My Taboo Disease

Hide the Evidence

          What is the normal response to finding out that something is wrong with you?
Well my 23 year old self would go straight to the doctor and explain every symptom. But my twelve year old self? My twelve year old self decided to spend every minute coming up with ways to hide this.
            When I got home from my trip, my middle school teacher explained to my mom what happened. My mom was flustered; she had tried to offer me tampons but I always refused. I was too nervous to try them; was it because I somehow intuitively knew things were wrong? Or was it just me being a kid? Probably the latter, I know I'm not the only girl who was intimidated by tampons. Anyway, my mom laughed it off and thanked my teacher, apologizing for having failed in that aspect. They laughed about it to each other (to my dismay) and that was that. Unfortunately I would later find that the word had spread to my other teachers, including the males, and some of the parents...luckily I wasn't too scarred from embarrassment: I was already too preoccupied with the built in wall that had blocked me from being a regular girl.
              
           For eight years after that fateful day, I spent five days every month trying to convince my family (but mostly myself if we're being honest) that I was normal. Once my mom made an observation that she never saw tampons in the trash.
             "Do you use tampons at all? Or should I stop buying them for you?" She asked. It was an innocent enough question, absolutely, but I took it to mean she was on to me. (Don't ask me why, it's not like people normally suspect sexual dysfunctions, I was just extra paranoid).
              "No no!" I assured her, "I use them, I pack them in my purse!" And from then on, I "used" tampons. By "used" I mean I would take a couple of them out of the package, was them up in toilet paper and throw them in the trash like they were used. I know, it sounds crazy, and that's because it was. I had tried multiple times since the first day to use tampons and of course, I wasn't very successful. I could waddle around for a little bit, then eventually it got to the point where I couldn't even manage that; and it drove me crazy.
              Day and night I stressed about tampons, but I was a pretty good actress. I talked with the girls in my middle school about the burden of our periods and how much better tampons were than pads. I carried tampons with me to hand out to a girl in need, I even occasionally "borrowed" a tampon just to keep the charade up.
                As I continued to live with this secret by myself, I grew increasingly agitated with myself. I disgusted myself with my disorder, I couldn't understand why I was like this, and convinced myself it was my fault. I felt stupid and ugly, but most of all, I felt helpless. I thought that telling people would be endlessly embarrassing and that somehow nobody would care enough to help me, not even my own parents. That's my biggest regret; if I could go back I would have told her everything right away. She's my rock, the reason I have gotten where I am today. But I had no idea at the time how amazing she would be.