Seriously, there is officially no use for men on this planet. Beyond the odd pickle jar opening, and the occasional car maintenance that they know how to do only because they’ve had years of training with dad in the garage, there is absolutely no use for men on this planet.
There is enough sperm in sperm banks around the world, that every woman on this earth, could be impregnated several times over, without the use or assistance of a man.
Let me be clear about this, men exist on this planet, because women let them exist, and for no other reason.
The number of men and women in the world is roughly equal, though men hold a slight lead with 102 men for 100 women (in 2020). More precisely, out of 1,000 people, 504 are men (50.4%) and 496 are women (49.6%). For every 100 girls, 106 boys are born, but males have a higher risk of dying than females, both in childhood and at adult ages.
So at a certain age, the numbers of men and women even out. In France this occurs at age 25. Beyond this age, women outnumber men and the numerical difference between the two sexes increases with age. In France, eight centenarians in ten are women (in 2020).Source:United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division (2019). World Population Prospects 2019, custom data acquired via website.
Yesterday I wasn’t feeling so hot. I spent three hours waiting in Urgent Care for them to tell me that they wouldn’t help me. Then I went to a second clinic and got a second opinion. While I was waiting for my prescription, (a sign that I am becoming an adult) I decided to shop around.
I bought myself a beautiful red lipstick that I will take pictures of and show you later, I bought myself bleach for black hair, and I bought myself not one but two boxes of beautiful bright purple hair dye. Because I decided that I miss my colored hair, I miss walking around with brightly colored curls, and the only reason I stopped doing it is because a guy I was sleeping with years ago, told me it looked silly.
I loved my hair back then, it had faded by the time we were together, so I had this stunningly gorgeous dark rainbow colored hair that glistened in the sunlight, he didn’t like it, so I dyed it back to black. Word to the wise, don’t ever change your hair for a man. Ever. They aren’t worth it.
I also bought myself a purple vibe, largely because it was the only one that Shoppers had in stock, but also because damnit, I miss orgasms…but I don’t miss men.
Let me be clear about this also: No man has ever made me orgasm. Not once, I’ve faked it so many times I should have a wall filled with Oscars and Academy Awards. Like many women on this planet, faking the almighty orgasm never feels great. It feels like you are somehow broken or defective somehow, but when I’m alone? When it’s just me and my fingers or my toys? I can make myself cum in less then five minutes flat.
And it’s always amazing.
When women make themselves orgasm, there is no need to say thank you to anyone else. There is no need to buff up someone else’s ego, and there is absolutely no need to think about what you’ve lost by sharing yourself with someone who might not see you the way you want them to see you.
There is a lot of shame, guilt, fear, and anxiety, associated with sex, let alone female masturbation. The idea that we can as women (and yes, even as men) take our orgasms into our own hands as it were, because we’re not supposed to do that.
In days of old women were brainwashed into believing that idle hands were the Devil’s playthings. That giving yourself an orgasm was the same thing as worshipping the devil. A well crafted lie told to naïve young women to prevent them from having any sort of autonomy over their bodies and minds.
Another school of thought says that orgasms are supposedly a gift granted to us by the universe, for embracing the act of procreation. People have long believed that orgasms are about procreation, and only procreation, but what if the orgasm is bigger than that?
What if the orgasm is our bodies’ way of connecting to the spiritual energy in the world? What if they are our way of reminding ourselves that there can be pockets and moments of undiluted happiness and joy in the world? What if you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you having an orgasm hurt absolutely no one else in the world, would you do it then?
For almost two years I didn’t touch myself, and when I did I felt nothing but shame and re-created trauma, more often than not right after the orgasm, I would end up curled in a ball of tears feeling bad about myself because of the things that I fantasized about.
A lot of the fantasy’s that I had between the ages of fifteen and twenty-nine, come from a place of being deeply disturbed by the trauma I faced as a teenager, child, and young adult.
I am fully aware that the teen/adult fantasy’s come from being abused. The way that my brain works is to tell me that these things are okay to fantasize about because they aren’t real. But in my case they were real, and I never once enjoyed the act of rape that came at the hands of older men.
I didn’t enjoy being humiliated and debased, I didn’t enjoy being turned into a victim for the pleasure of men, I certainly didn’t enjoy having my own body being turned into a weapon for the pleasure of men that I wasn’t attracted to. Especially when none of them took into consideration whether or not I wanted them to do these things to me.
