Mike Hunt

First things first, my period has gone sex nuts and retard strong. It's almost normal, but not. Nothing to write home about, this will probably pass once I'm comfortable with my new boyfriend.

Moving on.

I was sexually harassed at work, actually touched inappropriately by this man more than once (and it was recorded on the security camera), threatened by sexually charged comments, asked incredibly inappropriate questions, shown lewd pictures, had disgusting gestures made towards me, told I didn't need to "go to [vacation destination] just so I could have sex, I could stay right here, if you know what I mean", and after the investigation closed, he gets to keep his job. Strike one.

When I asked if there was any way to separate us at work (like fucking kindergarteners), put on opposite sides of the building so I COULD FEEL SAFER AT WORK, I was told no, because it's not fair to the other employees who "have problems with other team members". Strike two.

He started creeping around after he was told he wasn't allowed to talk to me about non-work related things while on the property, and he started spreading rumors about someone he used to be friends with was trying to get him fired with disgusting lies. I documented and reported, documented and reported. Was told it was hearsay and speculation, and that we needed to "get past this and learn to work together again". STRIKE THREE. 

HR had the audacity to tell me that she was the only person who had both sides of the "real story", as though I wasn't telling the whole truth. I told her that I had invited his flirting at first, but when I found out the man had a girlfriend, I backed off. Then it got creepy, and I asked him to stop. He told me he didn't have a girlfriend and piqued my interest for about half a second before I kicked myself soundly in the head and realized what kind of situation I was in, I had to threaten to tell his girlfriend, who by the way, he was still with, that I would tell and show her everything if he didn't stop (he did for a little while but started right back up, and I never made good on my threat). I could have fucked him every day of the entire time we worked together, but the moment I said "No" was the moment that it should have stopped, and I have that right. 

I deserve better than this. I deserve to feel comfortable at work. I deserve to not have to work side by side with the man who has manipulated my emotions for the last few months. 

I regret reporting this, I regret every minute of the last two months. I should have just switched departments and tried to move on with my life.

And now I fear for my own job. I'm scared that because I didn't settle with the response that I got, that I'm fighting for my job, my sanity and self worth, that I will be terminated via some loophole, with no reference and no way to explain the year long gap in my resume. 

Worse, my mom thinks I should take HR's advice so I don't lose my job. She asked me, "is it worth it?"

I thought it was, but apparently job security is more important than mental stability and worth as a woman, as a PERSON. 

It's baffling to me how grossed out people get over period blood.

I'm really fucking low maintenance about body hair, like, I shave my legs maybe once a month. 

Firstly, because my body hair grows super slow. I can go two weeks without shaving and not have a noticeable five-o-clock leg shadow. They feel like cactus, but they still look like a veet commercial, so I don't care. 

Second, because jesus fucking christ, do you have any idea how annoying shaving is?

Apply to hooch bush and pits. I just don't have much in the way of hair. 

So I let it just like, jungle out for 4 months and hack it all away on a whim. Except my pits, those do get regular attention, maybe every 5 days. It's not even a beauty standard thing, if you're offended by some stubble in my armpits then you have bigger issues to worry about. But god damn do I love me some fresh pits.

So as it turns out, I escaped razor burn. What I thought was razor burn was a cut in between my labia and thigh because the brand new razor I busted out for operation bushwhack clearly was not a top of the line six blade holy grail of cutting wiry hair while gently moisturizing my delicate skin. No, it was just a Whatever Soleil 3 blade disposable. Mistake #1, my snatch apparently requires the razor equivalent to a corvette, I suppose. 

I found a pack of old birth control in my vanity the other day. I've been on my period for two months. 

Two years ago today, I was raped and lost all interest in fixing my war thirsty cunt. I tried to stay interested in what my doctor had to say, I had a lot of hospitalizations and office visits. Blood from my veins and from my snatch flowed freely. I have panic attacks weekly, less frequently now that I am so pumped full of Xanax that I have circled from high as fucking balls right back into getting my shit together and dealing with it.  The man who raped me is leaving the state today. He is moving far, far away, and I didn't have a hand in it. He's leaving his house, his wife, his dog, and job prospects. He's on disability. His life has turned to shit and he is leaving the state and I will never run into him at the pharmacy ever again. I will never pull up next to him at the gas station ever again. I will never have to avoid his part of town ever again. I will never think twice about going to the mall ever again. I will never have to see him and his smug face, ever again. 

But I long to be able to get pregnant much more. 

It's not like any sane doctor will give a 25 year old a hysterectomy anyway, I'd have to stab myself in the cunt and mangle the shit out of it before they cut it out. 

I have dreams about it, though.

I've only been on my period for 8 days, but I have used 54 Tampax Pearl Ultra sized tampons. They hold up to 18 grams of fluid, and I still don't make it to the bathroom in time before the blood spills out of my clenched snatch and trickles down my leg. I leave bloody ass prints on everything because the leaks flow towards my ass, as well, and pool in my butt crack. 

I'm dizzy, all the time. I'm in an insane amount of pain because I'm passing clots bigger than my fingers on a constant basis. I feel the contractions my uterus is making to expel the nasty that is flowing freely from my lower half.

I can only take Motrin, hop in the bath and hope that my panic attacks dont cause an asthma attack, because that is what would just tip the scale to full blown mania. I'm at the point where I'm thinking about buying all of the god damn Xanax that every teenage drug dealer can scam off his midlife crisis having Aunt Rochelle or whatever. Because I'm ready to smear my own menstrual blood all over my entire body and sacrifice myself to the gods of binge drinking. 

the only girl who wishes for her period to come.

I don't mean in that "I might be pregnant way". I just know that it's been so long that when it does decide to grace me with it's presence, it will be crotchpocalypse. 

I haven't seen mine since she dumped my follow up on the surgeon who did my D&C. 

I have to find a new gynecologist and I'm going to have to put this whole fucking show on all over again. More blood tests and ultrasounds, because they all have to see for themselves. I'll have to repeat rape, a history of drug abuse and my sexual history, all three categories I just am exhausted by.