May 1, 2011: the Period
Summer 2010:
what a beautiful season.
Not really.
I remember this as a messy time. I think it was the post-grad confusion, coupled with a few remaining bits of depression and a not-real sense of self. I look back at it and I feel disgusted. I feel disgusted with my life from March 2010 to the present. I don't know why so much; there's some framework I used to have I want back and I can never seem to catch it.
I guess while we're on the subject of messes, I can share with you an embarrassing anecdote from said time. It sums up a lot in a little.
My mother takes these long, physically-demanding walks in the spring and summer. They are usually about six miles, meandering through our neighboring suburbs that we know so well by now. I join her for them now- I never used to, but once I was in shape enough to complete the whole walk and not puff out halfway through for an easier route, I decided "why not?" Occasionally I even get a decent conversation with her in, which can be a rarity.
There are different routes she chooses. One in particular encompasses the nearby zoo, where there's a picnic grove and park from the 1910s right next door. Families come here in the summer to have their gatherings, and often we walk by showers, parties and reunions when passing through. Men holding beercans and children playing games watch us.
This walk requires us to just knick the highway we live by. I mean, it's almost within a rather-large stone's throw. Like a David meets Goliath stone's throw.
It happened in either July or August, when it was unbearably hot out. The sweat stuck to me like tar. 2010's summer was excruciating, to say the least. I remember being trapped in my clothes most of the time and finding them painful to peel off because they had somehow attached to my skin.
"Oh my god," I remember thinking. "I can't finish this walk!"
"MAN UP, PUSSY," my brain then yelled. "YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO PROVE HERE."
"Prove what? I do this walk EVERY week. I know I'm capable of it! Shut up and go shoot out neurons or whatever it is you do."
"KEEP, GOING."
I had a nagging pain in my side and I don't often host dialogues with my inner organs. So I kept trucking. I soldiered on, to say the least.
"Mom?" I asked when we were rounding the corner up past the zoo.
"Hmm?"
THUMP.
Oh, no.
Nagging pain turned out to be a cramp which turned out to be the red flag that my period, which is never reliable, was upon me. I was told when I started menstruating, that decade ago, to keep track of it. And I tried! But I soon found it'd be the 11th one month, and then the 16th, and then the 20th, and the the 1st what the hell is the point anymore. There came a long period where I didn't get mine at all, and I sort of missed it and then I sort of didn't care, but it came back and it was, once again, up to its wily ways.
I was only wearing very lightweight clothes because of the heat. Could you blame me? No, you cannot. I think it was between 80 and 90 and Erie gets humid. It's not that dry heat; it's the heat that makes my hair try to become Whitney Houston's hair. But the worst facet was I didn't have any protection from the period. Note: no pad, no tampon. I was screwed.
"I have to go home."
"Why?"
"I don't feel good." And between the heat and the pain and the sudden anxiety well I was not very keen on anything physical. What I wanted to do was go home, collapse on my couch and watch Lifetime or something with Meg Ryan circa 1997.
"Too much for you?" she teased. I sighed.
"No, I just want to go home. Can I go home?"
"Can you get home?" My mom went ahead of me, her hips wriggling back and forth in some version of the antiquated "power walk."
"Um, I think so." At this point, I was getting pissed. I mean, blood was leaking through my shorts, I could feel it.
My mom laughed.
"Well I'm off!" I shouted, quickening the pace. "See ya!"
I knew where I was. Well, I thought I knew, anyway. There was the scenery around me that I had grown up with, right? The country-esque suburbs; the decrepit homes. Left would take me to my neighborhood and right would take me to the highway, which curved around a casino, a few dingy hotels and some gas stations.
I'll be okay. I assured myself.
Ha.
I don't know how this next part happened, but it did because I lived through it. I walked a long stretch of boring road, blood coming through my pants, me pulling down on my t-shirt to disguise it the best I could. To passing motorists, I did a dodgy dance.
Well, where are the houses? I wondered, because I was seeing far and few between. And none of the ones I viewed were the ones that marked my theoretical neck of the woods.
Then, I spied a church that looked suspiciously like a rocketship and KNEW that I had entered unforeseen territory.
"How did the hell did I manage to get lost?" I said out loud to myself. I shook my head, disappointed in my lack of direction. If I was a GPS system, someone would be throwing me out the window right about then.
I was clueless as to what to do. I started getting panicky, feeling my heartbeat go faster and faster as I imagined myself being hit by a dirty Cadillac or, better yet, a souped-up truck with bluegrass blasting from it. I started to imagine what would transpire and if my face would be ripped off and if they could reattach it. And they probably could, but it'd be a really big deal and I'd look like Elephant Man post-surgery. And then I'd live in my family's attic and write poetry and yell "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL" every Christmas when I came downstairs to steal eggnog.
What a life.
