A strange post… My imaginary circumcision

So, this has been something that has been bothering me for awhile. And it’s going to sound crazy to every other human being out there, but I’m going to write it anyway (even if as I write this, am being niggled by anxiety & a feeling of profound stupidity).

So…

I…

Arrghh…

How do I say this? I have no idea whether a part of my clitoris has been cut off, or whether I am imagining it. If I have imagined it, I may be the first human to imaginarily (I don’t know if that is a word or not, but it feels right) circumcise myself.

So, I am of mixed heritage. A part of that heritage is in a country where 90%+ (apparantly) of girls and women have had some sort of circumcision. I spent a LOT of time there as a small girl, I’d get sent back for all of my school holidays. I have no distinct memory of this happening. I haven’t got that many memories at all of that time, to be honest. 

Now, there are many types of circumcision. In my opinion, they are all child abuse, unless they are required for medical reasons, as sometimes boys need. Taking a knife to a kid’s body is not okay, there’s no excuse, I don’t care whether it’s a ‘cultural’ tradition or not, fuck it – it’s abuse.

Anyway, back to the point. For females, there are many types of this abuse. They are all on a continuum of mysogynistic horror. There’s the type where they slice everything off and then sew it all back together again – to be opened by knife, or by cock – whatever the means, it’s bloody evil. 

Now, how do I get to my mid-thirties & suddenly think this? Surely a quick glance in the mirror should be all I need to know? Well, I’m not so sure, I have looked & looked & looked & the more I look, the less I’m sure. I think the tip of my clitoris has been cut off. I’ve had orgasms for much of my life, but they’ve been harder to come by than I imagine for most. The Boy has pointed out several times about it, which means I can’t orgasm with him, as I have a little complex. It’s still a lot of fun, but he’s also pointed out I don’t look exactly the same. If I had been cut as a kid, it would explain a lot! I love sex, but find clitoral stimulation painful much of the time.

I spoke to a friend of mine, someone who has similar mixed heritage to mine. To my eternal shock, surprise & horror, she said she’d been worried about the same thing, but hadn’t ever spoken to anyone about it! She’s just ditched her husband, as I did awhile ago, and she told me that she’s just had her first orgasm. She’s also in her thirties. 

I have an appointment on Friday to get it all checked out. Not sure whether I’m more anxious about finding out that I had been cut as a kid, and the betrayal & rage that that will bring – or the embarrassment of finding out I haven’t and feeling VERY SILLY INDEED. 

See, I told you this was all going to sound a little crazy. 

I still don’t get why there’s so much hatred and fear of womens’ sexuality, that they (whoever ‘they’ might be) would seek to destroy it in such a brutal and bloody fashion. I mean, the cutting off of the clitoris was done in the UK, Europe & the US too, until after the mid-twentieth century (as a cure for ‘hysteria’ or other imagined bullshit) (Freud has a lot to answer for) (I’m liking my brackets today). Fuck all that shit.

Sigh… 

Boobie Prize

Ah, be still my beating breast… My beautiful beating betraying breast.

Which has a lump in. A small lump, but it’s size is entirely disproportionate to the amount of anxiety it has awakened within me. I keep telling myself, this shock could ultimately be a good thing, that it might be the kick up the backside I need to figure out what I want to do in life & to go for it – make the most of it, more often. But mostly, my mind is filled with fear, and betrayal, by my own body.

On Christmas Eve, I’ll be at the hospital while I have my boobie poked & prodded by clinical strangers, something necessary that I absolutely hate. I feel alienated by my own body & I know it’s about to be violated, even if it is for my own good. For some reason, I can’t shake this sense of self-violation – especially after having my home burgled a couple of weeks ago. First, my home violated, now my body will be too. Not sure what to do to shake this feeling, I want my autonomy back.

I feel strangely proprietorial over my own flesh, too. If they take some of the lump out, what will they do with it? I want it back. Strange to think that there’s a living part of me that will be extracted. A small part of me will be dead. A small part of what it’s suppose to be to be a woman. Will I be diminished in some way. Will I miss it? I already feel haunted by this phantom bit of my now-still-living breast.

Violation

Last night I went to meet an old family friend at the local station. Arrived back home to find burglars smashing into the back of my house. It sounded like a bomb made of glass went off, an explosive smashing (they were strengthened glass, so they had put quite a bit of effort into it).

Had the police, the forensics people and a friend over, but can’t shake this feeling of violation & anxiety. Even though they didn’t get anything. Can’t stop thinking ‘what if’. A minute later & we’d have been trapped inside with the burglars. What about if I’d have been alone & it happened? My home is my sanctuary & it’s been violated. Where do I feel safe now? Is living on my own such a good idea?

The Boy came & stayed with me. Told me that I don’t have to act all tough all the time. Kept him awake with ‘what was that?’, ‘did you hear that?’, ‘where’s the hammer?’ as well as tossing & turning. He said he should come back tonight, I think so too. The Boy really is very lovely. I’m terrible at asking for help, but he’s really been quite wonderful.

I don’t want bars on all of my windows (they got through double glazed, locked, reinforced windows). I don’t want to capitulate to whoever did this & live in what will feel like a prison. My home doesn’t feel like my home right now, I don’t know what it feels like. Am so sad inside