Days 1-14 off the pill

The first two weeks off the pill have not been as bad as I worried they would be (this is a theme in my life – most things are not as bad as I expect them to be!)

First of all, I have been delighted at how my complexion has cleared up. Maybe my dermatologist and my gynecologist were part of a detailed conspiracy to keep 20-somethings riddled with acne, because the combination of going off the pill and discontinuing my two acne prescriptions has resulted in clearer skin than I’ve had in years. I keep waiting for the other ball to drop, so to speak. I hope I don’t wake up at the one-month mark and look like a monster. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely not going to be a Cover Girl any time soon. I still have acne, just not as much and not as severe. If I do get pregnant, I’m sure that will change.

My hormones have not been out of control as I feared they would be. Mostly, I have felt like myself.

There was one day, though – last Wednesday – when it all felt like way too much. This was the day that, according to my calculations, I should be ovulating. However, I didn’t feel like I was ovulating (silly, right?). The pressure I had been putting on myself and on us to conceive the first month really got to me.

All day at work on Wednesday I felt keyed up, like I was going to crawl right out of my skin. I felt like I had chugged 5 pots of coffee and taken some sort of awful drug. I hadn’t slept the night before. When I got home, the combination of the hormones, the dog we’re watching having an accident, and some other things going on were just too much and I had somewhat of a break down. I felt exactly the way I felt when I was an angsty teenager. I remember then just feeling so ANGRY. I wasn’t angry at anyone or anything, I was just mad and unhappy and had all sorts of negative energy and no idea how to release it.

It doesn’t seem like men understand this. When I was a teenager, my dad would tell me “STOP CRYING”. Now dad, seriously, I can’t stop crying just because you tell me to. There is not a switch in my brain that turns off the waterworks. It’s much more complicated than that. I had an awful flashback to that tune when A got home and said “You just CAN’T get this worked up”. It doesn’t matter if I can’t or if I shouldn’t be so upset. I am upset. Just ride it out with me and please don’t tell me not to feel the way I do. Right? But apparently men’s brains have too large of a “rational” part!

But luckily, just like puberty, Wednesday came and went and now I have returned back to my normal, if still emotional and irrational, self.