I’m slowly starting to feel like myself again. I still feel a little numb and distant but not as encapsulated in the heavy fog. All my creative processes were completely disrupted by this – and I’ve lost some momentum and mojo, but I’ll do what it takes to get it back.

I’m very grateful for the internship at the gallery, I am having so much fun! The gallery has been my sanctuary during this heavy week. Not only because the work itself is stimulating but also because it’s a boost to my self-esteem and confidence. When I get affected by the hormone storm, I lose some of it. I feel weak, fatigue, vulnerable and a little lost. But through the work, I’m reminded of my strength, capability, my intellect and my talent. Whatever feels impossible is only a momentary malfunction in the brain system – I know I am capable of anything I set my mind to – and instead of dwelling on feeling like things are impossible I have to remind myself that I’mpossible. That’s a good word, a little cheesy perhaps, but still a good mantra.

And even when life is hard – I don’t lose my good qualities. They are still there, hiding under the fog of self doubt and twisted hormones.

Now I have some orientation to do. I need to get back to where I left off before the disruption. Back to the new painting. The digital piece about house roots. Back to writing on this blog again. I’ve missed it all. I’ve missed you as well.

The fog of nothingness

There are no real thoughts in my mind at the moment. It’s almost all blank. There’s a heavy fog covering everything I have inside. It’s all buried underneath the monthly hormones. The only thoughts I can make out in the fog are fragmented and vague. I can’t think straight. I can’t create. This will all pass in a few days but it’s a nightmare while it’s happening. I feel isolated within myself and almost completely encapsulated in the fog of nothingness and numbness.

It’s not fair that some women have to suffer from this every month, there’s no cure or even something to make it feel better. Some doctors prescribe antidepressants but I refuse to take pills like that just because my hormones are acting up. The side effects are way worse than the symptoms of what I am going through anyway. It’s silly. If this was a problem for men, they would’ve come up with a miracle cure a long time ago. But as all other “women’s issues”, we’re stuck with neglect and silence. It’s just not that important.

All I have to do now, is to wait.

For the fog to leave.

Until I’ll get my life back.


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My day has been all about rain and words. In the afternoon I suddenly felt anxious, so I redecorated my bedroom in hopes of a change of style – and mood. My PMS is here again. Perhaps that’s why I cried after I finished the 5th season of Girls. Or perhaps I cried because I think Lena Dunham is so damn talented. Her writing inspires me a lot. I think the 5th season was the best one yet. Can’t wait for the 6th and last season.

I’ve been resting in bed, reading, all night. I’m also studying the writing while reading it. The style. Rhythm. Flow. Effect. I’ve always been self taught in every creative area, this is the way I learn how to express myself; I study, ponder, turn the information into my own version of the techniques and styles – and ponder some more until I let it out in my creative process. Watching movies, reading books, studying art is how I shape my own artistic voice. They are my teachers. I learn fast, I observe well and I transform it to my own thing in a way that feels natural and intuitive. I will sleep soon, so that I can leave my anxious demons to rest. Bad hormones is like poison to an artist mind.

The grey fog of PMDD


 It is the second day of slipping in and out of various dark holes. The monthly attack of the obscure hormones of PMDD happened again last night. It’s a terrifying reality inside reality for some women, like myself. But few women talk about it and practically nobody knows it even exists. It’s like PMS but with the emotional rollercoaster ride of the bipolar disorder and the sadness of pure grief. Even if it only lasts a few days every month, when it goes away you are left with the consequences of alienation and days of unproductiveness. And the feelings of shame and confusion.


It hits you during the time of ovulation. One minute you are fine – and the next you are falling down a deep and dark rabbit hole to a wonderland of hopelessness, covered in a thick, suffocating fog. Suddenly you are not able to relate to your world of familiar things, the people you love and your own positive feelings. The things you hold dear loses its colors and suddenly you can’t remember why you ever liked them. You can’t distinguish love from fear. Love is a faraway land and you’ve lost the map to get there. The food taste like dirt. You crave silence but if it’s broken, you feel hostile and confused. Every sound is threatening. A stab wound in your mind. Of course it’s a perfect disposition for arguments and conflicts. It’s like that horror movie cliché where a woman is caught in a cobweb and she’s trying to get out but only making herself more entangled in the sticky net. And the fog is closing in, surrounding you, locking you inside it while you’re fighting to get disentangled from the spider’s web.


Finally, you are so deep into the fog, so caught in the web that the only thing you you are able hear is your own breaths. You are there, in the world, and the hormones are spreading like a poison in your veins but nobody can see this isolation, the entrapment or the fog. Only you. Panic. And desperation. A conflict of consciousness. Two realities meshing, colliding, feeding off each other, destroying one another – melting and tearing at each other. Like two overlapping films, burning and melting into one distorted collection of sequences.


After a few days, the fog lightens and then it’s suddenly gone. You are disentangled from the web. The air is clear and you can breathe without inhaling fear. You can speak without chocking on the words as if they are swollen and doesn’t fit your throat. Your mind is open. Until next month of course, when the whole nightmare will repeat itself again.

The dark corner of womanhood is natural but feels so otherworldly. We shouldn’t have to feel shame on top of the struggle some of us are facing every month. It’s hard to reach us when we are lost in the fog, but it’s even harder for us to reach out and feel the lightness of reality.


The monthly invasion of excruciatingly intense hormones and anxiety has once again interrupted my process of self therapy. I feel all messed up – over emotional and numb at the same time. But in this break I am able to reflect on what I’m going through and to acknowledge the hard work I’m doing, which I’m usually taking for granted.

Spring is somehow leaking through the chilly winds outside my window. It’s still cold out but I can feel a change coming on. I feel just as restless as spring to unfold and blossom with everything I am.


I am thinking about how I found love while looking for it in other places. I’m still so used to destructive relationships that I am having a hard time trusting all the wonderfulness of this love story. I’m learning how to accept love and to trust another person. It is almost as difficult as the process of my self-empowerment. Or perhaps it’s part of it. I feel extremely emotional as soon as I am thinking about him. We are quite different but we share many qualities, especially how we always filter life through our thoughts and hearts and allow details to be as significant as the whole. There is a sense of sensuality in that. We both experienced an interruption of innocence somewhere early in life, and we are slowly repairing it together in each other and in ourselves. We are like a scaffolding to each other’s heart, creating a support system so we can heal and grow. Like the crutches holding the characters together in Dali’s paintings.


It is a beautiful love. Not harsh or indifferent like the ones in my past. It’s like we are growing up together, although we are already adults. I wonder what that will do to the passive Lolitas in my art.

Today, I will simply let the anxious hormones pass through me as if am a train station. All the emotions are warped and colored with high sensitivity and conflicting meanings. Tomorrow I hope I’ll wake up to be more in control of my inner activities.