Bloody PMS.

 I’ve been a watering pot this whole week, and it’s getting ridiculous, not to mention exhausting, to keep crying and then pretending nothing’s wrong to all the fucking busybodies. I would honestly rather spend the week in a mud hut away from the rest of the tribe than deal with this a minute longer.

The annoying thing is that I’m not used to this at all; it’s not like this every month. For the most part, since I began taking the pill to regulate it, my period is a minor inconvenience: a few cramps, a lot of blood, some tension about having enough tampons/pads etc, and then it’s over and done with. Every few months though, erratically, I have a really bad one, like this one that’s building. I start getting aches in the small of my back, long before the actual blood, while generally my cramps are the curl-up-in-a-ball abdominal kind that come during the period. After a bit, I start getting those too. I start being extremely moody, prone to tears, rage and resentment.

I wonder sometimes if this is better than the ordeals I went through when I wasn’t on the pill. I wouldn’t get periods for months and months — which I was very happy about, actually — but then there’d be an uncontrollable flow that went on for weeks sometimes, leaving me weak and shaky and unable to function.  I remember missing work because I would bleed right through the heaviest pad in less than an hour, and there were too many clumps and globs to make using tampons possible. I even fainted once,  because of the loss of blood. But there was very little pain, and it definitely didn’t affect my intellect or thought processes, the way the random hormones coursing through my body do now.

Then again… I find it hard to completely buy that mere biology can affect anyone so much. I am an angrier person now; I’m much less willing to shut up about hypocrisy and have to deal with it much more often. And I have more to be sad and resentful and stressed out about, along with all the times I’ve been happy. So maybe the emotions are always there, but they just come to the surface more easily during this time of the month? I don’t know, but it reminds me of this poem:

Hidden
Naomi Shihab Nye

If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone has
swallowed it.

If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.

No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.

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~ by mortarandpestle on December 1, 2007.

2 Responses to “Bloody PMS.”

  1. I just discovered your blog and am looking forward to returning to read some of your longer posts. I do find that feelings stay inside me sometimes developing, burgeoning and then when I am stressed, tired or having my period they all come to the surface. I hope the pill is helping you. I was on it when I was attempting to be straight. Now I like the irregularity of my period (it’s not all that irregular, I just like to forget or perhaps deny that it is arriving.)
    I really like the Naomi Shihab Nye poem. I like her work. This one could also be about not being able to disclose one’s sexual orienttaion or not being able to be accepted for one’s sexual orientation and what it does to a person. I read it before the post and that is what came to my mind first.
    Peace, love, and hope,
    Margaret

  2. Thank you for the comment and for linking to me on your own blog, which is so beautiful. I looked at some of your postcards yesterday and then spent the rest of the day painting and planning the cards I will make and send in the new year.

    I actually really like being on the pill; I don’t associate it with birth control so much as relief from the pain and interminability of my earlier periods. I don’t mind the irregularity either, but having it go on for weeks sometimes seriously hampers my ability to do anything — even get a good night’s sleep.

    This is the first poem by Naomi Shihab Nye I read. I like her elliptical way with words. This one did make me think first about not being able to disclose sexual orientation too, which is something on my mind anyway these days, but also about how vital it is to speak about love. I sometimes say that for me words are another sense; it’s as necessary to articulate what I am experiencing as it is to see it and hear it etc to feel it fully, and this caputed exactly what I feel about not being able to talk about something as overwhelmingly sensual as love.

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