Four days of hell: DAY ONE

I write this as I swallow my second dose of painkillers for the day, having been mildly shocked by the sudden onset of my period this morning. I say this because last month it decided to arrive over a week late, after a fortnight of painful foreplay. I had been so relieved that it was there then that going through it for what felt like the 500^th time was almost a breeze. Until about an hour ago I felt the same about this one, as it seems like the painters are back to normal.

But now I take that back.

If you are a male reading this (unlikely) or one of those blessed females who does not suffer from hideous cramps, mood swings and back ache during “that time of the month”, then I cannot expect you to understand how much I dread my own, and to how great an extent that idea is being reinforced as I speak. But if you do know what I mean, then I hope that you will sympathise with me when I say OUCH! My lower back feels like a pygmy has crawled through my navel and set fire to my kidney area. My ovaries are like Mexican jumping beans, only they are jumping because there is a bed of hot coals beneath them (or is that just the fire from the pygmy?). Actually I think the meds are kicking in now. In case of emergency I have a heavy gold chain sitting on my pyjama-clad lap which I use much like a woman in labour uses her spouse’s hand – when each crimson wave reaches its peak, I wrap it around my knuckles and yank for dear life until it passes. It really helps. Distraction and all that.

My heart is only just settling back into its normal place now after I found myself racing madly around the house on a manhunt for the painkillers which have now (thank the lord) taken effect. There were none left in the bathroom, and it took my rifling through almost every handbag I own to locate a small supply to keep me going for the next four days. There are two tablets left, which I hope to make last as I am in no position to dash out and purchase more (seriously – I don’t have my driver’s license yet).

So now I’m just trying to get through this period and be thankful that I don’t have to return to uni on Monday with a surfboard wedged between my legs, forcing smiles and pretending everything’s normal when all I want to do is slug the next person who approaches me in the face. I am using my gold chain, writing this diary to distract myself, and looking out of my bedroom window to see blue sky for the first time in about a month when I just want to lie in bed, and be left alone until the weekend.

I’d like to know, dear readers, if any of you have tricks which you use to keep your period at bay. Yeah, I know about the old hot water bottle, eating bananas thing (magnesium, apparently) but I want something new. Please let me know what you do, or give me some advice on how I can stop this natural event from taking over my life!

 

More tomorrow

 

Xx

I’m back!

Howdy do ! I realise that I have been neglecting this blog in favour of other things, although sometimes those other things involved uni work/ chores / re-runs of Friends, which are all very important to me. Anyway I just wanted to say (to anyone that actually reads this) sorry, and I’m back! While I’ve been away I finally turned 18, so now I am true to my title, have been having a bit of a miniature mental breakdown (in all seriousness – I suffer from anxiety, hypochondria and mild OCD and sometimes it gets the better of me) and attempting to use my mid-semester break to full advantage, but have mostly failed in that by watching DVD’s (courtesy of my birthday) and baking Betty Crocker. I also have my other blog which I am passionate about (www.eurovisionbyjaz,wordpress.com if you’re interested), so I’m fairly busy living life. But this is my reality outlet, so you can bet that from now on I’ll be here more often, because these days, I need a vent more than ever. My future is pretty boring – another month of uni for the year, 1 exam, Christmas shopping, assignments, a possible holiday and a country show are on the agenda – but my actual life, well, that’s as dramatic (in my head) as ever. Enjoy!

At the zoo - one of the many errands that kept me from blogging

The countdown to becoming a woman

The title of my blog is really false advertising, as I am not yet 18. But in less than three weeks, you can know me as an honest and voluptuous adult as I make the transition from immature 17 year-old to worldly and sophisticated woman. Or not.

In any case, my 18^th birthday is coming up and I am excited!

 

I’ve always loved birthdays. Waking up on that day (which is the 19^th of September if anyone wants to purchase me a horrendously expensive gift), I feel tingly and special. Everyone is nice to me, and who doesn’t love cake and presents (sorry to be selfish but that’s the way it is). But I am especially antsy in regard to this birthday, because it’s a real milestone, like when you turn 10 (double digits), 13 (teenager), 16 (who knows, it just is) and 21 (don’t know why). Being 18 means I can legally drink, go into adult shops and bars, attend Sexpo and ride the gerbil (apparently it’s like a ghost train only with giant penises), and see R-rated films. The fact that I am not likely to do the first three things anyway and have been doing the latter since I was 15 is irrelevant.

 

So what do I plan to do to celebrate? I hear you ask. Well, I’m not one who enjoys massive parties with drunk people puking and leering and falling asleep on my driveway with their pants around their ankles, so that’s out. You may have figured out by this point that I’m kind of lame. I don’t really drink, I’ve never smoked or done drugs, and I hate big parties. I miss kids’ parties, where you dressed up and played hide and seek and stuff. That was fun! So I think I’ll just do something boring, like go out to dinner, giving me a chance to wear heels (did I mention I’m a shoe-holic? More of that later). Plus I’ve wanted to go to the zoo for ages, not having been since I was about 13, so maybe I’ll do that. Don’t laugh at me!

