hormones

No. No more birthdays. Please.

- Mel

It’s less than two weeks away from my 36th birthday, and I’m having another identity crisis. It’s like a one-part identity crisis and one-part hormonal meltdown really.

I don’t swear (here) too often, but… HOW THE FUCK AM I TURNING 36?!

Working my way from 35 to 36 hasn’t been too tragic. You know, “Meh. Another birthday.” once I finally got over the last one. I mean, you want a tragedy, you should have been around me when I was approaching 35. Woof. But the closer my next birthday gets, the more I am absolutely. freaking. out. Again. Me, the person who used to LOVE birthdays so much that she celebrated for an entire month.

I’m questioning everything in my life: past choices that I can’t even change if I wanted to (a to-do list of life redos, if you will), relationship ghosts and friends who suck (from a wtf happened kind of perspective), why I can’t find work (am I unmotivated, unexperienced or uneducated?)… sexuality stuff (typical day-in-the-life of a 30-something female with raging hormones). Why I spent so much on my credit card last year to make myself feel better about turning 35? Ugh. I’m both reminiscing too much and hoping for too much. EXPECTING too much. Paying too much in interest. Repeat: questioning everything. Which is destroying my psyche and my mojo. I feel off balance and that All of the Things are amiss.

I am pissed at the world because of it. Because of getting another year older. Or because I feel like my life is unraveling right now because of being older. Fuck. I don’t like being angry. But I’m angry.

To say I need therapy is an understatement.

I had an ultrasound. And now I’m depressed.

- Mel

At some point in a woman’s life, she will have an ultrasound. This is a common practice for pregnant women, but also to determine medical reasons why someone cannot conceive. But, as a non-child bearing (or desire to have them) lady, I never imagined that I’d be in that exam room… with a physician-assisted dildo up my birth canal.

Sure, I can make light of it now, given that there’s seemingly NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. But last week, when I (the doctor) was looking for answers. And I had NO idea what I was in for. Thankfully, a friend enlightened me to the words TRANSVAGINAL on my script. It means exactly what you think it means.

I had a series of tests: pelvic, hormonal blood work, pregnancy testing, and aforementioned ultrasound (two ways!) with no real answer. My “problem” is scanty or non-existing menstruation (My period has been irregular since fall 2011; only having one REAL period in August of this past year). Birth control could be to blame… inconclusive (until I decide if I want to “try” going off it to see if it is, in fact, a happy side effect.) I’ve been on some form of pill since I was 17 — this particular brand for almost 4 years — but then I started experiencing severe pain and pressure in my abdomen. Cramping with no bleeding. Really severe mood swings. I was scared… and after the appointment, depressed.

I can’t explain the depression, but was told from several people that it’s normal when anticipating test results. I’ve been in a certain funk and mood that still remains a week later. I’m talking it out with my significant other, which helps to have someone listen to me vent and ramble (oh, I’m sure he appreciates hearing ALL about the random ways my body hates me… not). But I’m still struggling to understand WHY or WHAT I’m feeling.

We don’t talk enough about the difficulties and emotions associated with infertility and menstruation disruption or possible early menopause that all sadly occur to many 30-somethings. WHY DON’T WE?! I’d really appreciate some of your thoughts and feelings in the comments, so we all can commiserate about our experiences and emotions in one place.

Birthday Milestones & Growing Up

- Mel

It’s not my birthday, but someone close to me is celebrating her 30th — or “Dirty Thirty” as she termed it — and I was invited to the shindig… in Vegas.

The only city in the country I never want to step another foot into.

I’ve been twice — the first, in my late 20s, on a sisters vacation during Halloween. It was a blast and perfect for four siblings in various stages of relationships (me = single). The second, was my birthday celebration. Number 32 (me = newly coupled with the guy I remain with today).

That 32nd birthday there was spent practically by myself, after friends who frequently travel (there and otherwise) backed out of the adventure plans. I had a couple friends there to party with, but they stayed in another hotel, further down the Strip, and I constantly felt like a fifth wheel. They were from Denver; me, living in Ohio at the time; and they also left a day earlier than me, so I drank by the pool alone for my last day of vacation. The one girl who took all the pictures of that trip NEVER SENT ME PICS. Never tagged me on Facebook. Lame.

I seriously made the offering to acquiantances I partied with to “just fly here; the room is already paid for!” And yet, no takers. I was in aforementioned-happy relationship, but desperately wanted a “friends trip” (I’ve still never been invited on one, which depresses me); I even invited the boyfriend out with me at the last minute (he couldn’t go).

It was one of the loneliest vacations of my life (this, from a person who traveled to Europe by herself). And, sadly, I learned a lot about friendships surrounding that incident. That one trip essentially changed my life in a completely different way I imagined. I was in my 30s, and it was time to grow up. And I did.

So, when I hear of people going to Vegas for some big Life Event or Age Turning, I make that face.

Or something…

I have no desire to return to this City of Lights. It’s probably not Vegas’ fault, but I hate it there. I mean, truly loath. I associate it with so much negativity — and I refuse to have that sort of energy in my life. Let’s be frank here too, I’m definitely not into that sort of club scene anymore (not even close) and somebody reaching the Big 3-0 milestone seems SO. MUCH. YOUNGER. than where I am right now (yes, I said it out loud! feel free to smack me!).

So much different than what I am now.

Gah. Have you reached that point in your 30s where you feel so much *gulp* older? Do you have a city that you refuse to return to, for one reason or another?