I bleed freely

Yes, I’m talking about my period. When it’s bright red like it’s supposed to be I feel as if everything is right with the world, my world. I feel free, because no one is inconvenienced by my menstruation. I have no sexual partner. I have no one around me with any expectations when it comes to my body. I get to own my body. And I get to make decisions. Am I going to wear a tampon or a pad or both as back up? Am I going to wear the extra long pad tonight so that when I’m lying to my side in bed the blood won’t ease it’s way up my butt crack and make its way onto my panties and possibly onto my bed sheets? Yes! These are the things people don’t like to talk about. But they are a part of everyday life and I am not afraid to talk about them just like I’m not afraid to talk about my mental illness.

You know they make all kinds of products for women’s menstruation? There are heavy absorption and light absorption products. There are pads with wings and extra thick pads that make you feel like you’re wearing a rag. Women used to use rags. Rags! And then they had to wash them after each use, hang dry them for reuse. Reusable cloths. This is where the phrase “on the rag” comes from. But we don’t remember those days, do we? A newer generation that has it easier.

I’m very lucky that I don’t get cramps. I just completely lucked out! And when my period doesn’t come for a month or two, I don’t worry because I think it is normal. Other people would worry a lot and head straight to the doctor. What’s wrong with me?! But even without the period talk I think that’s a question I used to unconsciously ask myself all the time. Or the belief that “there must be something wrong with me.”

Why is he upset with me? I must have done something wrong. He played on my guilt. He perfected his craft. He trained me, molded me, coached me, groomed me into doing what he wanted me to do. See, I could go on about this forever. It’s a part of my life and I haven’t talked about it enough, in general, and to enough people. But “people” don’t want to hear it. They don’t want to talk about sexual abuse, marital rape, mental illness, chronic depression, suicide attempts, ECT’s. “People” just want to live their lives and thanks to social media they come across some stories that they wouldn’t have otherwise come across.

I haven’t talked about it enough, so I’m now going to therapy twice a week. I haven’t talked about it enough so I’m going to find a sexual abuse survivors group to talk to. I haven’t talked about it enough and I want the world to know what I went through, but the world doesn’t want to hear it. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. I am tough shit, because I lived through it. I am a warrior because I live with the knowledge that it happened to me every day. My supportive network is full of champions because they treat me kindly and with compassion. I have something. I have enough. My story is out there and people will find it if they want to.

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