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Dear Dairy - I am fucked (28th July Entry)


Dear Dairy - I am fucked  28th July entry

Today was one of those days where everything stacked on top of everything else. Thirty degree heatwave outside, and me inside forgetting the one medication that’s supposed to help with hot flushes. Veoza. The one I take every morning at 7am. The one that goes through the liver so you can’t double dose. And I genuinely thought I might’ve taken it twice. Turns out I didn’t take it at all.

So on the hottest day, I forgot the hot flush pill. And tomorrow I just go back to normal. That’s the whole story. Except it isn’t.

Because I’m on my progesterone days — the worst ones — the ones where I feel sick and my brain just stops. No capacity. No order. No memory. I’m literally something different every hour. A rollercoaster. An ND menopausal rollercoaster. And on days like this, I don’t remember things. I don’t remember conversations. I don’t remember what I’ve done. I don’t remember myself.

I used to be a capable force of life. Now on dip days, I struggle.

This morning I walked into doors, tables, corners — caught my arm three times. Not on purpose. Just because my brain wasn’t firing. When my brain doesn’t function, it just doesn’t. There’s no workaround. No “push through.” It’s like the wires disconnect and I’m left trying to operate machinery I can’t see.

I filmed myself earlier and watching it back was strange. My words didn’t come out right. I couldn’t find order. My eyes didn’t look like me. I didn’t recognize myself. And that’s the part I’m trying to say: I don’t remember. Not in a dramatic way — in a neurological way. Childhood trauma, ND brain, progesterone intolerance, menopause. All of it together. It’s almost debilitating.

Thank God it comes in waves. Thank God it’s not all the time. 

(like God would ever help, he's male)

And if anyone reads this and feels even a bit of it — the forgetting, the heat, the anger that comes out of nowhere, the clumsiness, the brain fog that makes you feel like you’re losing yourself — then maybe it helps to know it’s not just you. It’s not just me. This is a thing. A real thing. And talking about it might help us remember who we are on the days we can’t.

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