My Vagina

I don't feel male or female - I don't feel comfortable in female clothing, in fact, I feel like I'm cross-dressing. I don't really think of myself as a "man" or as a "woman."

But if it ever had to be set in stone, I would have to say I was biologically female because I have a vagina. However, I wish I didn't have a vagina.

I have some major dysphoria when it comes to my body below the belt. If I was given the opportunity to re-mould my body the way I wanted it - I wouldn't have *anything* there. I'd be totally smooth, flat and hairless - with just a urethra. I don't want pubic hair, I don't want a labia, I don't want a clitoris, I don't want a vaginal opening. But at the same time, I don't want a penis or testicles either. They disgust me, so why would I want *those* attached to my body?

But at the same time, my own genitals disgust me. To the point where I'm trying to disconnect from it even being there. I literally only acknowledge it when I have to wash it or wipe it after peeing. Even then, I don't like it if I feel any flesh or hair through the toilet paper - or have to touch it with my actual hand when I'm washing it - so I usually just clean it with the shower head or a flannel. 

I literally have no use for it. I don't menstruate. I have poly-cystic ovary syndrome, and as a result was bleeding in excess of 6 months, non-stop. So I was put on the pill. This had the side effect of stopping my periods ENTIRELY for EIGHT YEARS and counting. I literally can't even remember what it feels like to have a period. I can't remember how it feels to use a tampon or a pad, to feel blood come out - anything like that. It's just, not a part of my life anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather have no periods whatsoever than periods that last for six months however. I also have no desire to breed. I'm happily child free. Don't like kids, don't want kids. Let's leave it at that for now.

Sexual pleasure? Don't need a vagina. I've gotten all of my sexual pleasure exclusively from anal stimulation and penetration for the past several years. To the point where I don't even touch my clitoris anymore, and I used to at first. Oh, it gets aroused, blood rushes to it, it gets bigger - but I don't touch it. My vagina gets wet - obviously, that's my body's natural reaction - but I don't need it to. I don't use it. This may sound odd but I don't even find vaginas sexually attractive. Oh, they don't repulse me (aside from my own) but I also don't particularly like looking at them. I'd rather look at a woman's body as a whole - or focus on their T&A, of course.

Watching porn? They start faffing with their fanny? I'm no longer interested. Thus I only really watch anal porn. To the point where I sometimes watch gay porn - especially fisting porn where the actors wear singlets to hide their genitals and focus totally on their ass.

For a time, having my vagina touched literally yielded no results. It felt like nothing. Numb. Disconnected. It still does, physically - but now having it touched hurts me mentally. I no longer accept it as a part of my body - so when attention is drawn to it, I feel like my wishes are being disrespected. We are always taught that your partner should respect your body and your wishes of what you want to have done to it - my wish is for *that* to not exist and thus not be acknowledged as a part of me. When she ignores that - she's disrespecting my wishes, disrespecting my body and disrespecting me. 

It's at the point now where I don't even feel comfortable being naked around her - I have to wear some sort of pants - be it underwear, shorts or pyjama bottoms. I don't mind being topless - but I can't run the risk of *that* being exposed. Run the risk of it being looked at, acknowledged, touched. To be honest I don't feel comfortable not wearing pants even when I'm alone. I've invested in some fetish clothing that allows anal access but keeps the front covered, as it should be. I feel more comfortable and confident in those - I've even considered investing in some sort of female chastity belt to truly disconnect it from my body.

Now let's talk about *her* sexuality. She identifies as pansexual. She's not a lesbian, she's not bisexual. She once explained to me that to her, it didn't matter what genitals her partner had. Whether they had one, both or none at all - for her, she's attracted to the person, not what they have. Yet why is this constantly being proved a lie lately? If it was really true, she would have no desire to touch it. No desire to acknowledge it - because I don't have a vagina anymore. I have an unwanted mutation between my legs that doesn't need to be there. 

I'd like to sew the lips shut ideally, but I doubt I could do it cleanly - and I don't particularly want to get an infection. I've self harmed it on multiple occasions - nipping at it with my fingernails, scraping and nicking at it with nail scissors - I've even inserted a steak knife into myself. I didn't do any internal damage but the sheer cold feel of the blade and the point pressing against my cervix was rather intense. I'd like to rub at it with sandpaper, make it raw and bloody and infected, make it so disgusting that she wouldn't *want* to touch it, wouldn't *want* to look at it.

