I’m Dying of Being a Girl

I’m Dying of Being a Girl


The worst part of being a girl; the part that brings shame, snide remarks and uncomfortable glances...

(even though it shouldn’t)

...when we talk about it; a highly misunderstood and rejected part of being a human female - Menstruation.

This monthly cycle of pleasantries always comes with excruciating symptoms like stabbing, throbbing, burning gremlins of terror that shred apart my midsection and send razor sharp shooting pain up and down my legs. Overwhelming me with the urge to vomit. They use their saw like talons teetering back and forth from spine to navel. The gremlins laugh and dance on my entrails, as they launch the disemboweled remains of me through my pelvic cavity.

This little dance with the devil  takes over roughly a total of 10 years from a woman’s life, according to https://thoughtcatalog.com/lorenzo-jensen-iii/2015/07/25-little-known-facts-about-your-period/

10 years, on average, of fun filled suffering and anguish.

For me, I get the joy of experiences like, the middle of the night vomits, combined with urgent need to defecate, repeatedly. The reality of feeling like a stabbed pig gushing into my own diaper is a disgusting reminder that I’ve not fulfilled my biological need to reproduce. Nothing quite wakes you up and turns your night into a festive blood drenched murder scene like the urgent need to rush to the bathroom at 2am for 3-7 (usually 7) consecutive days at regular monthly intervals.

Having shooting pains and pins, needles - a fire setting off your pain sensors all over your body. Hot showers, essential oils, internal pelvic floor stretching, tens machine, IFC machine, heating pads, diet changes, digestive testing, Yamuna body rolling….all barely touch the surface of my suffering - the tools take the edge off enough to function, but barely and mostly it means putting my life on pause while I wait for the inevitable to pass.  If you know me (or have read my previous posts), you know I try not to take medicine. I’m attempting an all natural course of healing for my IC, my gut inflammation and my body systematically. Over the counter pills don’t even touch the intensity I experience during my visit from every girls least favorite Aunt anyway so why bother? Anything stronger comes with it’s own array of side effects and different forms of dysfunction - defeating the point of it all anyway.

I know that there’s a likelihood I have systems that aren’t properly flushing, creating an inability to detox fully; that there’s hormones out of whack and this fit my body throws is all it can do to attempt to bare the load my past self’s lifestyle - societies current state of food - and my genetic makeup has left it unwittingly. I understand this heavy, horrible cycle can be  a side effect of an unbalanced body. All symptoms I am fighting with are likely a result of the broken system, hormones, and stress.

For me, my monthly visit from my Aunt Flow brings about her cohort of IBS, IC and pelvic floor spasms. Basically it’s a torture holiday in my midsection for the chronic pain gremlins to play freely throughout my body. Because of the guarantee of pain at regular intervals, any duration of relief is short lived by this circle I’m trapt in.

However, I do my best to cope through bodywork, essential oils and a healthy lifestyle; with diet and exercise, I’m optimistic that as I heal my gut I can change the negative experiences I have within my uterus.


Apple Out,


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