I am raging angry. I mean bile-spittingly, incandescently, disgustingly angry. I feel like I could primal scream a howl of rage for a hundred years and it still wouldn’t be enough to take the edge of just how violently livid I feel. I want to hit something so hard my fist goes right through it into another plane of reality. I want to grind my teeth so they shatter into dust. Iwant to tell everyone who’s ever hurt me or pissed me off what I think of them. I want to write completely inappropriately harsh Facebook status updates and tweet people who I think are dicks. I want to yell‘fuck off’ in the face of anyone who looks at me funny. I feel violent and loosecannon-y and on a knife’s edge.
Are you asking why yet? Perhaps someone has come and murdered my cat? Perhaps someone has slept with my boyfriend? OH WAIT; can’t be that. I don’t have one. Perhaps someone has said that I look like Kelly Osborne?
None of the above, actually.
It’s just something that happens regularly.
Every 28 days-ish in fact. It happens to 99% of women every month from the age of around 11 until they’re too old give a shit anymore.
And I HATE it.
I have never been one of those women who are all: “Periods? Oh, I don’t notice mine. I just carry on rollerblading/dancing/eating Ryvita and before I know it, three days of light bleeding has been and gone and it’s all over.” She probably then giggles and does a triathlon.
I’m much more of a: “Get out of my way. Have you any idea how much pain I’m in? Do you know what this feels like? I’ll tell you what itfeels like; it feels like someone is digging knives into the flesh of my womb and is dragging it slowly out of me. THAT’S what it feels like. And it feels like that for a week before I even start bleeding. And then there’s the dizzy spells, the nausea, the head fog, the violent cramps, the total and utter blind rage, the inability to form sentences, the dropping things, the exhaustion, the grey pallor, the bloating and the feeling like I’m the ugliest, most revolting looking person on the planet, the uncontrollable weeping, the existential dread, the retching and gagging, the sheer numbing misery of it all.”
I should add it wasn’t always thus, and although mood swing sand pain have always been with me at that delightful time of the month, it is exponentially worse since I developed endometriosis a few years ago. Which is apparently your womb’s way of trying to get you to procreate, as getting pregnant is the only cure.
But as it's also the only cure for having any money, time or sleep, I'll give it a miss.