Wrong Side of the Bed - A Short Story
- Eloise Jones
- 8 hours ago
- 11 min read
Author's Note: The experience of Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder is a difficult one to explain. It’s watching your life unfold through a filter of irrational rage and negativity for two weeks, every month. It’s knowing that your extreme, negative thoughts and dysphoric feelings are irrational, but feeling powerless against stopping them. This story aims to place the reader inside the mind of a PMDD sufferer to properly portray the mental struggles they face on a regular basis.
07:12, day 9 of 28
The golden wash of sunrise bathed the bedroom in a soft, buttery glow that made the dust motes dance. Such a soft, buttery glow, in fact, that Rosie didn’t even squint as she roused from sleep, reaching out her arms in a feline stretch and shaking the dregs of slumber from her body. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she rolled into her boyfriend’s side of the bed, breathing his scent from the pillow and settling comfortably back into the sheets to watch the sun ascend over the horizon.
It had been his brainchild, this whole ‘sleeping with the curtains open’ malarkey. ‘The Dutch Method,’ he’d called it. Something he’d seen online that promised improved circadian rhythm, mental health, community connection and blah blah blah. Rosie wasn’t convinced just yet, but with every inch that the sun crept up, her doubts melted further away. It would’ve been the perfect way to wake up, had Eddie been there to cuddle into. To bring her a coffee, envelop her in his warm embrace and natter the morning away between sleepy giggles and gentle kisses.
But, like every other weekday morning, he’d slipped out at the very break of dawn for the early shift at work, so Rosie instead settled for her natural wake-up call, her warm bed and the promise that she’d see him soon.
Outside the window of their little bungalow, the morning glare had softened, paving the way for a clear view outside, where the neighbours’ rubbish bins were all lined up in a neat row. The middle, however, bore an almighty gap, like the smile of a child who’d just lost their first tooth. Groaning, Rosie dragged herself from bed, stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers and rushed outside in her pyjamas to drag their bin into formation. Thank God for the Dutch method, she thought. But it was okay. She’d beaten the bin men and, for that, she was grateful.
She made her way back inside, kicked off her slippers and snuggled back into bed. Snatching her phone from the bedside table, she thumbed a message to Eddie:
‘Did you forget to do something this morning?? Can’t wait to see you later. Have a good day, love you x’
07:12, day 24 of 28
A sleepy, irritated grimace twisted Rosie’s features as she rolled out of bed, yanking the curtains closed against the harsh light of the morning sun. ‘Better for your mental health,’ her boyfriend, Eddie, had claimed when he’d suggested keeping them open the previous night. The only thing that would benefit my mental health right now would be some more God damned sleep, she thought. Clambering back into bed, Rosie wrapped the sheets around her body and closed her eyes, willing herself to succumb once more to the heavy cloak of darkness that blanketed the bedroom.
But it was futile. Heart racing and mind reeling, she was far too tuned into her body for sleep to find her again. Where moments ago she existed in a deep and dreamless slumber, it was now all she could do to ignore the subtle twinge that pestered her lower abdomen, or the pressure that was building behind her eyes. No, sleep was far, far away. She needed painkillers. Quickly.
Dragging herself from bed, Rosie stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers and slumped into the kitchen, plucking a fresh packet of paracetamol from the cupboard and popping two from the flimsy foil. She gazed out of the window behind the kitchen sink with sleep-heavy eyes, pouring a glass of water when she noticed. There, in the back garden. A coke can poking out of its half-closed lid like a little, red tongue, mocking her. The dustbin.
With a tightly clenched jaw, she slammed her glass down on the counter and shook her head in disbelief, choking back the angry sound that bubbled up her throat and brought tears with it. She drew a deep, shaky breath through her nose, and blew it out of her mouth with pursed lips. I’m not going to cry I’m not going to cry I’m not going to cry, she told herself. Because, after all, why would she cry? It was just a bin and it was just one week and they were such a good team 99% of the time that it would be ridiculous to hold this against him. Irrational, even.
Still, she couldn’t stop the cascade of tears as she heard the low rumble of the bin wagon outside, getting louder and louder as it approached the street. An agitated scream burst from her throat and she stalked into the bedroom, painkillers forgotten. She snatched up her phone from the bedside table and thumbed a message to Eddie:
‘If you can’t be arsed to look after our house I don’t know why you bother living in it. You had one job.’
16:57, day 9 of 28
“Hey, Rosie?” Her manager’s voice called from the back office. “Can I have a quick word before you shoot off?”
