Green or White Pill for Period

I started the Pill. I resisted for all these years but my gyno told me there's no need for me to suffer undue pain every month when I have debilitating cramps for two days in a row. I thought it was just the price I was going to pay for the rest of my life as a result of my being a kink and not wanting to get married. That and it was convenient that I didn't have to lie to make a guy put a condom on. But anyway, she told me no, that I didn't need to suffer for that. And now I don't know which pill is supposed to give me my period, because I am spotting every day. So in the paraphrased words of one of my favorite rappers (Jay-Z), in reference to a great movie (The Matrix): "Green or white pill? / You live and you learn."

Okay it sounded better when he spit it...

And clearly not intended for this context, lol...

Chapter 4: To Bone or Not To Bone

Callinda held her tongue, and her breath, as Diana's thin face emerged from the darkness. It looked different this week. The drug interactions were robbing her of any long, wavy hair left on her scalp after the hair-pulling panic attacks were over, so she was refusing to take her Seroquel which should have been fattening her up. She was destroying herself. Last weigh-in was 96 pounds, and even for a 5'2" short female, her features were losing their definition of a classically thin beauty - now she was just looking bony. Her bone structure was underdeveloped like that of a 16-year-old, with wrinkled, leathery skin of a 36-year-old that had been smoking cigarettes and crack cocaine since 18. And knew she was hot shit since 16.

"Would you like to tell me about the time when you wore makeup, Diana?" Callinda invited.

"Yeah…" she spoke slowly, as though every word was a preciously somber memory. "I used to wear makeup. And my hair like this. I was sexy."

Callinda smiled inwardly at her spot-on analysis of Diana’s 16-year-old self esteem. Diana proceeded to part her hair to the side and brush it in front of her face with her fingers. She brushed it over the side of her face that had the mysterious scars, raised one shoulder and puckered her lips, as if posing for a camera. But her head was pointed downward and she looked up at Callinda through the hair with her dark eyebrows lowered. She looked dangerously attractive. "All the boys wanted me. Like those girls you see in corny movies. 'All the boys wanted her, and all the girls wanted to be her.'" she mocked, raising her sparse eyebrows for emphasis. She was sounding a lot like a phone sex operator today.

"Well, that wasn’t exactly me," she continued. "The girls never wanted to be me… they wanted to… screw me…'have sexual relations with'… wanna write that down on your little clipboard?"

Callinda thought to write: "Over-inflated ego results in lesbian fantasies" under today's date. But her hands didn't move. Wouldn’t have been able to write even if the pen had been in her hands. She was glad to have stuck her hands between her knees earlier, so Diana couldn’t see them shaking now. These were games intended to scare her off. Or turn her on. Both were half-successful attempts. But if Diana was telling the truth?

"I don’t think that’s necessary, Diana," Callinda tried to say without stumbling over the words. "We’re in confidence here and I want you to be able to trust me." It sounded forced. So she continued, "In fact: fuck my clipboard."

Then, throwing the clipboard to the ground, Callinda managed to feign a smile. It landed near Diana’s feet. A free offering of all the "CONFIDENTIAL" information that had been kept on file.

Diana didn't blink. "You'll lose your job," she muttered, and walked back to her cot, ending their session.

Chapter 3: What Does Disturbed Want

“Boo.” said Diana, sarcastically.

“Well hello there, Diana.” Callinda dropped her bag on the floor, placed her clipboard on the desk, laid her pen down and turned her whole body to face Diana in one natural, sweeping motion. It looked as though she had been through this many times with other patients. She thought.

Diana looked blankly in Callinda’s direction, motionless. Only the whites of her eyes shone from the dark corner.

“Won't you have a seat over here next to me?” Callinda replied as sweetly as possible. Just do what I goddamn say, Diana, she thought.

“I used to wear makeup, too,” Diana replied in her raspy, barely audible tone. Callinda waited for a moment, expecting Diana to continue, but she kept staring into nothingness.

“I sell Avon in my free time. I’ll let you have a lipgloss if you come talk to me,” Callinda bribed. Anything to get her to sit and be civilized: she looked like an animal ready to pounce. Maybe Callinda came off as too friendly, like an over-enthusiastic babysitter before the parents left for the night.

“I said ‘used to:’ past tense. Didn’t you learn that in your fancy psychology school?”

At least she had enunciated these words, and began her movement from the corner. Callinda decided the intimidation was just one of those strategies these mentally disturbed used to test you, see if you’re really trying to help them. After all, they are human beings too; they’re just not the same human beings. Because they’re disturbed and all.

Chapter 2: Room 516, off the North Wing

“Thanks Cliff,” Callinda sighed, as she opened the outer door leading to a small, dimly-lit entryway before Room 516 of St. Joseph's Psychiatric North wing. There were no windows save the one-way mirror into 516, no embellishments on the walls, and the paint may have been white at some point, but could hardly pass for beige anymore. Callinda had been warned that no one would be around to watch the session this time, but assured everyone that there was nothing to worry about, she was confident she’d be able to handle Diana by herself. She closed the outer door and locked it behind her as Cliff disappeared down the brighter, external hallway.

Callinda faced the inner door of 516. There were no lights on in there. Was Diana actually sleeping for once? Callinda knocked, out of politeness and respect, but hearing no response reached for the doorknob with her right hand, unlatched the lock with her left, and walked inside. She was now completely alone with the disturbed bitch for the first time.

Before her eyes became accustomed to the dark, it was difficult for Calli to make out the shadowy outline of an emaciated figure which sat on her bunk in the corner.