I hate PMS. No, really, I hear you girls out there who are silently agreeing with me. The cravings, the bloating, the acne. But this hatred, for me, it goes way deeper than that. Each time I get so much as a pimple I know what's coming. It's not just Aunt Flo for me kids. It's a sign of defeat. Again. It's mother nature giving me the middle finger. The "take that beotch", rub-it-in-my-face kind of attitude my life keeps handing me left and right. Because ultimately, it's another failed attempt to have another baby.
I told myself that I wasn't going to do this, get all bitchy and stuff, after the miscarriage heard round the world, but I blame those evil hormones that come with the teenage acne I'm experiencing at the moment and I am pissed as hell. Because the last two and a half months of my life have been more fucked up than any one person can possible imagine and I was just hoping with all hope that maybe, just maybe, on some karmic level, all the B.S we have endured as a family, could possibly be painted with a tiny silver lining.
Fuck you PMS, and the horse you rode in on...
blah, blah, ya sure, don't stress about it and whatnot feel good crap y'all are thinking. Save it for a couple weeks and tell me then. Mmmmkay?
With love BITTER Betty.
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