I had my period for the first time at 13. I already knew everything about it, but when I saw the blood on my panties, an “oh no” came out from my mouth while some tears fell from my eyes. With my underpants at knee-high, I left the bathroom and looked for my mom.

“Mom... Look...” – she lowered her head and her smile rose. First with her eyes and only then with her teeth. “You’re a woman now, Carol...”

At least, someone got happy…

The day after my first period was melancholic. So cold and cloudy that it was like night has been given birth in advance, at two p.m. Somehow, I knew that my mood had something to do with the blood that would seep from my vagina. I didn’t have enough time to process all that and being honest, I’m still processing it…

It was like I hadn’t studied what I was supposed to do from that point on.

13 years old.

Shortly after, my body went through a deep metamorphosis and what started as a smooth and simple transformation, gradually became a tsunami which appeared in horizon and couldn’t or wouldn’t be stopped. So, I gave up… and gave space to the body demanding changes.


It didn’t take me long to notice that older men began looking at me in a manner that would ‘talk’ to a very intimate feeling of fear. Not only because of the look itself, but also because they would make a point of exhibiting that face.

A friend of the family that was old enough to be my grandfather once said “Carol is ready to play” with a strange grin in his face when no adults were around. At that moment, I understood the urgence people had to discover if I had already had my first menstruation. Blood was the proof I wasn’t a child anymore and now they´d have free pass to intimidate my body as they wished. They were comfortable. Hunters vs. Hunt. I started avoiding them.

At school, something that reminded me of a support group was available. I believe it already existed but would be imperceptible to the eyes of those who wouldn’t menstruate yet. A “fight club” that you only participated if you had the password: “Can you see if I am dirty?”. Comments were made with shame like if it weren’t a subject that deserved naturality and pads were trafficked as cocaine.

It was in a normal sunny day, and I remember because no one had a coat that I could borrow. I felt the period seeping after I sneezed and seconds later, I felt my wet panties in contact with my skin. That same sensation happened and will happen, several times during my life, but as any first times, I panicked. My attempt of hiding the blood was in vain and all the boys started bullying me for letting them see the red stain. A punishment. I was supposed to do anything to hide it. Girls even tried to orchestrate some defense, but hostility was tough, and we silenced after some time.

Hate for menstruating gained material proportions on that day. I had just started but already felt terribly anxious for menopauses. Such a concrete anger that made me think of all possibilities to stop the matter. I wouldn’t accept menstruation anymore and I was willing to do ANYTHING to achieve my objective.

And I did what any teenagers would do…

I got home in a semi-conscious state. Found a sharp knife and entered the bathroom. I was crying a lot. In front that small, rounded mirror, I cut the tip of my fingers and repeated seven times: “take my blood and I give you my soul…”. It was a ritual of invocation. The blood drop flowed my index finger and when it reached the surface of the sink, I understood it was over. I saw my own reflection in the mirror, but I knew I was in front of Him.

“Is that what you want? Are you sure?” – my own voice made echo in the small room.

I confirmed with my head and heard “ok” followed by this evil laugh that didn’t make me feel afraid once it came out from my own throat.

I stopped menstruating. Pact with Lucifer worked, and I would be in hell forever, but enjoy a bloodless life.


First month was pure relief, but I didn’t believe it exactly. I had no faith. Just stopped menstruating and felt so free as if I was in a tap ad ironically. Second month was a bit more complex. I understood what burning forever in hell really meant and so a strong fear just took over my mind.

My body reacted to the… pact and my face just looked like a bomb camp of zits. My boobs were swollen and the suspect that I had got pregnant started appearing when I stopped asking for pads to my mom. She would greatly deal with a daughter with a lost soul, but teenage pregnancy was too much.

After three months, I wouldn’t sleep anymore. I heard that same evil laugh anytime I decided to rest. Devil was having fun.

Exhausted, at the same mirror I sold, decided to ask my soul back. I prayed and begged to someone, and adult preferable, who could interfere in my favor.

That night, I had a dream. I was walking through a dark valley with mud and much fog. I was lost, walked there with a knife in my lap. It didn’t hurt, but I couldn’t take it out. I walked for hours and found a river, curiously, water was red as blood.

I bended and saw a person in my own reflection: Jesus Christ.

Why? – he asked me.

“I can’t take it anymore” – I answered – “Is it going to be like that forever?”

He laughed and only said that I hadn’t discovered the mystery yet, but at a point of my life it would be revealed to me. He took the knife from my belly and whispered: “Go and sin no more…”


I woke up surrounded by blood. It looked like that red lake had been transferred to the white sheets in my bed.

Never made amends with the subject.

Period took me space, had tighten, and suffocated me. It meant so much loss and at once, that I got depressed.


One of these days I asked a friend of mine if she could see anything positive about menstruating? She thought for a while and then said a very funny and strict to the point “nothing”. She completed her thought and didn’t seem to notice; however, she gave me a beautiful speech.

“You know what… I`m tired of fighting against menstruation. So, I`m learning how to love myself even when I`m menstruated because it will be like that for a long time… It`s like that! I won’t use my blood as moisturizer nor to feed my plants with that, but I like myself even on those days. Isn`t it enough all the hate directed to my body that comes from outside? From History? I quit hating myself, I accept it. I accept myself.”

She was so sure of it that it was like a mystery had been revealed.

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