Peri-Peri Disease

You want honesty? Book an affordable hotel room and then go look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Do I not have true friends? How many rouge facial hairs will a girl have to sprout before someone will gently recommend their favorite barber. Because that's what I need now.
Gone are the days of a quick, cute pluck from the brow. "Oh, why look at that little straggler!" We're checking cheeks and chins these days. What I need now could be best described as grooming shears - wire cutters, even. And again, how did this happen so quickly? And so young! Am I not barely out of high school? 

Rage is a new sensation I'm experiencing. Its often not aimed at anything. I'll be sitting, minding my own, when red hot aggravated energy washes through my blood stream. I'm infuriated - at nothing. And then it subsides. After all, nothing was wrong. It's like the panic attacks. Those weren't about anything. Am I going insane? Maybe my brain is sick. I do see things moving in my peripheral vision. It's easy to write it off as one of my many cats (another symptom?) but when I look, there is no one there. And by the way, do you smell smoke? Who is following me around with a lit cigarette?

I'm not done. 

Other problems: a workout I did easily last week will be marked incomplete this week. My strength seems to only be  available according to an unreliable A/B schedule. And why is my heart racing? What is that sharp electric zap in my chest? Also I have a little pimple farm up by my hair line. And the brain fog. "You know ma'am, I can't actually remember my birthday. Is there a different security question? I promise I really am her!" 

Who's body have I been dropped into? And why don't they tell you this is going to happen? The night sweats alone could irrigate a small lawn. "Oh menopause? You'll be hot for a bit and then you'll run out of eggs [like a lizard] and can't have any kids." 

Well that sounds easy enough.

This is why people have trust issues. You mean the perpetually reliable, strong and ready body that I have lived in for 36 years, that has never missed a morning poo, never failed to carry the groceries in on one trip, that never bloated even once, that could enjoy a single, celebratory margarita without needing intensive care the next day, that never forgot a birthday... that brain that kept negative feelings at bay, that never got mad enough to lash out or sad enough to cry at a commercial, dextrous pain-less fingers, eyes that can focus up close... you mean all of that just ends in a two month window and no one warns you? Frankly I'm appalled. 

I saw a menopause specialist last month. I am in perimenopause, the build-up to menopause. All that that I just mentioned, all those things that have happened to me in the last few months or so, those are typical, minor symptoms. 
And I'm just supposed to carry on like I know how to tend to his body. 

I don't know this body. It doesn't do right. It doesn't respond to the things I've always done. It's like having to learn a new language now, but if you try out the wrong word, you may have to go see a joint specialist to undo what you did. Because this body doesn't heal linearly, oh no, it swaps out aliments for new sensations, fat pads that erupt in the night and settle into odd locations before you wake up in the morning. Itchy inner ears. The gentle suggestion that something is on fire.

And have I mentioned that I smell? Because I do. Forget deodorant. I need a chlorine gas to neutralize the smell of my existence. 

Oh, and my face - yes, the hotel mirror that set off this whole rant; I can see it beginning its gentle descent from 30,000 feet. Nothing major. No emergency landing. Just a subtle shift, as if gravity has discovered me personally. I have always claimed to be excited about aging. I imagined myself as a fabulous older woman with strong opinions and a dramatic coat. But suddenly it is here and it kind of hurts. 

And my friends are getting minor cosmetic tweaks. They look shiny and polished, as though someone has buffed them lightly with a soft cloth. I, too, would like to be buffed. But I also resent the idea of participating in society’s “Forever 29 Pageant.”

I just thought I had more time before I’d have hip pain and thinning hair, before I had to do protein math to keep the osteoporosis at bay. (Doc says I'm a shoo-in for ol' Osteo.) I don’t feel like I’m done being young yet… but what does that even mean? 

And when I tell all this to people (of all ages and genders) they dismiss it, because I'm too young. The dismissal is one of the worst parts of the whole ordeal. "You're just tired. Well you don't eat enough. That's not what it is, you're too young."

Well I'm not. I've done the research and talked to the specialist - she suggested HRT.

But don't listen to me, I was born yesterday.

Leave it to the harsh light of a hotel bathroom to be more honest with you than your friends.