"The Monthly Surrender"

It doesn't start with the blood. It starts days before — a heaviness that has no name yet. The crying that makes no sense. The ache that lives in your bones before it lives in your body. The world feeling too loud, too much, too everything. And then it arrives. And suddenly all of it makes sense. The body knew before you did. But knowing doesn't make it hurt less. That day — that first day — you don't want comfort or explanations. You just want to curl into the reddest, warmest place you can find. And scream. Quietly. Into your blanket. Where nobody has to understand.