 

I’m counting down the days ‘til my birthday, whatever I end up doing. I’ll let you know what happens, as I’m sure you will be dying to know.

 

Xx

The story of my Aunt Irma

Once upon a time there was a hideous cow named Irma who made frequent visits to teenagers all over the world to bestow on them the unpleasant gift of having sore boobs, hot flushes, back ache and the constant desire to punch anyone who speaks to them in the face. These symptoms were Irma’s way of heralding the beginning of what many describe as a beautiful and natural cleansing process called a period, but what is in actuality a HORRENDOUS PAINFUL DISGUSTING EXPERIENCE which must be willingly suffered by women from their early teens to their late forties. Joy. Or is that just my take on things?

 

As you may have ascertained, I am not fond of my monthly visitor. You would think that after five years of having it I would be able to just suck it up and move on but I can’t, because when you are really passionate about something (in a hateful way) you don’t let it go. This post was brought on by the arrival of Irma this morning, one week late, which never happens. I had been really worried that something was wrong, and getting it today I was actually relieved. Usually, ‘period’ and ‘happy’ are my own personal oxymoron, but not this time. Until the ordeal began.

 

When I first felt that distinctive ache in my lower regions I was 13 years old and not remotely horrified by what getting my period might do to me. In fact, I was at that stage where I really wanted to get it (can you believe it) so I could feel grown up. At first, the most painful thing about it was telling my mum only to have her gush and hug me and swear that she wouldn’t tell my dad but I knew she did anyway. Sure, it took a little getting used to, but there were no cramps and no heaviness back in the good old days. I wish that I had known what was to come so that I could have been more grateful for that time spent in periodic bliss.

 

Here is my current situation: every month, about a week before the big ‘P’ is due, my lower back will start to ache like a bitch. Lying on the floor with my legs on the couch seems to be the only way to abate it. As aforementioned, I get quite irritable and short with people. For example, my mother might ask me to pass the salt and pepper, and I will say politely and demurely, in reply, something along the lines of ‘SHUT THE HELL UP YOU VINDICTIVE SLAPPER AND STOP RUINING MY LIFE!!!’. As you do. I feel fatigued and my boobs hurt. There happens to be a lot of them to hurt (by that I mean volume wise – I’m not a nineteen-breasted victim of the Chernobyl disaster). It sucks, and keep in mind that this is only the red carpet leading up to the extravagant ceremony of the actual period.

 

I am happy in that this is a relatively short phase. For three days, I feel obligated to sit on the couch, by myself, with an adequate supply of bite-size snacks which are in no way good for me, watching trashy daytime TV with zero interruptions and a lot of Panadol. I don’t want to go into graphic detail, but I will say that if you ever find yourself being stabbed in the ovaries while someone throws a bowling bowl at your uterus over and over again, then think of me – I know what it feels like. My period controls a big part of my life. Recently I have found myself planning events around it so I will be as least inconvenienced as possible. How sad/mad/bad is that? Granted, shifting my birthday from September to January so that there would be no need for pads at my party was not the best decision (that is a joke, BTW). But I have had some horrible timing issues, like recently when I got it the morning I went back to uni for the second semester. I couldn’t ditch, so I had to get dressed and do my hair, and go out and pretend that I was fine when in reality I wanted to curl up on the floor in the foetus position, doped up on morphine. All this and I don’t even want kids!

 

I often have fantasises such as a) Periods didn’t exist, b) Men had them instead of women, c) All of us who have bad ones could share the cramps around so that all women had equal experiences of moderate discomfort, and d) The most realistic – that periods didn’t have to be secret and we didn’t have to make excuses to get out of work/school/functions etc when we feel like crap. But until one or all of the above come true which is never, I guess I will have to try and come to terms with the fact that, for the next thirty years, Aunt Irma will be staying, and insisting on sleeping in my bed because the spare room frightens her.

 

If I have to come up with anything good about periods to make myself feel a bit better, then this is what I will say:

 

1. A few obvious clutches of my stomach will have my mother being extraordinarily nice to me (she knows more than anyone what bad p’s are like) and running my errands for me. Ah, sympathy!
2. They are a grand excuse to get out of classes.
3. I do feel really spiffing as it tapers off because I know it’s near the end, and that I have at least a fortnight to be myself again.

 

PS – I would love to hear from people who either sympathise with me, or have similar experiences. As they say, a problem shared is a problem eased. But if you want to put forth your opinion about how periods aren’t that bad and I’m overreacting and ‘mine are virtually painless! I can party and dance and horse ride and go swimming all through the month! Why, I barely even notice they’re there!’ then don’t, because I really can’t take it.

Let’s get it started!!!

Hello there you! Welcome to my blog about being an insecure, overly-anxious hypochondriac female in the modern world. This first post is just an intro to all the complaining and airing of my dirty laundry that I will be doing, so I will keep it brief. I hope you enjoy reading it, don’t get offended by my frequent and casual use of the word ‘period’ and can identify with me – I know I’m not the only (almost) 18 year-old out there with issues!

 

XX