Confessions of PMS
So what, I have my period? It’s only the one time of the month my body is so offended by its feminine wiles that it sheds blood tears out of my most sacred hole part. It’s not a big deal or anything, and it’s not like I’m dying! Although a lot of blood pouring out of your body often says otherwise.. like a GUNSHOT, for instance. Who gives a shit that the cramps which fill my human temple most often feel like somebody, say, Jack the Ripper, is stabbing at me like I am some sort of British prostitute. It’s part of womanhood! I should be happy I’m not pregnant, although sex now is the equivalent to cutting me on the supermarket line: as in I’m not HAVING it. I also have this PAD, which is like a diaper for adults who don’t pee themselves. Or this TAMPON, which is like sex without all the fun of rejection, and you can die if you wear it too long! So thank you, upbeat period commercial with girls swimming and scuba diving, thank you for recognizing how joyful and spiritual this time of ladyhood is!
At first, it is only a simple rage. A gnawing anger at the pit of my stomach, one I often mistake for being hungry. I hate people, I think rationally. In fact, I hate ALL people. I begin to wonder what would happen if I break all the things in my room, or begin to grow large sharp teeth that I could use to chew every soul in a fifty mile ratio to death. I see a smiling baby on the subway. Oh, what do you know of life, you fucking idiot baby? You eat smashed carrots and watch PBS, do you think this is what life is? I see an innocent man reading Catcher in the Rye. You simpleton! Are you FOURTEEN? This rage is unbridled and consuming. Do not feed it chocolate. I am not your Cathy Comic.
I could totally eat souls, I think. Put a little Nutella on top of that shit and I will simply eat all of the souls possible. I begin to grow stronger at this thought, much like how I think dementors might come into being. Not only is people soul eating delicious sounding, but happy people who can button their shorts easily sounds almost tasty right now. I grow demonic wings when somebody says something to me on gchat like how are you doing? OH so you’re a guy who just HATES that the woman sheds her uterus? OH FINE GUYS ARE SO AFRAID OF PERIODS. You’re not a guy? You’re my mom? This seems futile at the moment. I feel the pits of hell opening up beneath me, and I welcome its demons. I spray a terrifying mist of pain on all who enter my room. Then I begin to cry at some You-Tube video, like an Oprah puppy proposing to its girlfriend on Extreme Home Makeover and there’s a soldier coming home. These tears turn to bloodlust, and I begin to gnaw at my wood floor, begin to feel my body is multiplying in vampiric strength. WHO DARES OPPOSE ME?!!?! I think. But I’m so alone! my heart gently cries.
Then I find my fridge. Oh, sweet nectar goddess of all that is holy! Come to me, whilst I bury myself in past relationships and the cream cheese on my fingers. I’ve grown double in size, what with the stomach bloating and the breasts that have no milk but look like two swaying buoys in an ocean of anger. I can only gain sustenance by downing Midol pills, which do nothing, and potato chips, which do everything. FEED ME, O LUCIFER OR CHEETOS, OR SOMETHING. I eat a pickle in silence, stewing, and then some hummus.
My skin has broken out. I begin to curl up in pain as the cramps tear my stomach walls and I break out in a cold sweat. Birth yourself now, you demon muscle killers! Let me feel your wrath outside your body! Give me ice cream and let me get emotional over something like not finding my Metro Card in time for the subway! I am not your female stereotype! I do not want to do something womanly like going shopping now! ALL WILL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR. I will still kick your ass at everything when I am menstruating, and I will probably do it with double the rage. I will go to work. I will function. And I will fuck. you. up. No big!
Seriously, jeez. Periods aren’t that BAD. I don’t know why anybody complains about them! I’m myself! Only MADDER!
www.the-frenemy.com
At first, it is only a simple rage. A gnawing anger at the pit of my stomach, one I often mistake for being hungry. I hate people, I think rationally. In fact, I hate ALL people. I begin to wonder what would happen if I break all the things in my room, or begin to grow large sharp teeth that I could use to chew every soul in a fifty mile ratio to death. I see a smiling baby on the subway. Oh, what do you know of life, you fucking idiot baby? You eat smashed carrots and watch PBS, do you think this is what life is? I see an innocent man reading Catcher in the Rye. You simpleton! Are you FOURTEEN? This rage is unbridled and consuming. Do not feed it chocolate. I am not your Cathy Comic.
I could totally eat souls, I think. Put a little Nutella on top of that shit and I will simply eat all of the souls possible. I begin to grow stronger at this thought, much like how I think dementors might come into being. Not only is people soul eating delicious sounding, but happy people who can button their shorts easily sounds almost tasty right now. I grow demonic wings when somebody says something to me on gchat like how are you doing? OH so you’re a guy who just HATES that the woman sheds her uterus? OH FINE GUYS ARE SO AFRAID OF PERIODS. You’re not a guy? You’re my mom? This seems futile at the moment. I feel the pits of hell opening up beneath me, and I welcome its demons. I spray a terrifying mist of pain on all who enter my room. Then I begin to cry at some You-Tube video, like an Oprah puppy proposing to its girlfriend on Extreme Home Makeover and there’s a soldier coming home. These tears turn to bloodlust, and I begin to gnaw at my wood floor, begin to feel my body is multiplying in vampiric strength. WHO DARES OPPOSE ME?!!?! I think. But I’m so alone! my heart gently cries.
Then I find my fridge. Oh, sweet nectar goddess of all that is holy! Come to me, whilst I bury myself in past relationships and the cream cheese on my fingers. I’ve grown double in size, what with the stomach bloating and the breasts that have no milk but look like two swaying buoys in an ocean of anger. I can only gain sustenance by downing Midol pills, which do nothing, and potato chips, which do everything. FEED ME, O LUCIFER OR CHEETOS, OR SOMETHING. I eat a pickle in silence, stewing, and then some hummus.
My skin has broken out. I begin to curl up in pain as the cramps tear my stomach walls and I break out in a cold sweat. Birth yourself now, you demon muscle killers! Let me feel your wrath outside your body! Give me ice cream and let me get emotional over something like not finding my Metro Card in time for the subway! I am not your female stereotype! I do not want to do something womanly like going shopping now! ALL WILL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR. I will still kick your ass at everything when I am menstruating, and I will probably do it with double the rage. I will go to work. I will function. And I will fuck. you. up. No big!
Seriously, jeez. Periods aren’t that BAD. I don’t know why anybody complains about them! I’m myself! Only MADDER!
www.the-frenemy.com
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