Nope—it’s about periods !!!!!
(warning, the first half of this post is really really really really really really really gross. I’ll tell you when the gross part is over if you want to read the rest of it, which is actually vaguely sort of relevant-ish)
Thus far, I’ve mostly avoided talking about my period on this blog. I honestly just didn’t see it as something all that relevant, plus it’s kinda gross. I know I’m not likely to be intrigued by a post about someone else’s bodily fluids. But today I’m just so pissed off at my body, and I figured this post was long overdue anyways. No blog authored by a cisgender female feminist would be complete without one.
I’m sick. Like, really sick. I’ve been coughing my lungs up, and last night I had a low-grade fever for a couple of hours. (The fact that I’m sick juuuust might have something to do with the fact that last Saturday I shared a blunt with my cousin who’s had a bad cough for like two months now. And in case you’re wondering, yes, we did get caught, and yes, my grounding ended today, and yes, I am too sick to enjoy my return to freedom.) Anyways, I stayed home from school today, and thank fucking goodness that I did.
I got my period three days ago, two whole weeks early. It was just great to come home from a speech and debate tournament to find my favorite pink-and-white-polka-dot underwear stained with blood. I figured since they already had blood on them, and since the blood wasn’t visible on the outside, that I might as well just put in a tampon and wear them to my violin recital. I came home to find my underwear covered in bloodstains.
So, I put on a pair of underwear from when I was five (they don’t fit at all hip-wise but my butt has barely even grown in the past nine years) that I use for when I’m on my period, and put on a pad. I woke up the next morning—so this is yesterday now—and the pad was completely saturated with blood to the point where it was falling apart, and my underwear were covered in bloodstains.
For reference, this doesn’t happen. This doesn’t EVER happen.
For the rest of the day I just sat around the house, slowly coughing my lungs out. I was using tampons and there was a little bit of excess that leaked out, but those underwear are almost a decade old so I figured it didn’t really matter. Last night before I went to bed (at 8:15, because I’m sick as all hell) I took out the tampon I was wearing and slapped a pad on, and then I went to sleep. I figured that all was well.
You would not believe the mess when I woke up this morning.
Basically, I’ve been sitting around all day having to wear a tampon and a pad just to avoid drowning in my own uterine lining. I’m also wearing an old pair of swimsuit bottoms to avoid wrecking any more underwear. Combine all that with the coughing, and I’m in a really great mood right now.
[/end gross content]
The thing with me about periods, is that I don’t see them the way I’m maybe supposed to see them as a feminist. I don’t see them as some magical beautiful thing from which all life is created or the life force of the mother Gaia or even some reinforcement of my inherent physical femininity. I just can’t find it in me to revere periods. Yeah, life comes from them (sort of), but life also comes from sperm, and you don’t generally hear about the MRAs worshipping their cum after they masturbate. And while nature goddess worship is all fine and good to a certain extent, I don’t think that my uterine lining is anything sacred, and I certainly don’t think it’s some fantastic gift from an earth goddess. And honestly, there are just far too many women who—for a variety of different reasons—can’t menstruate, and I just can’t see it as a mark of any sort of femininity.
See, the thing is, I don’t want kids when I grow up. And it’s wholly possible that I could change my mind—my mom didn’t want kids up until very shortly before she had me—but even if I do suddenly have some biological urge to have kids, I don’t think I’m ever going to have a mental urge. I can’t possibly forsee kids in this life as a high-profile international lawyer that I have planned out for myself. Basically, what I’m saying, is that I don’t need to have my period now and I won’t need to have it in my future.
I did not sign up for this. I did not sign up for satan’s waterfall to come gushing out of me for a week out of every month.
I’m angry at everything.