When the fantasy’s became my reality, the reality traumatized me and left me feeling like I was supposed to want these things, because if I wanted them, then they weren’t so bad after all.
So for the last two years, I’ve found that I haven’t been able to get off, as it were, because I couldn’t fantasize about the things that I used to like, again, because of shame, anxiety, depression, etc.
This morning however, I pulled out my freshly charged vibe (it plugs in, which is annoying and not my favorite, but it works.), and I let myself enjoy not one, but two and a half beautifully self pleasuring orgasms, without fantasizing about men.
I didn’t think about women either, I didn’t think about anything, I just let myself enjoy the pleasure of having my body stimulated by an outside source, knowing full well that I was 100% in control of both my mind, and my body, and it felt fan fucking tastic.
Today was proof that I absolutely, utterly, completely, do not need a man in my life to be happy. Last night I announced to my Budsista’s that I was getting my shit together. I am preparing to do my taxes, I am setting myself up to be a successful business owner, and I am doing everything I can to make sure that I do what I need to do to be an independent woman ready to take on the world.
Part of that means testing the waters, and trying to get comfortable with my own sexuality again. This is really hard when you are traumatized, when you feel like your body isn’t yours because parts of it have been stolen by abuse and trauma.
Knowing that I can capture my own orgasms again is incredibly empowering, not just because I do not need a man, but because I need to know that I can enjoy sex again, in all it’s beautiful wonderous forms, after abuse. No I am not ready to have sex with a partner yet, but I hope that I will work my way up to it.
I had fantasy’s as a young girl about how I would lose my virginity, and my favorite was always the one where I lost my virginity after marriage. I had visions of a snowcapped mountain, and a beautiful log cabin, a fireplace, and yes the adoringly soft rug in front of the fireplace. I know it may sound silly to some, but I think it sounds sweet.
When you’ve been abused, the abuse takes so much out of you. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, you feel like you’ve been tainted, and broken. You feel like you are somehow deficient after abuse, like you are diminished in some way.
Knowing that I can have orgasms, means knowing that one day maybe I can invite another person into the sacred space that I am building around myself. Knowing that I can enjoy orgasms leads me to believe that one day it might be possible for me to have a healthy, sex positive, loving, relationship with another person.
It’s important for me to believe that I am not broken, that I am not splintered by abuse and trauma. Being able to give myself my own orgasms tells me that I am in control, that I am not completely powerless in a world that wants me to be exactly that.
I am still fragile, and I am still very raw, and I know that as I grow stronger and wiser my thoughts on relationships with men, and with women, are going to change, but I am not ready to change my thoughts just yet.
For the first time in my life, I have the power to choose what happens to my body, without anyone else’s input, the only time I’ve ever felt like this before is right before I am about to get a tattoo.
All of my tattoos are a reminder of death, life, and trauma. Even the one on my hand is a constant reminder that Loud Mouth Brown Girl started because I got arrested after having a panic attack. It’s a trauma tattoo, and I’d like in the future to have a healing tattoo.
Something that reminds me that yes, I have a lot of marks reminding me that I suffered, hurt, and sacrificed, but that I also got better.
I know that even in 2021, women are still being encouraged to believe that they should want the nuclear family, and I do want that, but I just know that I am not ready to rush into something when I still have so much work to do on myself.
Yes I am being vulnerable with my blog, but I am also emotionally maturing in ways that I don’t think the world pays enough attention to.
Each of us throughout the first thirty or so years of our lives go through so much, we experience so much. Not just trauma and abuse, but small hurts too. We learn so much, we consume so much brand new information that I don’t think that human beings should be called “adults” until well into their forties.
I think there is so much about the brain that I am just starting to understand, and I honestly realize that psychologists get it wrong a lot of times. People are treated as if they will never heal from their mental health issues. They are treated as if they are irrevocably broken after they’ve been abused, when the truth is that like a broken bone, the brain just needs time to convalesce.
Yes we can get better, and we will get better, it’s just going to take time, and patience. Which means world, that you’re still going to have to wait awhile longer to fully embrace the awesomeness of the Loud Mouth Girl, but I have nothing but time.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall