I am a Girl.

I

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Please forgive the vent. . . I just couldn’t help myself today.

I think this often lately, yet it’s one of the subjects I try not to talk or write about. . .

It’s uncomfortable. . . Slightly embarrassing (not just for me, but sometimes for the reader/listener, I am sure). . . Kinda personal. . . Occasionally disgusting. . . Downright unpleasant. . .

Yet, I know I am not the only one who currently struggles with this — or has or will have to deal with it, for that matter.

It is a fact of life.

Keep scrolling or click away if you must. . . Or keep reading if you’re curious, I suppose — just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The problem is the fact that I am a girl. . . That’s what my grandmother would call it, anyway. . .

It sucks. (Image from morgueFile.com)
It sucks. (Image from morgueFile.com)

“Reta Jayne, are you a girl today??” It was her way of asking if it was “that time of the month.”

“Aunt Flo’s visit.” It’s not pleasant for any of us, I am sure.

The thing is, I used to be like clockwork. Twenty-eight days & –Boom! I knew to expect her visit. . . Then, once she arrived, I knew I could count five days out — nearly to the hour — & I knew I could count on her to go the Hell away.

It was a bitch-&-a-half still — of course — but, it was my body’s way of telling me all was well & working right & that there wasn’t a kid up in there! LOL.

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But, now?

Now, it’s my body’s way of telling me it’s still all kinds of fucked up since last year’s miscarriage, really.

We found out we were pregnant mid-April & by mid-May — on our one-year anniversary (UGH!) — my body told me something was wrong. It was so convincing, we ended that night in the local emergency room. Since that night, my body has not gone back to normal — & I am beginning to doubt it ever will.

We got the okay the beginning of September from my doctor. . . He said my HCG levels had gone back to “normal” & that my body should soon too — but that it could take up to 18 months for some people.

Obviously, that was six months ago. . . Sure, I am closer to normal, but not normal enough. . .

Aunt Flo’s visit ranges from feeling-like-I-am-going-to-die-horrific to so-barely-there-it’s-annoying-to-even-have-to-deal-with-it. . . From a “mere” three days to a dreadful six days. . . From a only 23 days in between to about 30. . . From “regular” to “super,” if you know what I mean. . .

So, according to the doctor, I could have another year of this shit? Seriously?!

Just, ugh.

Of course, there’s the added depression uncertainty annoyance that I am dealing with her visit at all — you know, with the handsome husband & I hoping to add to our family. . . But that’s a (slightly) separate story. . .

I guess I just miss actually knowing my own body. . . At 33-years-old, I think that is a reasonable thing to want & to have. . . Yet, since last May, I don’t even recognize the body I am in any more — & it’s not just because I’m a lot more plump than I used to be.

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It sucks. There’s no other way to put it.

Just rip it all out & let’s be done with this bullshit.

Okay. Maybe not. But, I think I’ve made my point clear. . . & if you’ve read this far: Sorry. . . & thanks for “letting” me vent, I guess.

 

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Reta Jayne

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By Reta Jayne

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I am Reta Jayne. I help women learn to love themselves again (or more!) through no-bull discussions about mental health, self-care, & more. Click the email icon to subscribe to & communicate with me via email.

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The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
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