You may be thinking at this point - have I been sexually assaulted before? The answer is yes. I was 21 years old and I was assaulted in broad daylight at 9AM in the morning in a bus shelter by a man who has since fled the country as soon as the police managed to track him down. No justice was dealt by them - but as he was Muslim, he was instantly ostracised from his community and basically driven away as they didn't want to know him. What did he do? He groped me, he forced me to kiss him. Since then I've never felt comfortable being suddenly grabbed or roughly kissed. I find it hard to kiss at all, if I'm honest. This was identified as PTSD and I'm currently undergoing some therapy for it - however, it's not making any difference where my genitals are concerned. If anything, my feelings towards it are getting stronger.

I either have such a strong disconnect with it I literally don't feel female in the slightest - despite the breasts and other female characteristics - I feel sort of androgynous. Or I have such a deep hatred towards it I'm literally considering taking a blade to it and slicing it off of my body for good. If I can't rid myself of this filthy disgusting mutation that's taken hold where I didn't want it to - the least I can do is refuse to acknowledge its existence entirely. Shame she can't do the same. Even if it's touched accidentally - brushed against while she's touching my leg or touched while she's stimulating somewhere I actually do care about - I can't deal with it. It's such a sudden jarring sensation I can't even deal with the sensation or the thoughts it brings about. I have to retreat, I have to force myself to disconnect and take myself somewhere as far away as possible from anything remotely sexual. 

I used to have a really high sex drive - odd, considering I was taking antidepressants and they tend to suppress one's sex drive - sex was the only time I felt happy. Now I'm not interested. I don't want to risk doing anything remotely sexual because there's always that risk. Always the risk it's going to be touched, seen, even acknowledged. So I'd rather reduce the risk entirely and just refrain from having sex entirely. Besides, one of the bullshit lies she keeps telling me is she "needs" to touch it to get turned on. Such a bag of crap - I haven't openly invited her to touch it for over 6 years now. I've never been as edgy or closed off as I currently am - but even when she was stimulating me elsewhere, she was free to look at the disgusting thing if she wanted to. If she ever drew attention to it though, I'd be instantly turned off and would pretend to climax so she'd stop touching me and I could put my clothes back on and retreat into my totally non-sexual disconnected thoughts.

So at this point my options are to stop having sex entirely, somehow convince her to fucking respect my body and accept I do not have a vagina or take a blade to it and remove it myself. After all, she won't want to look at it, touch it, acknowledge it if it isn't there, will she?

Self Harming

I first performed an act of self harming consciously when I was 14 years old. I no doubt practised subconscious methods from a younger age - it's actually only become apparent to me in recent years that sometimes I self harm without realising I'm doing it.

When I was 14, I used a staple remover to scrape, scratch, pick, cut and otherwise mark my left wrist. I stuck to the first 2.5 inches of my forearm, thus I was able to cover it with a sweatband. At school we wore long-sleeved jumpers - and when it came to summer, PE lessons and being at home, I wore the sweatband. It was uncomfortable and itchy and it often got irritated so I would scratch at it and make it worse.

The staple remover had four blades and had the potential to cut two lines at once. Due to the shape of it, skin would gather in the hinge and crevices. I rather enjoyed tapping it on a table and watching all the bits of skin dust fall out. I eventually migrated north and began to mark my forearm and bicep as well as my wrist - and would have to cover it with arm warmers or long sleeved clothes.

My go-to implement now is a steak knife. I prefer ones with thick, sturdy handles and blades of around 4 inches long. Serrated edges are perfect for cutting through skin. I press the serrated edge into my skin until I'm making a visible groove and I can feel considerable pressure. I then yank the knife away in the opposite direction. It makes a high pitched sound similar to a zip being opened. The results are cuts of around 4-6 inches long with jagged edges and subsequent bleeding.

However when I can't control the urge to self harm, I can use more or less any implement I can find. I've used keys, pens, forks, nails, screws, screwdrivers, scissors and pieces of broken metal. I don't really like super fine blades like razors and chef knifes - they produce a lot of blood, yes, but they don't provide a satisfying burn and sting sensation - nor does the surrounding skin swell up very much. Pain is my first requirement - blood is second, though I often feel unfulfilled if I haven't seen enough blood come out.

As a general rule, as I'm right handed, I cut my left arm. When I have enough logic still in my brain, I can direct the cuts to my bicep, which is covered even if I wear a t-shirt. I've also cut my shins, knees, thighs, stomach and breasts. When I was in a dark place once, I cut my own throat. I still have a scar there - but as it's under my chin, I don't think it's majorly noticeable. When the logic centre has shut down completely I just attack any part of my body - including my forearm and wrist. Sometimes I listen to music and time my motions to the beat. Swipes, slices or even direct hits with the pointed end of the knife.

