Mired or Just Tired?

Today is a weird day. It's the first day of my first period since the miscarriage. While I welcome the renewal that this brings to my body and I am thankful for the sign that my poor system is recovering, it still sucks.

I have been dealt a whopper of a case of PMS this go-round, and I have happily flung it around like monkey poo. Let me tell you - it's been just about as welcome as flung poop. Wildly moody, completely irrational, greasily acne-covered, bloated... the list goes on and on.

Oh, don't let me forget to add 'Itchin' For A Fight', because that's exactly where I am right now. Last weekend, I sniped, snipped and griped at The Man until we (ummmm, me) had a full-blown meltdown. This one was a heartbreaking melange of my deepest fears and most volcanic rages. I spewed forth a diatribe that started with 'I HATE that you have an addiction that involves sex. Now every time you turn me down, all I can see is the list of people that you practically begged for sex.' It continued on with 'I've sublimated what I want sexually for 18 years and now I find out that you're giving it away to every whore on the internet with a digital camera. I see. So it's not that you don't want sex, it's just that you don't want it with me.' I even ended it with a rousing round of 'well, maybe it's time that we both find people who are more interested in meeting our needs.' It would seem that I have a bit of truly poisonous anger lurking just beneath my surface.

The man doesn't even know how to begin to respond to all of this. He's so busy trying to make his life look the way that he thinks it should. He's the one tap dancing now. I'm the one raving about how I feel and how hard this is for me. He's doing his steps and going to his meetings and presenting the front of 'I've got this. It's easy-peasy.'

I wish that in this, he could just be a little bit less male. I wish that he could say 'I had a hard day. I thought about acting out' or 'the step I'm working on makes me feel like a complete asshole'... but he doesn't say those things, and I am left feeling like an overbearing lunatic who wears her heart on her forehead and airs her dirty laundry on the internet.

I just don't know, ya'll. I don't want to give up on The Man or our marriage. I do know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know that I'm tired of worrying that the worst is yet to come. I say that I want to move forward. I complain that I don't know how. I seem to be living out the definition of insanity.