The vagina rants

I still find it strange to say the word ‘vagina’. It’s actually a beautiful sounding word, I don’t know why it feels strange to say vagina, which is beautiful, but there’s no strangeness when I use another word, ‘cunt’, which I do, frequently. Cunt is an uglier word, but with it’s own beauty, it is also full of power. I wonder why the beauty of the word vagina scares me a little, still, while the ugliness of ‘cunt’ is appealing.

My super-religious upbringing dictated a kind of fear and, I suppose, disgust – dressed up as respect and honour. Vaginas had to be shaved or plucked, for ‘cleanliness’, for ‘purity’, but really it’s about control and invading boundaries. Is hair dirty or impure? Why weren’t we instructed to shave our eyebrows or our heads? It’s not hair they consider impure or unclean, it’s the vagina itself. The womanliness of it. The implicit messages that get internalised – the ones that aren’t said – those are very telling. What does it say about a culture that expects young girls (& boys too, to be fair) to start thinking of even the little things that happen to our bodies naturally as a part of becoming an adult as dark, foreboding, sinful – to be ripped out & disposed of? What fear must have dictated this loathing? To see something so ugly in nature’s beauty? They want to infantilise us all, they want little girls, not women. Grim.

A little bit of blood changes you in the eyes of these fuckturds too. Suddenly, because of some little red drops, you become an impurity. Too impure to stand and pray in front of God (if that’s your thing – it was never mine – I used to fake my periods in school to get out of prayers), if you’re married, too impure/disgusting to have sex with (I faked my periods in my first marriage too – guess why). You can’t be touched or be considered clean enough to touch again or be in a pure or holy place until you’ve ritually washed away whatever it is they are so afraid of. Womanliness is so threatening to them and I wonder what womanliness means to them that makes it so. How they have polluted vaginas in the minds of the people. How cowardly.

For some, who are the most afraid of womanliness and vaginas and what they mean, their best defence is attack. The cutting & destruction of the clitoris, the only bit of humanity made only for pleasure. Horror and revulsion at womens’ pleasure leads those in fear of it to destroy it in desperately cruel ways. I think those people see women as big walking vaginas. Nothing but the sum and an extension of their vaginas. Or perhaps, it’s not so much fear, as jealousy. Who knows what goes on in the minds of those women hating psychosociopaths?

 

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The first cut was the deepest (the imaginary circumcision that was)

Since https://mascarastreaks.wordpress.com/2014/01/30/a-strange-post-my-imaginary-circumcision/

I’m still processing things and am a little headfucked.

As the indignity of having (albeit a very lovely) doctor shining a light between my legs & peering and poking and prodding me unfolded, I was under the impression that this indignity would just confirm that I might be a bit over-imaginative and anxious.

In spite of my worries leading me to the doctor, I was VERY BLOODY SURPRISED to find out that my suspicion that everything wasn’t quite right down there, was not something created by my imagination, but something that was done to my child-body. I thought I may have been cut, I thought that perhaps a part of my clitoris had been cut out, but I was not right about that. My clitoral hood had been stitched over my clitoris.

Man, I still can’t believe I’m writing that – perhaps I’m in shock still. Am not sure how I process this. I do not think that it was my parents or done with their knowledge, but by relatives in one of the countries that I am from, over the summer when I was 7 or 8. It makes sense of some of the memories I have from a particular summer I spent there (I was sent there to stay with relatives & learn the culture/religion every summer). I’ll maybe talk about that another time, when my mind is less headfucked.

Gen-it-al mu-til-a-tion the words sound and feel so ugly in my head and my mouth. I know I’m so angry, I’m so humiliated, I’m so violent, I’ve been robbed. But I can’t feel. I can just sense myself, I can’t feel yet. I’m too scared to feel. I’m so betrayed. I’m so ashamed, but am not letting myself be ashamed, it’s not me that should be, but I am, somehow (I just can’t feel it, just sense it). The rage is somewhere & I’m worried about when I will feel it.

