The Philosophy Of Being A C-Word

I

Hi, My name is Cunt. It is a lovely day outside, isn’t it?

Ever wondered why your life is the way it is? It is because you ARE a cunt, being cause rather than effect. It could go back to the nature vs. nurture dispute, but for the purpose of this study, being a cunt is of nature; while nurture assists you in revealing your inner cuntness. It is why there are those who last better and stronger in different, massive, mild, happy, sad circumstances, but you, you are a cunt.

Just a thought: cunts should carry official badges, like the FBI, and shout out “don’t worry people, I am a cunt”

But, apologies, I have published several academic works before and I should know better, I forgot to explain “cunt.” I’d imagine in one of my academic works I’d footnote the word and copy paste the definition from the dictionary which happens to say: “usually obscene : the female genital organs; also : sexual intercourse with a woman” (Merriam Webster). And for the feminists I yield my cunt badge.

II

Sex

I am a 22 year old virgin (barely-first-base virgin, and that is common in an Arab culture) and I just fucked myself with a vibrating tooth brush in front of the mirror; concentrating on my face, looking in my own eyes. My own green eyes, often complimented, my face described as fair and naturally pretty. I observed my face. I was not very keen on cuming, I was wondering, would it distract? Would it suffice? And then, I came, and I yearned for the child’s ignorance of sex, when I didn’t despise myself so much. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt.

III

I just had an image of preserving my big brother in the fridge after slitting his throat.

I often get these horrid contemplations. Of tragedies, either my doing to my family, friends, or the surroundings’ doings. The reasons are silly. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt. Reasons are usually me wanting to escape an exam, deadline, justification for my ill-groomed appearances, weight gain, heavy smoking. Attention and pity that is. I think of tragedies striking my family for attention and pity.

IV

Cutting

My grandmother just telephoned me. From the sound of her “hello” I could tell she was angry at me. “Why didn’t you come with your brother?” I assumed would be the next thing she would say in disappointment and betrayal. I didn’t wait; I didn’t wait for her to show me that she is angry. I rushed by saying, “I spent last night vomiting and having diarrhea, food poisoned I suppose; I haven’t had junk food in so long I think my stomach couldn’t bear it.” She spent the rest of the phone call worried about me, going back and forth about how I should have called someone for help. I escaped, I dodged the responsibility. And I victimized myself. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt.

I don’t want to go see her. I love her. But I have no energy. To be fair to myself I do have my student’s activity meetings and trainings and I couldn’t have missed them. It is… the overall reason why I haven’t invited her to move in with me. I have no energy; I have no will to compromise my “freedom” for this ill-physically-exhausted-old-lonely-alone-woman. How can I drink when she is around? