Some girls have it easy, some never do. I am the Queen Bee of the sadder team. My periods bring out the worst in me. The fangs my parents had to get surgically removed at the age of three, grow back and more. I am a monster looking for the tiniest chances to spread my reign of ultimate terror. I don’t bite, I blast. Everyone who has pissed me off even the slightest in the last five years should fear for their lives during this time of the month.

For most parts though, periods are uncomfortable. Five days of bloodfest where my body does everything to annoy and embarrass the fuck out of me. There is a lot to be embarrassed about in having zero legitimate control over your emotions, expressions and actions even if it’s only for five days. Most of us spend the next 20 days of the month regretting and apologizing for things we said or did or didn’t. And just when we’ve moved on from our last period, the next one comes knocking at our doors. Nah, it never knocks. I wouldn’t say I become a different person when I bleed. But I admit my tendencies change. It’s frustrating to see no one around you suffering the same discomfort or pain. There is this momentous vindictive pleasure in making someone else suffer with you. But like I said, it’s momentous only. You spend the entire coming month regretting it extra extra largely.

I don’t know why my periods are so extraordinarily unlikable; what I do know is that one morning, I woke up and stumbled across my reflection in the mirror. I saw a blotchy face, eyes swollen from lack of rest, tangled morning hair and awfully painful limbs. But I also saw this body, this incredible incredible body that was supremely capable of inducing, housing and birthing a fucking miracle. I saw this person who had been given a biological chance to be more. Periods and the pain they bring along makes me rue my existence, but they sure as hell leave me feeling obscenely positive about who and what I am. A woman. A miracle in process.


      1. According to the different ladies in my life, mine, every time.
        So, to be honest, I have always recognised that there is a common factor.
        But now you have me thinking.
        And that is not good…


      2. To blame men for PMS – hah, balderdash!
        It is unfair that men have to be at the receiving end of all the angst and drama. I think uteruses by default are aggressively feminist


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