It seems strange that my immediate reaction was relief when the lovely doctor told me. Relief that my clitoris was there (typing that sentence feels like an indignity & a humiliation), relief that I hadn’t been cut in the way that I’d imagined. The type of mu-til-a-tion (argh!) that I suffered is of the most minor variety in female genital mutilation. What a fucking sentence. The most minor type – none of is minor. Child abuse is not minor, in anyway. I posit that any child abuse that involves their genitals is child sex abuse, actually. What kind of adults are interested in the genitals of kids (unless it’s for some medically necessary reason?)? Huh? It is very fucked up. Am so violated. Meh. I can’t imagine how those women who have had more brutal mutilations than me must feel if I’m feeling this bad. I’ve felt the joy of orgasms (even if I can’t at the moment due to headfuck) and I don’t know of a more fulfilling feeling than an orgasm with the someone(s) you love. Imagine not knowing what that felt like? Instead of pleasure, to only feel pain or fear of pain? I can’t. I know I’m being a little orgasm-centred right now, but they’re on my mind, because they’re not in my body.

I’m usually a woman of many words, but I don’t know what to say or what to think. I have been using the word cunt quite a lot for the last couple of weeks. Not as satisfying as it usually feels.

Sex, Morality and Control.

Sometimes, I wonder whether we are living in enlightened times, or whether that’s one of the big self-delusions our species has created for ourselves. (Inclined to the latter, personally).

There seems to be so much moralising against women, especially & the old double standards are alive and well when it comes to sex.

Our sexualities are nobody’s business but our own. We aren’t here for the gratification & judgement of others, we’re here to live our lives – to seek pleasure & avoid pain – just the same as everyone else.

It seems to be that this judgementality that seems reserved more often for women than men (although also for trans people of any gender) is designed to control what is seen as troublesome behaviour. Anything that doesn’t conform with the rigid heteronormative, monogamous ideas that are wrapped up in supposed ‘decency’, ‘morality’ and the ‘proper’ ways to behave – all of these are arbitrary & imposed.

This, I feels, strips us of our humanity – the ability to think, choose and do what we like. For, as long as our behaviour doesn’t make anyone else suffer, why should it be wrong for us if it feels right for us?

Why should we be judged on who we choose to sleep with, or how many we sleep with, or have slept with, or what we do with our consenting humans? Isn’t this the essence of our humanity? Is it not inhumane to subject others to your ideas of what is ‘right’, when we all know that those ideas were just put there in your heads, probably just to appease others’ insecurities and make them feel good about themselves in a completely oppressive-to-others kind of way?

What makes us human is our ability to think for ourselves & to make our own decisions. I don’t have anything nice to say about those small-minded enough to impose their wills on others. Conforming just for the sake of it & ridiculing/discouraging others who choose not to, is a kind of dictatorship – trying to control others because of your own mental limitations & fears/insecurities. It’s also really boring.

Not seeing the woods for the trees

Today’s cliche of the day is ‘you can’t see the wood for the trees’. Which is one I agree with and see the wisdom in.

It’s good occasionally to take a step back and take stock of your life. Especially if there’s a lot going on. I’ve had a lot going on. The divorce, which I thought was going well, suddenly isn’t, and it seems that communication has broken down. I think the next few months will be very messy as we fight over the house, money and so on.

It kind of took me by surprise as I thought we’d agree to try & make it amicable, but I guess that money brings out the worst in some people. Am happy to say it’s quite nice up here on my moral high-ground when it comes to that. I decided long ago, that self-respect was paramount, it’s nice to be able to maintain that & it’s kind of showing him to be more of an arsehole than I’d realised.

All of the coming and going has got me down though, I’ve been feeling blue and under a lot of pressure. It made my perspective quite skewed and I’d lost my appetite for life, a little. But, it’s the little things in life which make you happy. Dealing with The Ex for the first time in so long, really dragged me down. I think it brought back some of the misery that I felt when I was still with him & trying to make it work. This morning I woke, feeling pure relief that I’ll have a clean break soon. Life’s not too bad, I was feeling sorry for myself when I woke up, I pulled the muscles in my backside & it hurts when I walk, sit or move – getting out of bed made me miserable. It was in the shower that I figured out that I must have pulled it during all the sex I had with The Boy yesterday. Then I smiled. Felt satisfied. Saw the woods again, in spite of the trees.

On familiarity breeding contempt

So, today’s cliche is ‘Familiarity breeds contempt’. There’s probably some truth to this, but it’s besides the point, I think.

For me, it’s not so much familiarity that breeds contempt, but over-familiarity. I don’t know if this is something that women are subject to, more than men, but it’s something I find VERY IRRITATING.

If I don’t know you, don’t call me babe/darling/sexy/beautiful/whatever, just don’t call me anything, you don’t know me & I’m not here for your gratification & to be reduced to some silly overfamiliar word, stop it.

Sometimes it happens so often, it feels like it borders on harrassment. I don’t see guys referring to each other in such cushty terms, so why is it so ok, for women to be spoken to like that & reduced to words like that.

And while I’m here, I wish the word women, rather than girls were used when talking about us grown up women. I’m sure it does something to the architecture of the mind in those that do it, and contributes to this constant infantilising & objectification that many of us are subject to. So, stop that now!

The sympathy face :'( I hate it

One thing my close friends and I have in common is that most of us have been through difficult and unusual experiences, which to the ‘average person’ (a myth, but am using it to make a point) would be horrified at. Rape, forced marriage, political oppression, drug addictions, alcoholism, one of my friend’s husband tried to murder her, etc etc etc…

All of these things are pretty radical. The other thing that we have in common is that we can talk about these experiences in a normal fashion when we want to without being judged, but most importantly (for me, anyway) is without THE SYMPATHY FACE.

I know it is just me, but I HATE IT. HATE IT. HATE IT.

I wish I knew why I hate it so much, it makes me feel very angry and a bit stabby. The reason that seems to make the most sense is I don’t want or need it, because I’ve come through whatever my bad experiences were and I think of myself as a stronger person for it.

Now, I realise that I sound very defensive, but am able to distinguish between genuine sympathy and the ‘oh poor wittle you’ face. I’m just not very good at finding that balance. Probably need to work on it, but right now am very annoyed as somebody just did it at me. Wish I wasn’t so annoyed but I am. Grrr…..

 

 

The more I think about it, the less convincing monogamy is

Having been a serial monogamist for most of my adult life, am not sure it’s either a realistic or logical way to carry on for me.

It doesn’t make sense anymore. I know we’re conditioned to think of it as the natural & right way, but it feels unnatural and wrong to think that it’s honestly what I want, or realistic. Am not thinking about cheating here, but about honesty in the way that I feel about relationships.

I never once cheated or even came close to it when I was married – rather than starting to desire other people when the marriage was dying a slow and painful death, my desire(s) seemed to die along with it. He was very shocked when I spoke to him about how I felt – that I was totally cool if he wanted to sleep with other people or to see other people (& I was totally cool with it). I told him I had no desire to, but that seeing as things between us felt dead, I totally understood.

He didn’t understand. At all.

Now that I am free of all that, even though I’m single, and not really attached to anyone (well, in a single state of sort-of limbo with a distant person in a complicated situation, but don’t think that counts). I don’t see why being in an honest relationship with someone where we consent to relationships with other people, whether they be sexual, emotional or whatever is a bad thing. Honesty and consent being the keywords, with respect thrown in for good measure.

Monogamy works for some people, but the idea of a permanent commitment to someone being enough to fulfill all of the needs that we develop in life doesn’t seem so realistic.

This has been brewing in my mind for a few years now. A little like when I realised that I wasn’t really straight and not really what society thinks of as a woman. It takes my Self and my life awhile to catch up on my mind now, though. I think this is the direction I will be heading, when I stop being single.