That’s me in the corner. That’s me in the spotlight losing my…

Ah, I ‘lost’ any religion I may have had years ago. Seems I am now losing my family, too.

The very last thing I imagined when I started this blog was that it would turn into some misery memoire – little did I know the surprising turns life would take.

So, my family have accused me of lying. Of it all being in my imagination. My father refuses to discuss it, says it didn’t happen. Says the doctors don’t know what they are talking about. I think if he really believed that, he’d have gone to the mosque when he nearly died a couple of years ago, instead of the hospital. He doesn’t go to the sheikh when he gets sick, he goes to the doctor.

This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of lying. Many, many moons ago, when in my first (arranged) marriage I called him to ask him to tell my husband of the time not to rape me – he accused me of lying then. He said no, that’s not rape, you are lying. It’s not rape if he is your husband, you should not say no to your husband – it is his right. A teeny bit of me died that day hearing that inhuman response, and a teeny bit of me has died again being accused of lying now.

My family think I’ve brought this up to tear them apart. No. I just wanted them to care about it, rather stupidly of me. I just wanted some support, some empathy, some love. I keep forgetting what blind faith in dogma can do to a person. That denial and accusation is preferable to dealing with the unwanted truths and realities that are part & parcel of religion. How sad. My own sister has turned on me, I never knew she had that inhuman side to her. She has two daughters of her own. I may never see them again. I’m so heartbroken by that. But not broken. Sad and pained, but not broken. They can’t break me, I know I’m right. I know I’m going to do something to stop other girls going through cruel inhumanity. And that makes me stronger than anything that they can be. I don’t need a book to tell me what’s right or wrong.

I have friends and I think they love me. So, am lucky. And I’m going to do the right thing and that will give me more strength than they and those that condone mutilation could ever imagine or take away from me.

Even if I am having a weepy-feel sorry for myself kind of day. Inside I feel freeer, it’ll just take a while for it to manifest in my mood.

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?

 

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.

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… 

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.

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!

Succubi

It’s strange that in the history of humans, it’s women that have in many traditions, been cast as the succubus. In Roman & Athenian times, women were considered dangerous because during sex, they would suck the life-energy of the man. This kind of idea has been repeated through history and in various manifestations, from vagina dentata (if you don’t know what that is, google it, but not at work!) through succubus, to sirens and vampires. I wonder why we’ve been unfairly cast as such? 

It’s strange because I’m so tired & lack energy and inspiration to write, and that is because I’ve been playing with The Boy (who I’ll write about when I’ve got more energy). It’s strange, because, on the whole, when I think back, most of the men I’ve been with have been invigorated. These are some of the thoughts going through my mind as I try to sleep.

 

Today’s cliche… Feel The Fear And Do It, Anyway

I like this one.

My friends think am quite a brave/bolshy character. I’m thought of as strong-willed and strong-minded. What they don’t know is that, whilst I might be, I’m crapping myself half the time.

Fear is a wonderful and terrible thing. It’s totally okay to be fearful, to acknowledge it, but the best way to deal with it sometimes is just to press on in spite of it.

So, tonight am going to go to a poly/kink club event thing that I heard about from someone I went on a date with. Now, this whole world is a terrifying and unknown place for me. My life so far (especially with regards to sex & sexuality) has on the whole, tasted mainly of vanilla.

I can be fairly cautious with the unknown, but now that I know what I’m curious in, it’s probably time to jump in at the deep end, instead of just sitting on the fence (mixing my metaphors a little, but you know what I mean).

So, this evening, I will be putting one wobbly foot in front of the other, feeling the fear and doing it, anyway. (Or observing & learning, in any case).

Brave New Worlds

(also, what the hell do I wear?)

Why is sex such a taboo subject in real life?

I don’t understand!

I can talk to my friends as we are very close about sex, but am curious as to why something so important to us as humans and intrinsic in our natures is considered almost profane.

Sexuality is so fluid. As fluid as we want it to be.

I know it sounds a little pretentious and wanky, but I consider myself a pomosexual (a kind of non-orientation).

Even though all of my long term relationships have been with men, and on the whole I am more sexually attracted to men than women, that only feels like a small part of the story. I had a very, very conservative religious upbringing and live in an evidently heteronormal society. Have I ever really been able to make up my own mind when so many of our identities are constructed? I don’t feel that I’m able to say that I’m straight.

For me, sexual attraction is all about the dynamic I feel between me and others, on an individual level. It’s about each individual’s personal qualities and how they interact with mine. How can I ever then say that I’m straight, or bi when tomorrow I could find myself with a man, woman, or whatever someone might want to identify as? Quite a few of my previous partners have not been particularly ‘masculine’ and there are many aspects to my personality and my behaviour which could be considered masculine (in terms of how men & women are expected to behave). I find androgyny very appealing, I find some abstract qualities/ideas/objects quite erotic. Who can predict these things?

Until last night this has mostly been a theoretical standpoint, in my mind. I think I always thought that even though it was a principle of mine, it was not going to be a reality because of learned behaviours and the like. When I’ve talked about it with my friends, they understand, but think it’s just me being stubborn & principled for the sake of it. They think I’m just queer, but I think that’s because that’s the easiest way for them to compartmentalise it, which is what I’m trying to show – that these compartments are all made up, anyway.

Last night, though. a new friend who I only met very recently spent the night with me and we had a very beautiful night. They are trans/queer, but actually when I spoke to them about it, we shared the same thoughts on the matter, we were just two people, attracted to each other, who thought each other beautiful, our genitals and genders seemed kind of incidental to those facts, just two human beings connecting. Which is what it is supposed to be about. The rest is all just made up.

I’m happy today, although am very tired. Tired, but reassured that it was right of me to listen to the little voice in my head, even if it felt like nobody else understood. In case you might think that this sounds like somebody who doesn’t know what she wants/likes, it’s quite the opposite, it’s about knowing what I do want & like.  We can think and feel for ourselves and I think we should.