Oestrogen For You To Say

I'm not keen on weekends at the best of times. All that enforced relaxation, time to do things in and around the home, sit for hours waiting for the phone to ring, hoping someone somewhere remembers I exist followed by sustained stroking of the scabby cat, the weekend's only companion. Perhaps a little rocking motion. Some faint and prolonged moaning. A tear. Sobs.

This weekend was worse. My mood wouldn't lift, weighed down with the heaviest and blackest of black thoughts. I had to force myself to go to places where people gathered, to protect myself from my own actions.

Imagine my relief then, when I woke up Sunday morning in pain, a sickening feeling at the pit of my stomach. Who knew Feminax could cure suicide?

PS. To the friend that helpfully suggested my extreme hormonal imbalances may be the onset of the menopause - try fucking saying that when not separated by a phone line.