Cause of death: Period

Each time I looked down, I hoped that this time would be different. But each time was the same. There was a permanent stain that transferred to each new pair I changed into. What was I doing wrong? I wiped and wiped, making sure no residue was left behind. But each time would surely be in vain. It was when I could no longer afford another strained pair of underwear that I asked my mom, “ what’s the brown thing that keeps popping up on my underwear?” My mom looked at me with anger and disgust as she threw what I believed to be diapers for my teletubies from when I was younger at me. And said, “ya sabes que hacer cochina.” I looked down at the pads with confusion. I definitely did not know que hacer. That was the marking point, the beginning to the most confusing time of my life: Puberty. As if being a pubescent teen in a Mexican household wasn’t hard enough, I had the tendency of turning everything into a life threatening illness. That year, I had breast cancer for a month, appendicitis, and a brain tumor. To keep it short, my brain tumor was a delusion caused by lack of sleep and improper diet. The appendicitis was induced by the period camps I was experience. And the breast cancer, that was just growing a pair. That was an extremely expensive time for my parents. The breast cancer was the toughest and most anticlimactic event in my life. For a whole month, I kept to myself the possibility of having breast cancer. I remember crying so much that I would cause myself another brain tumor. It wasn’t until my mom heard me weeping in the bathroom that I told someone about the horrible situation I was going through. One grope later, I was cured by my mom, who, shortly thereafter, burst into a fit of stupidity induced laughter. Luckily for shameless me, I later found someone to confide my many shameful concerns to. I would ask my female neighbor every awkward question that crossed my mind. I asked her about every different kind of fluid, odor and hair leaking through my body. She never once showed a sign of discomfort or laughed at my questions. I don’t know if it was the worrisome expression in which I asked my questions, or her genuine kindness that led her to answer me seriousness. Whichever the answer, I would be eternally grateful to her. Imagine a 12/13 year old knocking on your wooden door to ask you questions that were best answered by an adult, and not a 16 year old. T’was an awkward affair. But if it wasn’t for her, I would have surely died a teen.