An Open Letter to the Period
Dear Period, In case this letter got sent to the wrong Period, I would just like to make it clear that this letter is addressed to the womanly type of period, not the punctuation type.
Now that that’s over with, I’ll begin. Period, I understand that nothing I can say or do can really change the fact that I have to deal with you...deal with you, or a fetus growing inside me.
I understand that you’re just a natural body function, reminding me that I am a female at prime child-bearing age. But since, like, evolution is a thing, do you think you can get with the times?! I can’t afford to spend a week wallowing in pain on my couch because it feels like a small rodent is trying to eat its way out of my uterus.
Also, I’m tired of people judging me for not hiding my “feminine hygiene products” discreetly as I head to the bathroom to “take care of business,” and I’d prefer not to see people cringe every time I say “period,” because “my Aunt Flow’s in town,” “I’m on the rag,” and “that time of the month” are just really shitty euphemisms. But, I digress.
Once a month I spend several days as an emotional psycho, crying one second, horny as hell the next, and constantly being one wrong move away from literally scratching someone’s eyes out. I mean, it’s so extreme that I once cried because a leaf fell from a tree and I was sad it was separated from all the other leaves. Tell me, Period, how do you explain that one to your friends?
This same week, I break out in lovely chin acne which is only fueled more by insatiable cravings for chocolate which is known to cause break outs. Fucking period science, kickin’ me while I’m down. Like yeah chocolate’s good and all, but couldn’t periods have made us women crave something healthy, like spinach or whey protein or some shit? I’d prefer NOT to gain 10 pounds because my body is preparing for possible impregnation. All this, and you haven’t even started yet, Period.
But when you do, you come with a vengeance. The flesh-eating rodent abdomen pain radiates into my back, and sometimes my legs if you’re on your game. You give me a migraine worse than any hangover imaginable. The feeling of wanting to rip people’s eyes out escalates into a bitchiness I can’t even attempt to hold back and yet I have to, because a period isn’t something you can get sick days for. No, Period, since all us ladies have to deal with you, I have to go to school with you, take exams with you, work retail jobs dealing with annoying-ass customers with you, and actually SOMEHOW be nice to people while you grace me with your presence. Thanks for that.
Period, we live in a time where us women just can’t deal with this type of shit anymore. We work. We go to school. We have lives to live. I mean, we’re still fucking fighting for control over our own bodies. We cannot spend an entire week curled up in bed because of you.
I’m not saying you have to go away, because we need you for the survival of our species. But evolve, Period. Make me want to work out and crave spinach instead of sitting on the couch eating a bag of chips and Hershey’s kisses at the same time. Find a way to aid us in other things besides procreation. It’s 2013, damnit. It’s time for PROGRESS.
Either that, or I’ll figure out a way to remove my ovaries because I don’t even fucking want kids.