The rocketship church was preceded by a few other churches. Various Protestant divisions, typical Americana. I decided one of these churches was my best option, if I didn't wanted to end up a deformed mutant Emily Dickinson. Or didn't want to live in a field. Or didn't want to walk to the gas station, which I didn't think I was up to, because I would have probably passed out on the way there.
The church I found was Baptist, I believe. Grace something or other. Grace Under Fire, Grace Park the actress, Amazing Grace, etc. The door was partially open and there were two very middle class cars in the lot. I tiptoed in.
Mind you, I was covered in three things: fear, blood, sweat. Mmm, how appropriately Biblical.
"Hello?" I whispered. My voice echoed some and I darted my eyes. The church was very much like every other Protestant church I've been in- cleancut, Berber carpet, bright and dashing. Wholly uneuropean, non-gothic, non-intimidating like the Catholic ones I'd grown up with. THOU IST SIN, THOU IST BATHED IN FIRE AND PRAY FOR JESUS' FORGIVENESS. All around good times.
A man met me, emerging from some kind of office. He was wearing a polo and khakis and had thin glasses decorating his aged but friendly face.
"Can I use your phone?" I said. If I had a tail, it would have been hidden well between my legs.
"Of course, of course." He cocked his head at me, like a dog with a puzzle to solve, but went to retrieve the said phone.
Now I guess you have to try and imagine it from his perspective, if you will. This disheveled wreck of a girl shows up at your church. With blood on her shorts. The many, many thoughts he must have had.
I called my father and made a meek plea for a ride home, which I got. But not before the best part.
A woman came out of no where after I hung up the phone and returned it to the office. I was waiting, with my hands discreetly perched over my ass. Yes. I was aware I smelled like a high school locker room. I felt deeply how attractive I must have been.
"Hi honey," she addressed me. I raised an eyebrow. "Do you think maybe God brought you in today?"
"Uh..." I paused. No, pretty sure it was my ovaries.
"I have some literature for you. Feel free to take it!" she said. The woman, who was so artificially saccharine she made my teeth hurt, shoved Jesus-stamped pamphlets at my glistening face. I had no choice but to take the pamphlets, which preached to me REDEMPTION. And COMING TO SEE THE LORD'S LIGHT.
"I need to go outside. But thank you!" And I ran out of there, and sat my sweaty ass in the field, and waited.
"So you didn't know your way home, did you?" my mom was waiting when I got home, eventually. I grimaced and gave her the pamphlets. And then I went to find a tampon.
what a beautiful season.
Not really.
I remember this as a messy time. I think it was the post-grad confusion, coupled with a few remaining bits of depression and a not-real sense of self. I look back at it and I feel disgusted. I feel disgusted with my life from March 2010 to the present. I don't know why so much; there's some framework I used to have I want back and I can never seem to catch it.
I guess while we're on the subject of messes, I can share with you an embarrassing anecdote from said time. It sums up a lot in a little.
My mother takes these long, physically-demanding walks in the spring and summer. They are usually about six miles, meandering through our neighboring suburbs that we know so well by now. I join her for them now- I never used to, but once I was in shape enough to complete the whole walk and not puff out halfway through for an easier route, I decided "why not?" Occasionally I even get a decent conversation with her in, which can be a rarity.
There are different routes she chooses. One in particular encompasses the nearby zoo, where there's a picnic grove and park from the 1910s right next door. Families come here in the summer to have their gatherings, and often we walk by showers, parties and reunions when passing through. Men holding beercans and children playing games watch us.
This walk requires us to just knick the highway we live by. I mean, it's almost within a rather-large stone's throw. Like a David meets Goliath stone's throw.
It happened in either July or August, when it was unbearably hot out. The sweat stuck to me like tar. 2010's summer was excruciating, to say the least. I remember being trapped in my clothes most of the time and finding them painful to peel off because they had somehow attached to my skin.
"Oh my god," I remember thinking. "I can't finish this walk!"
"MAN UP, PUSSY," my brain then yelled. "YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO PROVE HERE."
"Prove what? I do this walk EVERY week. I know I'm capable of it! Shut up and go shoot out neurons or whatever it is you do."
"KEEP, GOING."
I had a nagging pain in my side and I don't often host dialogues with my inner organs. So I kept trucking. I soldiered on, to say the least.
"Mom?" I asked when we were rounding the corner up past the zoo.
"Hmm?"
THUMP.
Oh, no.
Nagging pain turned out to be a cramp which turned out to be the red flag that my period, which is never reliable, was upon me. I was told when I started menstruating, that decade ago, to keep track of it. And I tried! But I soon found it'd be the 11th one month, and then the 16th, and then the 20th, and the the 1st what the hell is the point anymore. There came a long period where I didn't get mine at all, and I sort of missed it and then I sort of didn't care, but it came back and it was, once again, up to its wily ways.
