Ah how delightful it is to be sitting in quite literally a pool of my own blood, being sopped up by this chemically treated cotton napkin. As I sit in class typing up my essay for school, not a singular person aware of the disaster going on bewteen my legs and inside my lower abdomen, the piercing pains of muscles contracting in order to spew out what my body knows is no loinger needed. Spit out onto a rag that is more toxic than what soils it. Analgesics they say will aid with the pain, but will it help me feel like my body isn't slowly tearring itself in half? Hold that thought, time to change my bloody diaper, because at this rate I'd change my pad every 20 minutes or so, why?