Why sometimes it’s just harder being a woman over 45

As if life isn’t difficult enough when suffering depression, women over the age of 45 (and sometimes younger) find that their bodies and minds begin to betray them in other ways also.

Not only does their skin begin losing elasticity but hormones begin to run rampant as women the world over begin to experience something called “peri-menopause”. This horrid affliction acts without respect for race, religion or sexuality. Apparently in order to prepare a woman’s body for the big M. Seriously? As if we want to actually ‘prepare’ for that!!
I keep coming back to the fact that the word starts with ‘men’. Tell me that there is nothing sinister about that!! 😛

So as we begin to reach that wonderful age of 50, our bodies decide that we are becoming too old to be mothers of babies and the begin taking steps to move us into old age. Many of us go kicking and screaming – all whilst experience hot flushes (or flashes if you live in the U.S), memory loss and the insanity caused by hormones on a rampage.
Don’t get me wrong. I look forward to aging.
I have no argument with wrinkles.
I rejoice in the splash of white that is on the left side of my head (like someone has hit me with a paintbrush in one spot).
I look forward to my twilight years.
What I don’t enjoy is the torture I have been enduring for too many of the past years (and apparently the ‘best’ is still to come).

Flicking through my journal this morning I found an entry dated June 2010 where I am questioning myself and my sanity. As I said before, some of this most certainly is depression based but I know that it wasn’t the root cause of all this. In my journal, I questioned my ability to find happiness and contentment and expressed feelings of being overwhelmed. I berated myself for being too emotional and not achieving perfection. I was emotional at not getting a good night’s sleep because I was waking every hour and then laying staring at the insides of my eyelids attempting to get back to sleep. I ended the entry by saying that I felt like I was only giving 75% of myself to everyone because when I was at work, I was thinking of home and vice versa. I wasn’t being fair on anyone.

The very next entry begins “What a difference a day makes. I feel right now as if my hormones have taken a holiday finally and allowed my normal self back. It’s debilitating wanting to cry, yell or scream all the time and not having a good reason why. I feel like I am losing my mind at times when my hormones are raging… finally tonight, I feel my sanity returning.”

As I said yesterday that if what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I should look like Arnold S. before he hit the big screen (I am not going to attempt to spell his surname and you all know who I mean anyway). Maybe if I was a male things would be a little easier though? I guess that one is open to debate and I’m sure there are a few of you out there who will no doubt set me straight on this assumption but I’m going with the idea that some days I wish I was a man.
In the meantime, I suffer the lows of depression and combine this with that big ‘M’ word that is a curse on the lips of womankind.
I sweat during the chill of winter.
I cry rivers for no apparent reason.
I scratch myself silly because my skin crawls.
I can’t keep my legs still or get them comfortable at night.
I wake up to look at the clock and then reflect on the backs of my eye lids.
I forget why I walked into a room.
I cringe when someone says “Can you remind me….”
I fill my desk with post-it notes so I don’t forget the important stuff the boss wants done.
I write lists.
I forget where I parked the car.
I go shopping for a particular item and come home with everything but what I went out for.

I am a woman nearing 50 (and I have depression).
Welcome to my world.