I was only wearing very lightweight clothes because of the heat. Could you blame me? No, you cannot. I think it was between 80 and 90 and Erie gets humid. It's not that dry heat; it's the heat that makes my hair try to become Whitney Houston's hair. But the worst facet was I didn't have any protection from the period. Note: no pad, no tampon. I was screwed.
"I have to go home."
"Why?"
"I don't feel good." And between the heat and the pain and the sudden anxiety well I was not very keen on anything physical. What I wanted to do was go home, collapse on my couch and watch Lifetime or something with Meg Ryan circa 1997.
"Too much for you?" she teased. I sighed.
"No, I just want to go home. Can I go home?"
"Can you get home?" My mom went ahead of me, her hips wriggling back and forth in some version of the antiquated "power walk."
"Um, I think so." At this point, I was getting pissed. I mean, blood was leaking through my shorts, I could feel it.
My mom laughed.
"Well I'm off!" I shouted, quickening the pace. "See ya!"
I knew where I was. Well, I thought I knew, anyway. There was the scenery around me that I had grown up with, right? The country-esque suburbs; the decrepit homes. Left would take me to my neighborhood and right would take me to the highway, which curved around a casino, a few dingy hotels and some gas stations.
I'll be okay. I assured myself.
Ha.
I don't know how this next part happened, but it did because I lived through it. I walked a long stretch of boring road, blood coming through my pants, me pulling down on my t-shirt to disguise it the best I could. To passing motorists, I did a dodgy dance.
Well, where are the houses? I wondered, because I was seeing far and few between. And none of the ones I viewed were the ones that marked my theoretical neck of the woods.
Then, I spied a church that looked suspiciously like a rocketship and KNEW that I had entered unforeseen territory.
"How did the hell did I manage to get lost?" I said out loud to myself. I shook my head, disappointed in my lack of direction. If I was a GPS system, someone would be throwing me out the window right about then.
I was clueless as to what to do. I started getting panicky, feeling my heartbeat go faster and faster as I imagined myself being hit by a dirty Cadillac or, better yet, a souped-up truck with bluegrass blasting from it. I started to imagine what would transpire and if my face would be ripped off and if they could reattach it. And they probably could, but it'd be a really big deal and I'd look like Elephant Man post-surgery. And then I'd live in my family's attic and write poetry and yell "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL" every Christmas when I came downstairs to steal eggnog.
What a life.
The rocketship church was preceded by a few other churches. Various Protestant divisions, typical Americana. I decided one of these churches was my best option, if I didn't wanted to end up a deformed mutant Emily Dickinson. Or didn't want to live in a field. Or didn't want to walk to the gas station, which I didn't think I was up to, because I would have probably passed out on the way there.
The church I found was Baptist, I believe. Grace something or other. Grace Under Fire, Grace Park the actress, Amazing Grace, etc. The door was partially open and there were two very middle class cars in the lot. I tiptoed in.
Mind you, I was covered in three things: fear, blood, sweat. Mmm, how appropriately Biblical.
"Hello?" I whispered. My voice echoed some and I darted my eyes. The church was very much like every other Protestant church I've been in- cleancut, Berber carpet, bright and dashing. Wholly uneuropean, non-gothic, non-intimidating like the Catholic ones I'd grown up with. THOU IST SIN, THOU IST BATHED IN FIRE AND PRAY FOR JESUS' FORGIVENESS. All around good times.
A man met me, emerging from some kind of office. He was wearing a polo and khakis and had thin glasses decorating his aged but friendly face.
"Can I use your phone?" I said. If I had a tail, it would have been hidden well between my legs.
"Of course, of course." He cocked his head at me, like a dog with a puzzle to solve, but went to retrieve the said phone.
Now I guess you have to try and imagine it from his perspective, if you will. This disheveled wreck of a girl shows up at your church. With blood on her shorts. The many, many thoughts he must have had.
I called my father and made a meek plea for a ride home, which I got. But not before the best part.
A woman came out of no where after I hung up the phone and returned it to the office. I was waiting, with my hands discreetly perched over my ass. Yes. I was aware I smelled like a high school locker room. I felt deeply how attractive I must have been.
"Hi honey," she addressed me. I raised an eyebrow. "Do you think maybe God brought you in today?"
"Uh..." I paused. No, pretty sure it was my ovaries.
"I have some literature for you. Feel free to take it!" she said. The woman, who was so artificially saccharine she made my teeth hurt, shoved Jesus-stamped pamphlets at my glistening face. I had no choice but to take the pamphlets, which preached to me REDEMPTION. And COMING TO SEE THE LORD'S LIGHT.
"I need to go outside. But thank you!" And I ran out of there, and sat my sweaty ass in the field, and waited.
"So you didn't know your way home, did you?" my mom was waiting when I got home, eventually. I grimaced and gave her the pamphlets. And then I went to find a tampon.
Yikes😁
ReplyDeleteI normally reflect on things I've written several years ago and kind of cringe, but this wasn't that bad! I mean, the experience, yeah, but you know.
Delete