The Every-Two-Years Trip To Hell

Oh god. Today. Today is not good. Today is not good, god. 

 

So… girls get their periods. Everyone knows this, and if you don’t… look at the tampons and pads in your mom’s bathroom trash bin … or if you’re me, the back of your mom’s pants as she walks by, or falling out of her purse in Nordstroms, or really anywhere at anytime (you never know).

 

But, this girl doesn’t.

 

That’s right, sayanara, cyle!  I’ve had several doctors give me the green light to never have to feel like there is a boulder in my lower torso, trying to come out through my vag, slamming around my lower back, around my muscles and ribs and hips.  I no longer have to spend money buying tampons, pads, and any other product that keeps that shit from getting out. I don’t have to lay in bed, or on the couch, or in the break room, curled up in a ball, wanting to simultaneously eat Doritos, brownies, and a pizza while drinking a bottle of vodka and bitch-slapping anyone who does something really, really irritating like getting too close or being there.

 

I can just coast on by, month after month, pill after pill, not bleeding.

 

But today, dear friends, today I got my period. It’s been two years.

 

TWO YEARS.

 

I literally feel 13. I feel like I should embarassingly walk up to my mom while she is in the middle of yelling at my dad about the carpet or something and meekly whisper to her that I got my period, hoping she’ll be so excited for me and make a big deal, but instead, goes,

 

“What? You got your period? Tampons are in my bathroom drawer. DON! GODDAMNIT!”

 

Except this time, I don’t have any just-in-case tampons or pads anywhere. I stared at my underwear this morning, deciding which pair to ruin.

 

Which reminds me.

 

I got a call from my little sister one day a while back, and she said the most amazing thing:

 

 

“You know in the early morning when you are sleeping and your body wakes you up and is like ‘Get up Rikki, you are about to ruin your sheets’?”

 

And I just laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. What a glorious sentence. Thank god for her. You don’t even need to hear the rest of what she was saying, because that was the golden moment.

 

It’s funny, because it’s true. Somehow there are those magic period moments where your body knows you well enough to know how pissed you are going to be when you have to wash your sheets, or throw them away completely. 

 

Why don’t I get my period, you ask?

 

They are way too painful and I get contraction-like cramps where I immediately must buckle over and moan and grunt and breathe weird no matter what I am doing or where I am.

 

I’d be working behind the register at work, ringing up the woman who owns fish oil, and in the middle of asking if she wants to pay debit or credit, I’d get a       cramp-traction and have to act like I wasn’t holding my breath and internally screaming, turning blue in the face from lack of oxygen, bending my knees, pretending to all of a sudden need to get something off the floor, until it passes and then come back up for air.

 

Or I’d be driving and a cramp-traction would hit and I’d immediately have to thrust my hips towards the steering wheel and scream in a creepy moany way while the man in the Jetta next to me stares at me in awe.

 

I don’t have to do that anymore!

 

We’ll see how this one goes… stay tuned.

 

(Unless you are completely disgusted and don’t want to hear more awesome girl stories.)