days. The courtesy car wrecked my back.

I guess that’s a bit harsh, my back has had it’s fair share of issues, but it had been doing well for several years. Five days into courtesy car driving, I found myself back in physiotherapy for the first time in nearly 2 years.

I thought I needed a maintenance appointment and I’d be back to my normal self in no time. Turns out, my pelvis is out of alignment (<--- insert Thailand joke here) and I need multiple appointments to fix it. I also have to start doing my physio exercises again to strengthen my core so that my pelvis isn’t just floating around causing my back pain. Something I should have been doing the whole time; physiotherapy is a lifestyle after all.

I took two or three weeks off of dancing while I got my back back up to snuff, but when I returned, so did my back pain. And with a vengeance. So I’ve been forced to take even more time off.

I’m not quite sure what to do with myself now. What did I do before dancing? Besides drinking? I really don’t know.