I love being a girl, right?
But there are very acute moments (usually once a month) when it is legitimately an illness to have a vagina.
(Feminists, go to another blog.)
You are quite literally a victim of nature and your own body.
I, for one, get moody as all hell. Happy one moment, depressed the next.
I am also extremely good at hiding it. I run: physically and emotionally.
I am literally my own terrorist, physical trainer, psychologist.
I wish I wasn't. I wish I put that on God, but I don't.
I talk to Him when the pain gets too overwhelming to handle alone, which it always does.
And I refuse to go to Human with those issues, no matter how much I love and trust him/her.
I fear the prospect of confused facial expressions, biased advice, and dismissal too much.
I’m harsh enough on myself.
Furthermore (I use that word a lot in essays), I think too much.
The problem is that I am so unapologetic about who I am: the whole moody, messy, overly analytical Me.
The thing with being unapologetic is that the moment people tell me that that’s a good trait, the moment I become complacent and eventually become dissatisfied with who I am.
AND THE CYCLE REPEATS ITSELF.
In other words, people’s compliments can’t withstand the views I have of myself. I’ll tear that shit down.
All of the above is me barely scratching the surface of my thoughts.
And...of course, I miss my grandma.