Two days of typing out loud in a row? I have thoughts, apparently.
Browsing social media over the weekend, a name popped up as a suggested friend.
And hmmmm, no. While not one of the bullies back in high school, she was one who openly made fun of me on one of the most horrible days of my life.
As any teenage girl can attest, that would be the day my uterus exploded and ruined - RUINED - a pair of pants.
Sigh. How to unpack this, 40 years later?
To be honest, I am to blame for not taking care of myself. But I was so young, my period was so inconsistent and... violent. I had no forewarning that it was coming, just a sweaty back and then BAM. And I do mean BAM, I would just be sitting there, and suddenly I was soaking wet.
I panicked.
I froze.
I just didn't know what to do.
And I had a test in my last class, honors English.
I was leaving gym class, where I had feebly tried to clean myself up on the small square of terry cloth given to us to wash after working out. Useless for what I was up against.
And what of the sisterhood, the girl code if you will:
Ms. Hogle, our tyrannical gym teacher? Proven in the past to be unhelpful, zero empathy.
My girlfriends who were in my class? Dealing with their own shit, an embarrassed shrug.
Other girls in the locker room? Nothing - no one helped, no one suggested going to Sr. Barb for a clean skirt or pair of pants, or even taking refuge in a counselor's office. No one offered a sweater to wrap around my waist or even to walk behind me to shield me from the stares, the pointing, the laughter.
And point and laugh they did - I remember turning to see the two of you pointing and laughing. Seeing my horrified face, your faces contorted to hide your laughter, to only twist in glee at my mortification.
No girl code to the rescue.
I pulled my sweater down to hide the crimson stain and hurried to class. Preoccupied with my predicament, I failed that test - and was called up to the front of class by Mr. K, who asked me to clarify an answer to a question; I felt like EVERYONE was staring at my backside.
I think I threw the pants away when I got home and showered. I didn't cry that day, but I'm on the verge of tears now, 40 years later. I still cannot believe my frozen panic.
Typing this out sort of helps me come to terms with the fact that every woman has had that moment when their body betrays them. Lord, it happened to me so often that I had the organ ripped out of me as useless about 10 years ago.
To make myself feel better by typing out my trauma, what did I learn from this?
I learned in moments of panic to solve the problem first, and panic later.
Also have a backup plan, I am rarely without an extra set of clothes tucked away to either work out during the day or change in case of emergency.
I also came to realize, later, when trying to get pregnant, that my PCOS diagnosis really went all the way back to my teenage years. So much blood...
I also learned grace and empathy for others. Need a tampon? An exit plan? A jacket to wrap around your waist? You can rely on me.
And also when not to laugh at others.
You know what - I do have to mention that while I was alone that day, there was one person who did provide empathy when this inevitably happened again, so shout out and love into the universe for Molli, who had at one time told some boys to shut up, then let me know about the spot on my skirt and slide a pad from her purse. You are the girl I needed back then, and I never forgot your kindness.
As for the other person: I'm sure you are a great person living a great life and have probably forgotten this incident long ago, but sorry - I can't friend request you, even now. It's not you, it's me.
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