You visited for the first time when I was 15. I welcomed you with open arms. I was excited to have you in my life. Before you came, I couldn’t wait to be like my peers; I couldn’t wait to start using tampons and pads. Having you in my life meant I was now a full-fledged woman, “a grown-up”. But over the years, our relationship had really turned sour. I am literally tired of you. You visit me whenever you feel like each month and expect me to just accept you. You don’t even care that I have to clean your mess. It’s so much work taking care of you. And so much money. I have to pay for the tampons and pads to deal with the mess you make. All these for what? A punishment for not being pregnant?
Seriously, period, the relationship we are in is not healthy. I mean, you put so much effort into making us work but the only reason I am in this relationship is because of my gender status. Don’t you get tired? Tired of forcing yourself on me?
You visit without warning and I am tired of it. You either leave me with no time to prepare at all or you keep me marinating in my anxiety until you show up. Each month, almost all females have a countdown of your arrival and this is because you always come unexpectedly and sometimes even after counting properly, you still come too early or very late. Why can’t you just call or text me prior to your arrival? All I get is an occasional pain in my lower abdomen and then you come – it’s like a bloodbath no matter where I am, whether at work, on the street, on a film set, at a seminar or film festival. You are just ruthless. Seriously, would humans lay eggs if you announce your visits to me beforehand? Like, “Hey Ann, remember I came on the 7th of last month, I will be here around the same day this month, be ready”.
Are we going to talk about your friends, mood swings and cramps you pick on your way? Mood swing is so proud and mannerless. It doesn’t even care where I am or who I am with. I can just go from being so excited and full of energy to being sad and depressed; I can go from being a nice girl to a bitch you just want to get rid of. Like, my emotions are usually all over the place. And then the cramps. Damn it period! It’s a punishment for everything I did when you were not around. You poke your head in-between my legs and then go, “Oh, Ann had ice cream, chocolates, drinks, sweet, junks – hey cramps, come over and deal with her”. The flesh-eating abdominal pain comes along, radiating into my back, sometimes my legs and waist, leaving me curled up in bed. Period, seriously, how fair is that? Don’t you want me to be happy and productive? Why can’t you just let me go about my business, hustle in peace without feeling like there is a bag of rice on my waist or constantly worrying over whether or not I am stained? All these trouble and pains because I have boobs and a vagina? Fuck you bitch!
Representing all females worldwide.