Tonight, I thought I'd be in Glasgow celebrating my best friend finishing university, with gin flowing and us talking excitedly about our trip to Paris in November. Instead, I'm in bed popping paracetamol and listening to Lemonade.
It's always been a running joke that I'm overly emotional and I cry at the drop of my hat. Some of my behaviour with men over the years definitely falls into the 'psycho' category. It's a relief to have an explanation for it, as on Monday, I was diagnosed with low oestrogen, polycystic ovaries and pre-diabetes/insulin resistance.
I've started my treatment of hormone patches and supplements coupled with a low carb/high protein diet. My sister has already been through all this, warning me I might get worse before I get better. I'm about to get a lot more tired and pick up every bug going. Within three days, her prediction came true and I'm a walking snot factory.
I'm living in a fog as my body resets. I have no attention span, I've forgotten how to complete simple tasks and interacting with other people is a mountain I need to climb on a daily basis. In some ways, this is the most motivated I've ever been with my writing but I don't have the brainpower to actually do any by the time I get through a full day at work.
The people who love me have been more understanding and supportive than I could have imagined, despite my poor communication skills, paranoia and mood swings. I hope the hormones will do their work next month and I will finally feel like ME, whoever she is.