That couldn’t have come at a worse time.
The day I’ve had, up until five minutes ago. Stress.
My stress was stressed. And that was stressing me out. And everything was stress.
Get up, get dressed, get breakfast, go to Uni, come home, go shopping for food, spend less than $50 or die, carry food from one end of the mall to the other in four bags, arms almost fell off, go home, pack food away, eat lunch, write more essay paragraphs, find more related articles, work out, relax - but not really, work out, eat something, back to uni, put in retainer for the first time in 5 days, mouth on fire, find out marks for presentation, not good but better than expected given the circumstances, argue with Annoying again, go to tutorial, sit in an almost empty room, do work, troll Facebook, come home, write more essay paragraphs, email parents and sibling and reassure them that I’m fine, warm up exercises, toilet break, get period, immediate realisation cramps, start crying, go for run, pull leg muscles, twist already disjointed ankle again, arms still hurt, push it further because bloated and binge eating is imminent, cannot move leg, pushups, lie on floor crying for five minutes, more push ups, star jumps, boobs hurt more now, drink water, warm down sit-ups and stretches, lunges, feel knee pop, awesome, everything, crying all the way, oh what fun it is to be hormonal everyday.
My body is screaming at me to give myself a night off, to lie in bed and read and snooze and eat bad foods, but my brain is telling me no. Telling me to take the Panadol that’s sitting infront of me, teasing me, man up about being a woman and do the rest of this essay so I can enjoy my weekend without feeling guilty.
"I will not be broken, though I am the one that bleeds."