I got my period yesterday. I don't care whether you all needed to know that, because dammit, this is my diary, and you're all here of your own free will. If anyone actually reads this is. God. I am in so much pain. It hurts, it hurts...hurts...hurts...Like pressure, ever continuing, never ending pressure being put on my lower abdomen, the soft part, just below the stomach muscles. Pressue with knitting needles. A dull, throbbing, shifting pain that leaves me crumpled on the floor, white, not daring to breath until the pain subsides once more. It hurts, it hurts, it hurtshurtshurts...I hate this time of the month. And this month it's worse. Much worse. So much worse. Why did I have to be born like this? Usually I can bear it, usually it isn't so bad. Usually I just get irritable and edgy, and have to go to the bathroom a lot to clean up blood, and antisocial. This month has muddled with so many things happening around/to me. I've become openly angry for tiny things, not offensively angry (thank god!), but a more humerously angry. I have to make it that way. Have to. Have to, have too...Have to over act everything, make it a joke. It hurts. Like the knitting needles again. Why can't someone take away the pain? It hurts so much, god it hurts...I want to cry. I need to cry. I can't cry, though. Something tells me to keep this cool mask of inpenitrability on. Ever read that book, Gone With the Wind? I kind of feel like Scarlett right now. Needing a hug, someone to stroke my hair, say tell me it's alright, but unable to get that for being an uptight arrogant 'I don't need anybody' type person. It's hurting again. It subsided for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment it receded to a faint ache in the middle of my belly, small as a walnut, and now the needles have returned...my mother wants me to get a needle. For some illness, some horrible illness. Some shot you're supposed to get in grade nine. I didn't get it. I was on correspondence. Doing school at home. My little brother found out and told my mother and now she wants me to get this shot. I hate shots. I detest them. I fear them. One of the few things strong little Rosie fears. I hate them with a passion. I hope I never get another one in my entire life. I hope they knock me out first. With a club. Or something. So I wouldn't have to see it, feel it...It's creeping me out just thinking about it. Imagine! A tiny little thread like needle, giving big Rosie the shivers. But I've got to go. I've got to run. Dinner with family. Dinner....Oh god it hurts...

Rosie.

Before&After