It had been non-stop at the hotel all day. Guest after guest, phone call after phone call, email after email. An unrelenting, endless stream of people requiring her attention. And Rosie absolutely loved it. There was something about the busy days that made her thrive. Maybe it was the fact that time just flew. Maybe it was the smile she had to keep on her face in the name of customer service, helping her to maintain a good mood all day. Either way, she loved her job, and she was good at it, too.
She’d just sent the last guest in her mile-long queue off to their room and had tidied her station before she headed out to the back office. “Hey, Michelle,” she said, smiling. “What can I do for you?”
“You did really great today. I know it’s not easy out there when you’re being pulled in every direction, but you handled it really well. You should be proud of yourself,” Michelle replied. Rosie beamed.
“That being said, I just need you to make sure you’re always prioritising the people in front of you, okay? The emails can wait and I can take the calls, just focus on the guests at the desk so you don’t end up with a queue. It’s not a great look for us when we’re backed up. Is that alright?”
Rosie nodded and smiled. “Yeah, of course, no problem. Thanks for the feedback.”
“Okay, Rosie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night.”
“Thanks for a great shift, Michelle! See you tomorrow.”
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Rosie made for the door, exhaustion etched into her brow and a satisfied smile dancing on her lips.
16:57, day 24 of 28
“Hey, Rosie?” Her manager’s voice called from the back office. “Can I have a quick word before you head off?”
Can I not catch my breath first? Rosie thought to herself as she dragged her feet to greet her boss. The shift at the hotel had been non-stop. There was something about the busy shifts that she relished in, usually. The quick pace, the constant turnaround of new faces, the subtle satisfaction of solving guests’ grievances. But today, she just wanted a rest. A small reprieve from the barrage of enquiries that demanded her plastered-on smile and sickly-sweet customer service voice. All the while, plagued with the persistent twisting pain in her lower abdomen and thoughts of the confrontation with Eddie she was going home to.
Still, she forced her mouth into a mechanical, drawn-on smile that didn’t meet her eyes, smoothed down her ghastly, blue uniform and made her way into the back office, where her manager awaited her with a worried smile.
“Is everything okay? You really don’t seem yourself today,” Michelle asked. Her patronising drawl set Rosie’s teeth on edge.
“Yeah, fine,” she clipped back.
“Okay, well I just need you to make sure you’re always prioritising the people in front of you, okay? The emails can wait and I can take the calls, just focus on the guests at the desk so you don’t end up with a queue. It’s not a great look for us when we’re backed up. Is that alright?.”
Rosie blinked–an attempt to hide her disbelief.
She’d given everything to this job. Dropped plans to help out where needed. All her fake smiles and fake charm and fake laughs. The fake wellness and fake face-full-of-makeup and fake desire to even really be there at all. She’d given them everything. And in return? Criticism after criticism after criticism.
“Look, Michelle, on second thoughts, I’m really not feeling great, actually. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it in tomorrow.”
Michelle’s brows furrowed in false concern, which only stoked the fire that burned in Rosie’s chest.
“Okay, take all the time you need. Can I get you some water? Do you need me to call someone to pick you up?
“No, no. That’s okay. I’ll see you… in a couple of days,” Rosie mumbled before slinging her bag over her shoulder and making her way out of the door.
18:16, day 9 of 28
Music blared and the sun hung low in the sky, bathing the kitchen in the same golden light Rosie had woken up to that morning. She threw herself around her kitchen dancefloor, belting lyrics and swinging hips, stopping only to scrape her wooden spoon against the bottom of her pan to keep her pasta sauce from sticking. She’d never been a great singer–or dancer, for that matter–but, hell, she’d give it a fair crack, particularly when she was cooking up a storm.
She paused her one-woman show to taste her sauce when the door slammed open, jolting her back to reality and sending pasta sauce flying down her t-shirt and onto the floor. She looked up from the mess to see Eddie, standing in the doorway with an amused grin on his face, arms flung wide.
Mess forgotten, she bounded over to him and threw herself into his embrace, his body swallowing hers.
“I’ve missed you today,” she mumbled into his chest.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead before continuing with a chuckle: “but we need to get that cleaned up.”
They worked in tandem, her with the cloth and him with the mop, until the messy square of laminate floor was squeaky clean once again. Rosie turned her music down and returned to the stove.
“Smells delicious,” Eddie told her as he grabbed a clean spoon and dipped it into the pasta sauce. His hum of approval made Rosie smile, and she swatted his hand away.
“It’s nearly ready, greedy. Sit down, I’ll plate up.”
Circling Rosie’s waist with his arms, Eddie pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Do you think you could save me some for later instead? The boys are going for a drink tonight. I’ve not seen them in a while.”
