I unwrap the tampon, attempting to be as quiet as possible. I really don't need any more embarrassment today on top of the earlier events that took place on the train.

If I have to suffer through this bloody river from hell, so be it.

I will conquer you.

I swear I'm going crazy. It must be the hormones.

The shiny metal box attached to the side of the stall seems to mock me as I open it to toss the wrapper. A streak of dried blood adorns the inside, and my face scrunches in disgust.

Yuck yuck yuck.

After making myself comfortable on the dirty, bacteria infected toilet seat, I position the tampon at my opening.

The struggle is real.

I fumble around with the cotton stick for at least five minutes. With all my will power, I TRY to push the bugger up my vagina, but it feels uncomfortable, sticky, and downright painful.

If you were wondering, no. I've never had sex, and I've never even thought of using a vibrator. I plan on sticking to plain old penetration, with a side of Netflix and popcorn.

Who needs a man anyways? Not me.

An unhappy stranger sharply knocks on my stall door in a staccato rhythm.

"Uh, just a minute!" I yell, panic washing over me.

The tip of my tampon is soaked in blood, and I scramble to squeeze it into my tight hole.

Just as I almost manage to position it right, two loud women slam the door to the bathroom open, and it startles more than just blood out of me.

The tampon breaks free from my death grip and falls into the toilet. And would you look at that! It nestles into the old woman's shit.

"I give up, God. This life challenge is too difficult. Please just take me now. Let me leave all of this nastiness behind." I plead to nothing in particular. Unless the tiled ceiling of the restroom counts as something.

I grapple at the toilet paper, wiping the blood off my hoo ha.

A risky idea strikes me. I've used this method before, and it's worked, but I'll have to move fast.

It's not like I can use the tampon anymore. Bacteria is most like crawling over it by now.

I reach for more toilet paper, to find three squares and an empty cardboard cylinder.

Whoever is out to get me can die now.

What to do. What to do.

I decide the best thing would be to use the cardboard paper roll. It can't be that painful.

I rip what I can and place it in my soaked underwear. Shuddering, I hike my underwear up and do my best to cover the bloody stain on my ass with my black purse.

A jagged edge of the cardboard pokes into my sweaty thigh.

"Ow." I whisper, unlocking the door to the stall.

"Finally." A snotty woman huffs and she saunters last me, slamming the stall door with her. I notice another empty stall and roll my eyes.

"Ma'am, you do realize there's an empty stall?" Someone who walked in after I got out tapped my shoulder.

She must've thought I was waiting for my turn.

I spin to correct her, when a shriek sounds from the stall.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD THERE'S A BLOODY TAMPON IN THIS TOILET ON BLACK SHIT."

The bathroom chatter quiets, then woman pipe up from the sinks, whispering and eyeing my dress.

Beyond embarrassed, I travel at the speed of light straight outta the bathroom.

Now for the real challenge.

The streets of New York.