If you are a man, or a squeamish female, you may not want to read this. You have been warned.
The last time we met, she brought the pain, as per usual.
Every time she visited I knew what would come. The tears, the angst, the over-sensitivity, the hurt.
Yes, the hurt.
She is a huge fan of hurting me. I don’t know exactly why, but for some reason she seems to think that it is her right, nay, her obligation, to cause me pain that isn’t to be ignored. The last time we met was the worst it has ever been. She had me crying for days. Weeks even.
I said goodbye to her and good riddance too. When she’s not around I can feel normal, comfortable in my own skin, in control.
That was 22 months ago. 22 months of calm. 22 months of stability. 22 months a bitch free zone. Well almost.
The happy times seem to have come to an end now though. Two weeks ago she sent me a message, just testing the waters really. Something along the lines of “Remember me? I’m coming for you!”.
I was not impressed, so I ignored her. She thought she could mess with me? No way, not happening.
Again, one week ago, she reared her nasty head. I was left shaken by the experience. Raw. Emotional. I didn’t want to admit that she obviously has this power over me. I hoped that ignoring her would make her go away.
She is back, with a vengeance it would seem.
Thankfully she can’t read, so I can tell you guys how I really feel about her. I can tell you hoe much I hate my Aunt Flo’.
She is such a B.
Here’s hoping for short visits. I really don’t like sharing my house with other women.
What’s the longest stretch you’ve ever had without a visit from “Aunt Flo”?
I blog on Tuesday with Diary of a SAHM