So why do I do it? I've found I'm more prone to doing it when I'm angry or frustrated. When I'm sad, I generally lack the motivation to do it, even if I think about doing it. As I act using my rage as a driving force I will do one or two cuts that are worse than the others as the force is used up on the first few strokes. As I calm down as a result of the pain, they become less severe and may not even bleed. I stop when I'm satisfied with how much pain I've felt, blood I've seen, or if I tire myself out.

I've noticed I'm more likely to cut myself over situations I can't control, or the actions of others. As I'm frustrated that I can't change the occurrences or events or I can't deal with other people’s actions, I cut out of frustration and feeling helpless or powerless within a situation. I don't think I have ever cut myself as a method of “punishing” myself, as you often read people expressing. There are other ways I can punish myself - and I can be very creative. Cutting myself is too simple and straightforward and thus is what the angry me with no logic left tends to resort to doing.

When I lived at home, I had to hide my scars. Now I live in my own house, I don't. I don't care who sees them. Sometimes I'll cover them out of respect for other people, but it's highly dependant on who it is. The majority of the time I don't care who sees them in my own house - I'm not wearing hot clothing in warm weather or restrictive sleeves that cause sweating, itching or irritation if I don't need to. In general if I need to go outside, I'll cover up fresh wounds or scabbed over ones - but once the scabs have fallen off, I don't.

As I make sure to use clean knives and dress the more serious cuts and apply antiseptic, I seldom get infections in my skin. During darker moments where I wasn't satisfied after the initial cutting and felt I needed to cause myself more pain and suffering, I've resorted to deliberately introducing bacteria into the wounds. I've rubbed faecal matter into the cuts and covered them with tight bindings to encourage bacterial growth due to the heat. Even so, I've never caused any serious infections - just the odd yellow pus filled cuts or cuts with a slightly green tinge.

I do not cut for attention. The whole “attention seeking” view is fucking bullshit. If in a situation where I was meeting new people or in a situation where a first impression would matter, I would hide them, either using clothing - or if they were at a stage where the scabs had fallen off, using foundation. I never do it in front of other people - I even find it difficult to do it if I'm *not* the only person in the house. I *have* done it in the same room as other people, but only when I was really desperate - and I made sure to turn my back to them and cover them immediately so they didn't see the blood.

Sometimes I feel accomplished if I can go so many days/weeks/months without cutting myself. But it all comes crashing back down eventually. And as I previously mentioned, I self harm subconsciously. I suffer from dermatophagia - which is a form of OCD which causes me to bite, chew and pick at the skin around my fingernails, palms and fingers. Though I tend to do this when I’m anxious, I’ve noticed myself doing it, then deliberately continued to pick pieces of skin off of my fingers until blood is drawn. I’ve noticed myself digging my nails into my wrists, arms and palms when I'm getting angry. When I get frustrated with a difficult task, I find my eczema flares up and I get unbearably itchy - I'll often scratch at that harder than I need to do suppress the itch.

During mental breakdowns where I've felt my head literally straining with bad thoughts, anxiety and frustrations - the only way to provide some relief has been to hit my head against a wall, floor or door frame. That has resulted in bumps, bruises, black eyes, a nosebleed and a concussion. I've also hit myself, literally using my fists and using objects such as books, keyboards, pieces of wood and furniture.

I will admit I feel somewhat relieved, almost pleasant when I'm hurting myself. Finally getting that release of anger and rage out of my body is like squeezing out poison or pulling out a splinter. This high of sorts only lasts a maximum of around 15 minutes though, as I calm down rapidly once I've gotten the rage out. If I've managed to do it in “sensible” place, I feel OK. I'm only really aware of it in the shower when feeling hot water hitting raw skin - or if other people touch it, such as my fiancée cuddling close in bed and pressing hard on the sore areas unintentionally.

If I cut a place that's not as “sensible,” I'll usually feel immediate regret. For instance, I won't be able to film any videos (i.e gunge/messy videos) where I couldn't wear long sleeves. In warmer months, I'm annoyed if I have to hide them when it's simply unbearable to wear too many clothes. So where possible, I try to direct the rage to a more “sensible” part of my body. Technically the most “sensible” places are my torso - stomach and breasts - as these would be hidden even when wearing a swimming costume. Often it can be hard to claw a shred of logic back up through the blur of rage and direct the steak knife away from my wrists and forearms - but I'm getting better at doing it.