Monday morning and I wake struggling and screaming from a psychotic nightmare, drag myself out of bed, knock back painkillers for my agonised lower body, then lie in a scalding bath until their blunting effect kicks in.As for my mood, depressed doesn’t even begin to cut it. I feel cripplingly miserable, barely energetic enough to dress.Of course, objectively, I can see that it’s a glorious spring morning. However, for me, there’s no objective about it. I’m almost 53, a week into my latest period and as wretchedly hormonal as a 15-year-old awaiting a maths test. Or should I say biology? Today’s question: ‘Why the hell am I still having long, regular, painful periods as I stagger towards my mid-50s?’
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