Perhaps I would if I had people around me that understood, cared to understand, and tried to ease things up a bit. My mother was a "deal with it" and "suck it up." Kind of woman. Her favorite line, "no rest for the wicked." She would follow this up with, " I've been good in this life, I must have been evil in my last life."
The rest of my family are skilled in the art of ignoring and changing conversations. My great grandmother told my mother that babies were made when a boy and girl sat under a tree and ate green apples together. She told me her sister died from consumption because she stepped in a puddle. This was the most health information I got from my family. My family also has this habit of saying nothing about dead people, even their ills, because it's rude to talk about the dead. If you odd you must whisper, just in case they hear you.
I digress, I am about to venture into a few days of major blood loss and hormonal changes and I'm expected to love this about my body. Meanwhile, I'm looked upon as lazy or weak because I need to rest and I am emotional. I sucked it up for a month, I dealt with it for a month, let me have a few fucking days to wallow in my pity of being a woman.
This time brings up a lot of issues floating around, bumping into memories, and sliding down a chute of despair landing in a heap at the base of my skull. There I wisk them away into an antechamber where I discuss with myself about how to live my life and if I'm doing it right, and whatever else I think of. after I'm through with those pesky varmints I toss them over a cliff. Yet, somehow, someway, they recover and slither, climb, and leap back by the next month.
It's at this moment I'm suppose to be gloriously happy to have the realization that for the past month I was lonely, miserable, and left out in the cold. Then rejoice that my body is in turmoil as my uterus is completed shredded and deposited out of my body to make new for a new one.
I'm suppose to be grateful for being a woman and having this experience meanwhile, while having this experience, everybody acts like I'm being melodramatic,unreasonable, and being a bitch.
Perhaps if the rest of the month I was heard and noted as a sex toy, if I was able to have discussion and not one sided talks (meaning I'm doing all the talking), if I wasn't told I'm the one escalating the issue at hand when I'm attempting to be heard for the 100th time and ignored, when I ask for help and don't get it, when conversations are changed, when when when when....
The men in my life are allowed to me angry, pissy, argumentative, fussy, picky, bitchy, cantankerous, lazy, loud, mouthy, etc... All the time. I begin to lose my cool, being a woman, and I'm promptly put back in my place. I am to remain stoic. Emotionaless, boring, plain, and have a high libido in case my man wants sex. I'm the greatest actress of them all. On stage 24/7. The great chameleon. My only flaw? My period. The distaste of male influence on my tongue and oppression binding my ankles. I am to be seen but not heard, my words are of little importance. I am a woman.
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