Down There


Maybe there was a time, a time before I was abused that I did not try to ignore my vagina. A time where I let it be part of me.

Not an alien being that would not go away.

But that was so long ago, a time that I am not even sure if it existed.

But part of my struggle in my writing and speaking, is to be friends with my cunt again.

I want that part of my body to have some pride. I want it feel without terror.

I want my cunt to touch happiness. I want it to grieve without shutting down.

I want my cunt to have long-term freedom.

One way to gain that freedom is to remember with a clear eye how I got so alienated from my cunt.

I suppose it begun the first time my cunt felt pain and could not defend itself.

It begun when I had no interest in that part of my body. When I was too busy being a child to care.

I was six.

When my stepdad shoved his fingers up my vagina, I had no idea what was happening.

All I knew was the pain – and that was a mess all over my sheets. All I could think was that I was wetting myself.

When I saw it came from my bum, I was shocked. But more, I felt great shame, I knew I must be bad.

That was the start of me thinking that my cunt was a traitor.

How was I meant to know it was just fear and biology that wet my bed.

How could I think that my stepdad did not care that I was in pain. That he even enjoyed that power.

How could I see clearly that his violence was making me bleed, making my cunt scream in agony.

No wonder I pissed onto my bed. I was peeing out of terror.

Now I can understand my cunt was just reacting, it was just surviving.

As the abuse increased, I try to cut myself off from my cunt.

I could not be a woman who felt pride in her cunt.

It had betrayed me too often. It had let in pain too often.

When I was shown hard-core porn, my cunt wanted to die.

As I saw penises, objects, hands and tongues ramming into cunts – my cunt wanted to run away.

I did not know what to do. I saw images that I was told was sex. I saw images that made afraid to close my eyes.

I started to cut my arms – only I wanted to cut out my cunt.

Fortunately I only did cut my cunt once, and it scared me enough to stop.

But I saw those images and assumed that my cunt would tortured that way.

I could not see how I could stop it. All I could do was to try and pretend I did not care.

My stepdad choose to rape slowly and in a “gentle” manner.

After seeing the torture-porn he had made me view, I thought I was lucky or it was a trick.

I did not see that he was forcing me to have orgasms, so then he pretend that I wanted it.

I refused to see how in his slowness, he doing more and more violence to my cunt.

All I knew was the more he raped me, the more I lost touch with my cunt.

I tried, when he was not with me, to forget the pain, the anger, the confusion and the wanting to die. I tried to be happy.

Only I did not understand how to act happy.

Sometimes when alone, I felt an aching in my cunt. It felt like a scream.

It felt like life trying to force it way into me.

But all I could do was to ignore my cunt.

So I had lost my way with my cunt before I was fucked as prostitute.

I could no longer care when my cunt was tortured. Sometimes I saw it from a distance, and somewhere very deep I felt a terrible grief.

But I survived by being alienated from my cunt.

I can cry now with a sorrow for my cunt.

It did not deserve to be ripped. To be rammed. To torn at by teeth.

It just wanted peace.

When my cunt was scared, it was just a reaction to have an orgasm. It was not a betrayal.

I can learn to forgive my cunt now. I may learn to love my cunt.

It may a very long journey to be one with my cunt – but it is the most important of my life).

(I dedicate this to Joan Kelly, who has written an excellent post, and also linked to Elle, phd. They have both written very interesting posts about vaginas).


4 responses to “Down There

  1. I think this is one of your most concise and evocative writings yet, and it makes me look forward to what you will write tomorrow and the day after.


  2. Wow, Rebecca. This part hit me the hardest:

    “When my cunt was scared, it was just a reaction to have an orgasm. It was not a betrayal.”

    I have not had the same experiences as you per se, but just that feeling of like, fuck, my body betrays me sometimes by ever feeling what I identified as pleasure while the rest of me felt horror or sorrow or rage.

    Or feeling like I betrayed myself by “letting” somebody hurt me instead of bringing on my death or his by fighting harder. Or at all.

    Thank you for writing this, I am always so moved by your writing. xo


  3. Pingback: One thing that I love about Rebecca Mott’s writing « Chicks Dig Me

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