Blood, Pain and What the Heck
Being a female has its own perks and advantages. I need not enumerate what’s out there but I’m sure females all over the world, practicing or non-practicing, know what gives them edge over males. However, whether or not you have abandoned your femininity, one thing’s for sure if you’re biologically female: you’re drenched in blood every month (for the regulars that is).
Menstruation. Damn you… sometimes.
In the past, no matter how many crushes I had back then, I always wished I wasn’t a girl whenever those bloody days visited me. To hell with all my crushes if this was the price I had to pay for simply being a g-i-r-l. I hated the queasy feeling – and still do. It was a hassle changing napkins at least every two hours – and it still is. If you forget to change, say hello to your soaking red pants and to your red polka dot bikini. And what’s more embarrassing is when a guy taps you on the shoulder and murmurs, “You’re leaking.” The blood does not only stain your favorite clothes… it also stains your reputation.
But what the heck.
That’s what I think now. As you age, you don’t give a damn about such trivialities anymore. Well not until the old pain will haunt you again. You wouldn’t believe how I had to come to terms with being a girl for a long, long time. When I first had my menstruation at the age of 12, I was in denial. I refused to use a napkin for six months. I refused to acknowledge what was happening to me. I feared the implication of menstruation. I once despised those girly girls who were so proud to announce to the world that they’ve become full-pledged women. Yuck (said the old me). I simply hated the thought of being a full-pledged woman. Not that I wanted to be a man either. When I told one of my close friends in High School that I wanted to be sexless, she laughed so hard. When other classmates heard of it, they were just as incredulous.
Yes, I was – and maybe I still am – a preposterous person.
You might want to know what I used the whole time in lieu of a napkin? Nah. It’s not a secret but just use your imagination. If you’re as resourceful as me, maybe you’d guess what it was. Damn. Such a pain to wash bloodied clothes, especially those with darker colors. Bleaching with Zonrox would be impossible. But that was before. Now Zonrox has a product for colored clothes. Okay, enough of Zonrox. I’m not paid to advertise them.
Don’t even get me started on the pains of dysmenorrhea. If you have never met the term, please click on the hyperlink. It will save me the trouble of defining something I hate. There were three instances when dysmenorrhea struck a day before my first day of menstruation. In those three instances, I literally almost died from the pain. You men never have to experience pain of this nature (unless you’ve tattooed or pierced yourself to death). The pain was unfathomable. It left me breathless and crawling on all fours. Every time, I forced myself to eat and drink something just so the pain would abate. After almost an hour of suffering, it goddamn did. I was, in all honesty, calling out to God not to take me yet as I still have a lot of unfinished businesses. That’s how P-A-I-N-F-U-L pre-menstrual dysmenorrhea is and I pray to the heavens that Filipinas out there can overcome this biological quirk.
One primary advantage of dysmenorrhea and the discomforts of menstruation is that you have a higher tolerance for pain in general. It’s because of the monthly flux, and the bonus that sometimes goes with it, that most women are more tolerant of pain than most men. We keep bleeding (love) until we’re well into our 40s. That’s why men, quit complaining if society bestows on you the role of breadwinner by default. Don’t forget that it is us who have to go through nine months of pregnancy and discharge a living human being through an equally painful process thereafter. As for women, remember the big (and I mean BIG) price you have to pay if you prematurely, carelessly or excessively get in touch with your female assets.
For the people who deliberately or inadvertently passed by this blog, what the heck. You may or may not take me seriously.
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