Hello thread. I need a hug.
I've thought I was peri-menopausal for a while, and about 2 years ago, my pituitary hormone level was shown to be high (we were testing it to see if it was causing the general mentalness). Only just high, so possibly the start of something, but not enough to consider intervention. Plus, I have major problems with hormones anyway, so can't have any form of HRT (being on the pill made me self-harmy).
Fast forward to this year. I'm now being treated for severe depression/bipolar (we're still not sure). All was 'well' until the doc put me on venlofaxine. It stopped my period (I'd vaguely started the day I started taking it) and then when it happened it was joyously light. I then started reacting to the venlofaxine in the way young people do - I'm nearly 37 - well outside of the danger range for it, but I was suicidal, self harming, the rage was getting more and more passionate and uncontrollable.
On the other hand, I was turned on almost constantly - I went from having a hard to reach g-spot (tucked behind my pubic bone; thanks a lot, Mother nature), to one that was so prominent I could orgasm just by lying down on my front and breathing in.
Still, not worth it for the rest of the gubbins, so with discussion with the doctor, I came off it. Felt better.
Until, oh good God in heaven, the first real flooding experience of my life today. It's like 6 months worth of period have just turned up. Fortunately, I was walking down the stairs at work having finished for the day. I thought I was probably a bit sweaty because I'd just put a super tampon in and was wearing a sanitary towel so couldn't possibly have leaked. Just in case, I nipped into the loos at the bottom of the stairs. As I took my jeans down, the force of blood pushed the tampon out. Blood everywhere. I was sat there, blood all over, dripping into the loo, thinking, in a detatched way 'I have no clue at all what to do now. No clue at all.'
It took two flushes to get rid of the pink tinge of the water.
In the end, I realised there was sweet fuck all I could do but go home. It's a hot day, so I didn't have a coat to wrap around myself. I just walked out to the car trying not to move my legs too much, hoping that the general passers by wouldn't glance at my crotch for no reason at all. Navy blue jeans saved my dignity entirely.
Got home. Instantly shot into the shower. Salted my jeans (oo, tip for anyone who doesn't know it; cold water and table salt for blood - mustn't be hot or that cooks and sets it). Wrapped myself up. Felt a bit sorry for myself. Remembered this thread and hoped I'd get some sympathetic solidarity nods.
And the kicker is, because of the head-meds I'm still on, I can't have any alcohol. And I've eaten my bodyweight in biscuits already, so now feel queasy. I'm hoping DH agrees to curry tonight because holy cow I really don't feel like standing next to the hob for half an hour.