Right now, I have an itchy vagina. As I type this, my fingers smell of my cunt – and specifically of the crusty gook that was coating them after I’d reached down into my knickers to rub my vulva. I think there’s a correlation between how heavy my period is and how itchy my vagina is as it comes to a close, and while I can’t prove that, I can write (terrible, but it is 1am after all) poetry about my itchy vagina.
I’m done with being subtle about my period. At least once a week I remember that I live in a country where period products are viewed (and taxed!) as a luxury, non-essential item, while Jaffa Cakes are not. Yes, we have seen significant steps forward in recent months to tackle period poverty, but the stigma around menstruation is still sticking around. And I’m fed up with it.
Today I wore a sanitary pad in my knickers because I thought my period was going to arrive. At the time of publishing this blog post, it still hasn’t done so, but I have been thinking a lot about period sex. Is it fair to say that I have a dysfunctional relationship with my menstrual cycle. I definitely am not always on speaking terms with my vagina, but I can deal with my periods – just about.