A short entry on birth control
Menstruation is the indication of womanhood. It’s feminine, natural, a sign of fertility. It’s a gift, they say, treasure it because the pain is temporary but the ability to create life is beautiful and eternal.
That sounds nice, but who the fuck gives a broken gift? Is the chemical imbalance supposed to be some kind of a sick joke? For years, I thought experiencing such unpredictable periods was an anomaly. Friends were aching on a monthly basis, and I would hype myself up by reminding myself how lucky I am to be void of that experience. Lovers were thrilled by the discovery, of course, but I remained more or less careful because the common theme here is “unpredictable”. The female figures in my family would reassure me that the hormonal levels in my body will eventually reach equilibrium once I pass a certain age. “You’re always drinking cold water and never going to bed on time, how can you expect your body to function properly?”, my Chinese grandmother guilts me with frowned eyebrows.
A few months ago, I agreed to try birth control for health purposes. Since menstruation is supposed to occur naturally on a monthly basis, an bi-annual occurrence signifies abnormality. I thought I had made up my mind on the matter, but sitting in the OBGYN office listening to the doctor list out the possible side effects, the decision felt spontaneous all over again. Surely the “mood changes” and the “weight gain” can’t compare to the increased risk of ovarian cancer. This is for the best.
I felt a chemical difference within the first two weeks. For the first time in three years, I sobbed uncontrollably, spilling my guts out at 3am to a guy I was just seeing at the time. He knew about the birth control prior and handled it sensibly, but I was regardless still shocked at this sudden emotional outburst. To those who knew me, know me, I’d score 8 out of 10 on the scale of upbeat and optimism. I would genuinely consider myself content and motivated most of the time. I never cried about personal things, and would only tear up to sacrifices or revolutions in films (latter part still true.) That emotional outburst was like a crack in a dam.
A few months in, there were undeniable mood changes. There are days I lay in bed staring at blank space while a low pitch white noise hums in my ears. When those days come around I feel so apathetic that the only response that comes to mind is, who cares? I feel destructive in the relationships that are so precious to me, and go as far to create heartbreaking scenarios in my head that threaten hard-earned trust and acceptance, even with myself. My insecurities would swallow me, and I began reverting to a desire to be thin, sad, and lonely.
“Sadness is interesting, all sad girls are so beautiful.”
“Don’t pick up the phone right now, you’ll burden them with your mood.”
“You let him finish inside you, what’s that worth? He still checks in on his exes.”
“What an idiot you are.”
Painful? Yeah, feel it, drink it in. It’s a depressive paranoia that you fully recognize but also can’t help but let it run, just like the soothing Depression Kitty from Big Mouth.
Feeling like soupy ice cream
Well, at least I’m not getting pregnancy scares anymore.
When those cloudy days pass, I have wonderful days when everything feels warm, and familiar, again. I can step out into the sun, take a big stretch, and be excited about a crowd. I don’t assume the worst when people I care about say something to me. I am empathetic and energetic, and feel the level of excitement I undoubtedly know I have towards this life. I laugh, I make jokes, I have fun. I love others and myself.
Experiencing this emotional rollercoaster has made me so deeply empathetic of girls who were put on birth control with little knowledge or, literally, control of the situation, and so often shortly after their first periods. The thought of growing young women dosing on synthetic steroids for years or even decades is horrifying. How long did they go about the formative years of their lives feeling that sense of cloudiness, isolation, and apathy towards themselves?
The birth control pill was the idea of Margaret Sanger, a nurse and women’s rights advocate. Despite the Comstock Act of 1873 which made it illegal to sell drugs that could terminate or prevent a pregnancy, she worked to provide women with safe and effective means of birth control. Before 1936, it wasn’t even legal for doctors to mail birth control literature across state lines.
Modern oral contraception was federally legalized in the 60s (Enovid) for the plain reason of preventing unwanted pregnancies. By the 90s, manufacturers began marketing pills to physicians and consumers as a lifestyle drug, otherwise known as drugs that would “enhance one’s quality of life.” Other examples of lifestyle drugs include viagra, weight control pills, or antidepressants. Suddenly, menstruation was marketed as a nuisance, and women were additionally pressured to consume pills for cosmetic purposes such as controlling acne. At the same time, research & development efforts on improving or updating pill dosages shifted into other products as companies feared that new pills result in lawsuits or cannibalize profit on the currently sold pills. According to Global Newswire, the global contraceptive pill market is projected to reach $20.55 Billion USD by 2026. What Sanger hoped would provide greater freedom to women became another shackle.
The more conversations I’m having frankly on periods, the more I realize that most women experience periods differently. A close friend from home used to experience pain so bad she would be paralyzed on the bathroom floor. For others it comes and it goes depending on their diet and lifestyle. We women, and even doctors, know birth control is only a short term solution for unwanted pregnancies, delayed periods, acne, or excessive periods. I wish there were more dependable medical solutions to varying hormonal or ovarian conditions. Until then, I will have to do my best in adjusting to the new levels of synthetic hormones in my body.
