Dear PMS

What the hell? You again?
My Mirena IUD is clearly ceasing to spit out enough hormones because you're back. Last month about this time my tits felt like they were going to explode. I was so confused that I thought I was pregnant.
Since it's been 10 years since I had PMS I'd forgotten the hell that is you. Then brown gunk started collecting in my underwear. Oh yeah, periods. I forgot about that too. I don't even own tampons it's been so long. I was so slick on the birth control pills for the 5 years before I got knocked up that I hadn't had one of those since 1997.
Ok, it was wimpy, but it still sucked. At least my tits stopped hurting.
PMS, you are my sworn enemy. I remember the lost days when I was a teenager, in bed puking and bleeding through to the mattress, my pelvis in a vise. I remember that bathroom stall in Berlin when I got my first period in 9 months after weighing 95 pounds on the track team, thinking I was bleeding to death. My mother told me it was all in my head.
Funny. My head felt fine.
Even more unwelcome was the day when I was 19 when I puked at work, went home to bed on Motrin and Alice Cooper's "Only Women Bleed" came on the radio.
That was spooky.
Remember that stage when I had cramps on the start line and spent the first 20 miles strongly considering crossing the yellow line just to put myself out of my own misery? Then I bled through my chamois to my white Turbo saddle and still finished in the money? That was a real Uta Pippig moment.
PMS. You are mean. Period. You are gross.
As I type, PMS, my breasts are so engorged and sharp with pain I keep checking them to make sure there are not knitting needles sticking out of them.
I figured out after that BS last month in a couple days I'll get one of those wimpy old lady periods again.
This isn't funny anymore. Knock it off. I'm old.