First period

I remember the time I got my first period. I came home from school in eighth grade, and told my mom what had happened to my pants. She gave me a bored look, “You know what to do.” Yes, I knew what menstruation was, what I did is nothing but informing her a fact. As a mature kid, I always know what to do. This is how my family and friends think about me. But is it true? Feeling the warm and gooey blood, I realized that my childhood eventually dissipated like the animal corpse buried in the soil.

  The first period paved way for the second, and then a third, by the fourth I became an expert of menstruation. It is not a big deal. I have to accept it and live with it. It is my strategy of dealing with things. With every new challenge in life, I push myself further down a lonely path with which I had no return. When I grew up, the challenges were no longer confined to simple and normal physiological phenomenon; some of them could not even be delivered as facts, which further fostered my avoidance of asking for help, and gradually, my strategy became a problem itself. The strategy I used to counteract with the effect of those challenges put on me

  The excess oppression of emotions breed hysteria and depression. 

wonder when it started, how come I sealed myself and took all the responsibilities when I was not ready? I don’t have to be mature that fast.