I’ve been in an unusual mood all week. Most importantly & seriously, I haven’t been able to write. It seems as though I can’t compose anything without thinking about it so perpetually that it scares me away. I am in a rut (quarter life crisis, maybe?) & it’s that icky, insatiable “in the middle” feeling. It’s wretched. I don’t feel like myself. Even as I’m writing this now, it’s like pulling eye teeth. I don’t have it in me, but I want it so badly. Writing is my vice & because I haven’t been doing much of it — & I mean, real writing; none of this “Ooo, look what I’m wearing today!” bullshit — I feel strangely out of my own loop. Weird… but true.
I could take time to blame my mood on the obvious things around me (the ridiculous price of the gas, the depleting of the ozone layer, the poor polars bears being in danger, even!) just so I can neglect the obvious & save my own pride, but that’s not right. The real reason I am such a mess right now is because of… my menstrual cycle. Yes, the Curse of the Month, the stereotypical mood enhancer (or killer, whoever you’d like to look at it) is causing me to be a little out of my mind. I truly hate to complain about this because I am very tired of women using that as an excuse to justify their bitchiness (“Honey, I’m sorry I smacked you with that spatula, but it’s my PMS; you understand, don’t you?”) & I certainly don’t want to be like that. But I don’t want to deny my loathing in regards to this. What I’m simply trying to say is that I hate this Time of the Month.
For the record, I don’t think this whole bleeding out once a month thing is quite fair. I also don’t understand why some women say that their periods are a breeze: “Oh, your periods are bad? Well, isn’t that too bad! Mine aren’t at all! They’re so simple! They’re so easy! All I do is insert a tampon & in a few days, the bleeding just magically disappears! Isn’t that simply wonderful?!” I want to slap these women. It’s not that I don’t believe them; maybe their bodies aren’t as possessed with the Red Devil as mine or anyone else’s, but it’s highly unlikely. I think those women are in denial. Matter of fact, I think some women tell themselves that their periods are no big deal to them, just so they can exhibit some sort of control. Maybe they might do it because they want men to know that it doesn’t get to them like that & they’re not going to be the stereotypical female who wants to go around slapping people with spatulas. Maybe it’s borderline feministic. I don’t know; I’m truly pulling straws here, but whatever the reason, it’s ludicrous.
Personally speaking, my little body handles the Time of the Month with as much strength as the Spartans did in the battle against the Persians; hoping for the best, expecting the worst & ready to fight to the death, while still maintaining a bit of dignity. It really is like this; ask any woman & I’m sure they’ll compare it to a battle scene. A bloody battle scene, at that. (Which makes me wonder how hemophobics handle this occurrence. Poor dears.)
First, there are the cramps; that is the first tell-tale sign that something terrible is about it happen. The feeling of this is like being poked with 100 forks, but at different speeds & at different angles. & right as the cramps/poking is starting to subside, there follows a rumble, almost like a spasm, that goes through every nerve in your body. You know something is going on down there, so you take a gander & see the first sight of blood in your underwear. & so the battle begins.
It’s a battle of epic proportions, every single month. The cravings of food are so horrendous that it’s a wonder that you haven’t eaten yourself out of house or home. First, you crave chocolate. You must have it; you MUST! Or you shall die! (That is what your body is seemingly telling you.) So you get some chocolate & you gorge yourself into a sweet coma. Afterward, your body is now whispering loudly in your ear, “Salt! I must have salt now! Something salty or you shall die!!!” Back to the pantry you go, where you pick up a bag of pretzels. After nearly polishing off half of the bag, it’s back to craving sweets again. Back & forth, this goes on for a few days. Never relenting, never ceasing. While you’re endlessly craving, you are also staying away from things that usually turn you on. You love peanut butter, but the sight, taste, smell (especially the smell) makes you want to gag. (I’ve often heard menstruation compared as a mini-pregnancy. I can’t agree nor disagree with this, because I’ve never been pregnant.)
The cramps, of course, are prevalent. But then you must endure eye-gouging headaches; so bad that you feel like blood may be draining from your brain down to your uterus. You feel fatigued & worn down, as if you’ve run a 25 mile marathon. & then, there is the gigantic zit that seems to find itself right in the middle of your forehead… or at the tip of your nose, or the side of your face, throbbing & bulging. Another humiliating sign of the Time of the Month. So while pretzel crumbs & chocolate stains litter your clothing, you now have to deal with a migraine, unquenched sleepiness & a gigantic pimple. Not to mention, those cramps are now starting to make your belly, full of salt & sugar, a bit queasy.
& then there is the emotional stage. You cry because the dog stepped on your foot. You cry because the cellphone commercial reminds you of your sister. You cry because the stoplight just turned red & you wanted to make the light, dammit! You cry because there’s nothing to eat in the house (either being that you’ve eaten it all or you’ve just shunned the things that make you feel gross). You cry because your lover yelled at you, when he was really just calling you from the other room. You cry because none of your clothes fit. You cry because you burned your finger. You cry & weep & sob & fuss. Equally, you do the same when you’re mad. You curse the dog, you curse the television for incessant commercials, you curse the motherfucking stoplight for fucking changing when you were fucking trying to get home!!! One would think that a little self-control could tame these evil spirits attacking your inner being; maybe make you a little more aware of the words coming out of your mouth, or the reactions you are exhibiting. But it goes well beyond taming. It’s truly a possession. The possession of the Red Devil.
Now, of course… I’m being a little dramatic. But really, these symptoms, exaggerated or not, are enough to make even the calmest person about ready to do something drastic & unnecessary. Like kicking a tree, or throwing food if it happens to burn accidentally, or curse the shower for pouring out cold water, as though its the shower’s fault that you failed to turn the dial to “H.” Or even better… hitting your spouse with a spatula. (I keep going back to this because it’s in the maddening moments that I seem to think of a spatula as the appropriate kind of weapon.)
I will say this, though: once it’s all said & done, once the week has finally passed, there is nothing left to do but breathe a sigh of relief & thank God that you made it through another possession of the Red Devil. You may even promise that you will try to handle it better next time (the key word being “try” because we’re never really prepared). Knowing that you made it through the hellish Time of the Month leaves you feeling clean, literally, & you can go on with your life as a normal, sane, feminine individual & try to erase the cursing, the crying, the yelling, the overreacting, the craving, the irritating & aggravating week completely from your memory.
[Please note that many of these things were exaggerated to the fullest extent to make a dramatic point on my part. I am not suggesting that every menstrual cycle is like this, nor am I suggesting that every woman is like this. Also... I think I may have cured my writer's block.]