The first day

It's 18:36 GMT, and I'm running low on pads and drugs. Scratch that, I'm all out of drugs. It hurts so much, like enraged tigers with anger issues clawing through your uterus. "Why me", I think, as I clutch the duvet tight, praying that the pain will mercifully knock me out. Alas, Aunt Flow proves a cruel master as the spasms send me to my knees. Like a tease, the pain goes for a minute, and just when relief is about to come, it bangs into me with the force of a hurricane. Temptingly, I consider crawling out to the hallway and rolling myself down the stairs, but that would only leave me with broken bones and more pain. You know what would be nice right about now? A syringe filled with a coma-inducing drug. I can just see the needle plunging, liquid coursing through my veins, and merciful sleep claiming me. After a week, the effects of the drug would wear off, and I'd wake up in a pool of my own blood. So many sensations swimming in my body, and none of them pleasant. I feel like lying on the toilet floor and retching till my internal organs come out. I want to sit on the toilet, hands digging into the wall, and pass out everything inside me. I feel like taking a knife and carving out my uterus and ovaries. I'd take the damned things and make meat pie out of them. Feed the meat pie to the rats scurrying in the sewer on the wrong side of town. Unfortunately, I can't do any of those. I thought writing about it will make me feel better, but it really doesn't. I'm still dying slowly...bleeding my life out.