I remember the day my period arrived. It was August and I was in my school toilet cubicle staring down at my M&S pants which were lined with a brown murky colour. I thought I had shit myself. I was 13 and totally unprepared for this monthly-life burden.
Once I realised my excrement was in fact blood, I felt a sense of excitement; I was finally a woman. I walked into school the next day with a slight swag – not because I was pleased that my period had finally arrived, but because my always pad was sticking to my vag. I told all the girls in my year (and some boys) that I was now part of the “blood club” and I could actually miss swimming lessons because of this monthly bodily function. (Please note: blood club was not a real club).
When my third period came, I decided to ditch the pads and invest in tampons. The only issue was I had never fingered myself let alone stick a cotton bullet up me. I sat on the phone for 2 hours to my friend Rosie, who had become quite the professional when inserting tampax. She told me to sit in front a mirror and step-by-step, she guided me through the process of how to put a tampon inside. I’m glad my teenage years were not the days of video chat because the sight of me with my legs spread wide and with my vagina airing, would not have been pretty. Eventually (after many attempts) I inserted the tampon successfully.
Fast forward thirteen years, periods have not been as fun as I initially thought. I’d even go as far to say that I want to rip my ovaries out when the cramps start to form. I’m a horrible person when I’m on my period and I’m a horrible person when I’m not on my period – but my “time of the month” really does have an awful effect on me. It’s so bad that I’ve been labelled by many, as the female version of Jekyll and Hyde. And it’s true, my patience runs dry quickly and I get so angry that people are often taken back by my venomous words. I’m vile.
I hate periods the minute they arrive. Mine usually starts at night, whilst I’m sleeping and unaware of what my organs are up to. So I often wake up to what looks like a murder scene: bed sheets soaked red and crispy blood sticking to my legs. I also hate it when you’re on the loo and you look down to see a pool of wine below in the basin. And there’s usually this stringy blood clot just hanging from me.
Another thing to add to my growing list of hate, is why do periods make you want to poo all the time?
PMS shouldn’t stand for Premenstrual syndrome; it should be Psychotic Man-Eating Syndrome. And it honestly amazes me that not many girls have come forward and admitted that the reason for their break-up, was because of their PMS. Take my word. I broke up with a guy once because he mistook an avocado for a mango. This is honestly a true story – and some of you may agree, that to not know what an avocado is, is betraying all millennials who scrub it on their toast each morning. I agree. It is a horrific act and whilst bleeding out of my vagina, I just couldn’t tolerate his ignorance for the fruit, so he had to go.
Another PMS moment was when I was in Waitrose (so middle-class darling) and saw the food donation basket that gets given to the homeless. This particular basket was filled to the rim (probably with caviar and avocadoes) and I thought it was lovely that people can be so giving, that I burst into tears. I honest to god, stood there for five minutes with tears streaming down my face, looking at this bloody basket! A couple of staff members came over to ask if I was alright, but I knew it would be too psychotic if I said the reason for my tears was to do with the food basket.
To say I don’t handle my monthly cycle very well, would be an under-statement. I do struggle to deal with the fact that I bleed once a month and that a lot of my expensive thongs I can no longer wear. The only upside to having a period is actually knowing that I’m not pregnant, and I guess that’s one less nightmare that it doesn’t bring!