Rosie laughed and turned to face him, planting a kiss on his lips. “Yes, of course I can save you some. Go have fun. I’ll see you later.”
18:16, day 24 of 28
Cooking was cathartic for Rosie. There was something about the process of chopping, stirring, sauteeing that always calmed her down. Maybe it was the method. The routine. The repetition. She wasn’t sure. But as she hummed along quietly to the gentle music, the kitchen blind pulled low to temper the blaze of the evening sun against her pulsing headache, she felt more at peace than she had done all day.
She was just bringing the spoon to her lips for a taste when the door slammed open, jolting her back to reality and sending pasta sauce flying down her t-shirt and onto the floor. She looked up from the mess to see Eddie, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, for God’s sake, look what you’ve made me do,” she spat as she grabbed a cloth and dropped to her knees, dabbing up the mess.
“Nice to see you too,” her boyfriend grumbled, slumping into a chair at the dinner table.
Ignoring his comment, Rosie ensured the last of the pasta sauce had been cleared from the floor before turning back to the stove. Tension hung thick in the air like an angry, black smoke cloud.
“Good day?” He asked.
“Not really,” she grumbled.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Yes please. Let me say sorry and talk about how busy I’ve been and how much my stomach hurts whilst you hold me tight and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
“Not really.”
Eddie sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Look, I’m really sorry I forgot to take the bins out this morning. It just slipped my mind, I was in a rush, I promise it won’t happen again.”
Rosie laughed dryly before turning to face him, folding her arms across her chest.
“It had better not happen again, Eddie. I do not have time in the day to cover your responsibilities on top of mine.”
“Oh, be fair, Rose, it was a mistake. It’s not like I don’t pull my weight around the house. I was in a rush and I’ve said I’m sorry. Now can we just move on, please?”
“Sorry won’t take the bins out, Eddie. This is your house too, and you’d ought to start treating it that way.”
Eddie scoffed and rose from his seat. “I actually can’t deal with you when you’re like this. I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.” And with that he left, slamming the door behind him.
“Yeah, that’s it. Run off, again,” Rosie shouted after him, tears springing to her eyes. She slumped into the chair he’d just left and put her head in her hands, her body shaking with sobs. It was hard and it hurt. Because she couldn’t deal with herself when she was like this, either.
20:03, day 9 of 28
Spending time with Eddie was one of Rosie’s favourite hobbies.
But spending time by herself was her favourite hobby.
Settled into the sofa, she pulled a thick, woolen blanket up to her chest, took a small sip from her glass of white wine and cracked open her journal. It was something she tried to do every day, so that when the days got dark, she could remember all the reasons she loved to be alive. Some days, she wrote about the way the leaves felt when they crunched beneath her shoes. Other days, she wrote about the bar of chocolate Eddie bought for her when he went through the petrol station.
But today she was writing about the golden wash of the sun in the morning and the Dutch method and the fact she beat the binmen. She wrote about the opportunity to continue improving at work and dancing around the kitchen and cleaning pasta sauce off the floor with the man she loved. She wrote that life was beautiful and everything was going to be okay and she hoped that one day, in the very near future, she could read it to herself on a dark, dark day and be reminded that she could get through it. She had to get through it, so she could keep having days like these.
20:03, day 24 of 28
The quiet was unbearable when she was by herself at night. She cranked the volume up on the TV but all it did was make her head hurt. Her phone dinged with a notification and she scrambled to grab it, hoping, praying that it was Eddie, wanting to talk and smooth things over.
It was Michelle.
‘I hope you’re feeling a better. Take the time you need and let us know if there’s anything we can do. M’
Rosie yelled out and threw her phone against the wall before burying her head in her blanket and starting to cry again.
The kindness of other people was so painfully unbearable because she was so painfully undeserving. She was cruel and unkind and nothing but a ball of burning rage that destroyed everything it touched.
She wanted to be asleep but her stomach hurt so badly and she couldn’t switch her brain off and truly wondered if she even really deserved to be there at all. She wondered how she had any friends left or whether she deserved anything good in life or whether, actually, she just brought misery to those around her. She wondered if Eddie would ever come home or if she’d still have a job to go to in the morning, or if she even wanted either of those things to happen because life would be far easier if she didn’t have people close to hurt or let down. She wondered why she was like this. She wondered how a young woman – someone who had been described as bright and bubbly and Rosie – could exist in such a violent hurricane of self-destruction that, when the dark days came, she didn’t even recognise herself anymore.
She opened her journal. It was day 24 of day 28, and Rosie didn’t know if she wanted to see day 28.
This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.