My name is Toni, and I suffer from PMS.
Well, actually my family and friends and acquaintances suffer more than I do. FAR more.
One day a month, I get crabby. But every now and then, I get a 6 million dollar bionic version of crabby that has me plotting physical harm against anyone and anything that gets in my way. It doesn't last long but it doesn't need to -- it drags me around raving and screaming like the Tasmanian Devil in Bugs Bunny cartoons. Destructive. Fast. Ugly. And I hate it.
I fully get why women can find themselves on murder charges and use a PMS defence. (not that I've actually TRIED to kill anyone. Except my ex. I stabbed him with a kitchen knife one time. But that wasn't PMS, it was because he's a dick. True story.)
What people don't realise (unless they're fellow PMSers) is that you can't always control the moods. I've tried loads of recommendations, swallowing supplements and oils and all sorts, but they've about as much effect as chanting in the lotus position.
Personally, I find tequila to be a much more effective solution. And so I'm off to medicate. And hopefully calm down and re-friend those people I dropped from Facebook.