Sometimes my period cramp makes me feel like less a woman, sometimes it makes me think my inside is somehow broken, unfit to carry the flag of being a whole woman. Everytime it plagued my body, I am torned between the feelings of destitute it causes me, and the need to sustain my independence by extinguishing its visible pain. Neither do I always succeed to accomplish any of it, because by the time I realize the pain is gone someone kind who noticed the lines of excruciating pain on my face had already offered their help, or out of helplessness I simply reached the painkillers I keep in my study and put myself to the obedience of sleep.
It is the pain, the obligatory kind. The type which stays inside you no matter how far you go, as long as you are alive. To put a stop to its flame is to put a stop at your fire, and it kills you with its death.
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