Complaining about periods- annoying, or therapeutic?
The answer to that question varies widely in the world of women (no, men, we don’t care what you think on this subject!).
I make no secret of my menstrual struggle- for it is real. A real BITCH. It’s never “like clockwork” as I was told it would be, for that would be far too easy. Cramps aren’t just cramps in my stomach region- my vajayjay literally feels like it’s going to fall off for the first few days. No matter how prepared I am, there is at least one pair of underwear that is going to find itself my period’s whipping boy. I’m cranky. I want to eat a truckload of salt. Chocolate. Crackers. Chips. Ice cream. Doesn’t really matter- I want it IN MY FACE. I feel like a busted can of biscuits. I’m so bloated I feel like exploding, and even though I have the period-poops like a mofo, the bloat is unrelenting. My skin resembles a 13 year old’s- SERIOUSLY?? I thought a perk of adulthood was no more pre-teen hormonal skin problems. WRONG. The period made sure it would just get worse. I feel anxious but I don’t really want to do a damn thing but beach myself on the couch like a fucking whale and hoover chocolate covered buttered popcorn into my face.
Oh, and then there’s the WORRY! God forbid my period is “late” (even though it’s never on time, so that’s basically every month)- on comes the worry that this fart-in-a-wetsuit sized bloat is actually a crotchfruit blossoming in my uterus- so then, instead of being miserable like I should be that my nethers will be gushing more blood than Freddie Kreuger’s thawed out meat locker, I rejoice in it. THAT’S MESSED UP! WHAT THE FUCK, UTERUS??
The response I always get to my very loud objection of the period is the question of why don’t I just go on a birth control- no periods, yay! Once I object, the next is the question of why not just get the thing removed? Am I done having kids? No more uterus = no more periods = no more complaining about periods!
I can’t say it’s not an attractive idea. No more crime scene in my underwear? No more period poops and toxic menstrual farts? No more worrying about oopsie-babies? What could be better than that?
One word: blame. BLAME!!!
Blame is a powerful thing, and I don’t want to have to take it.
Want to eat an entire chocolate cake in one sitting? My uterus made me do it!
Crying over a cheesy diaper commercial? My uterus made me do it!
Bite my husband’s head off? My uterus made me do it!
Lay on the couch all day and completely forego housework? My uterus made me do it!
Without my uterus, I have no one to blame for those things but myself. The uterus is the ONE thing that NO man (no matter how big and bad and powerful and in charge he thinks he is) can understand or argue with. It is my TRUMPS ALL card. Yes, pregnancy works the same way, but periods are a lifetime of excuses with no added responsibility. Sure, it might be miserable, but it comes with perks I’m not ready to give up just yet. YAY FOR THE UTERUS!
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