“Moody” is a word people—namely my husband N—often use to describe me.
I am an irritable person with complex emotions that shift like the sands of the Gobi desert, it’s true. But moody? Give me a better word, please.
I would prefer something a bit more dignified and elegant, like “mercurial,” “saturnine,” or “capricious,” even. I love the latter, because it feels spritely and upbeat, even if it infers an “any way the wind blows” sort of being.
“Moody” just sounds bitchy. It’s a word we mostly only associate with women. To describe a man as moody sometimes infers that he is feminine in some way or weaker than other men, which isn’t supposedly acceptable by societal norms. To me, if a dude is moody, he’s probably got as many complicated emotional issues to work out as I do. It doesn’t mean he’s a bitch or weak, or whatever.
Anyway, that’s beside the point.
My moods and emotions are highly complex beasts, erratic in nature. They are fanciful and fickle. The most enduring quality about them is intensity.
I’m a person of passion. My brother describes me as “times 10,” because most emotions hit me with hot fervor. It doesn’t help that I’m an empath, one who absorbs or osmoses energies or emotions of other people. If someone I care about is heartbroken, my heartbreaks and I’m sullen, sad, or bereft for days. If I meet an aggressively negative, toxic human, it agitates me to anger, or my body rebels in resistance to the negative energy and I fall sick for a day or two, bedridden and sore (usually a mild lupus flare). If I love, I love hard, with abandon and reckless energy. Sometimes it loses me friends, sometimes it drives people away, because they aren’t prepared for the intense openness, honesty, and love of a Mae relationship. If I am betrayed, the anger, resentment, and disappointment hit me like a falling grand piano, and the duplicity follows me like a shadow for months. I hate with fire. I hate few people, but there’s a ton of things in this world to abhor. And the malevolence these things invoke? Well, it’s funny if you’re not on the receiving end, but some people have found it frightening.
Back to moods. I’m in a valley right now. I had an amazing weekend, filled with laughter, drinks, music, deep talks, perverted jokes (my realm of expertise), adventure, danger, thrill, a sunrise, and photography. All in all, an amazing weekend. But today, I woke up sick, sore, my head pounded like a steel drum. My hands, swollen and red, my fingers unable to straighten, I weakly tried to go about my day. My knees creaked painfully. My wrists burned. Putting on makeup was agonizingly slow. Dressing, difficult at best. Work, near impossible to concentrate on. By about 3, I was done. My headache hadn’t improved with food, ibuprofen, or hydration. I dumped about 2 full cups of epsom salt in the bath and soaked for 2 hours.
After the bath, I only felt relief by a smidge, and my head hadn’t stopped hurting. I lay in bed, feeling morose and sorry for myself.
Why. Why, after such an amazing weekend—one of the best in recent memory—would I have a minor lupus flare and this stupid headache? Was it too much good stuff? Was it all that sunlight? I mean, I AM sun sensitive, and I was woefully careless at a friend’s barbecue by not screening up enough. Was there too much mirth and good times?
Here’s the thing about my complicated emotional functions: I am the quintessence of Newton’s Third Law of Motion. “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” For every high, there is an inevitable come down and low. And during these lows, I feel them super deeply. Emotional exhaustion comes over me, which results in physical sickness and torpor, and I withdraw, losing interest in things that usually bring joy or pleasure.
This might be self diagnosing, but I don’t doubt I partially have some bi-polar tendencies. This emotional intensity is rather annoying. Not only has it complicated or ruined friendships, it makes my monthly PMS time unbearable. It makes me sometimes dread doing fun things with people, because I worry about the inevitable withdrawal. I used to just say no to experiences and opportunities to go out because I felt like the comedown wouldn’t be worth it. It got so bad that I made it my 2017 resolution to say ‘yes’ more, and stop being such an asshole to my friends who wanted to go out and do stuff.
Is this just part and parcel of being a woman in this day and age? Is this something that will wear off with time as I age more? Or do I have to live with these stupid ass sensitivities and emotions?
It’s hard having so many damn feelings all the time. It’s hard out there for a Mae.
Hope your week is off to a better start than mine.
Oh yeah, in case you missed it on socials, I have new hair.
Rock on, Lovecats!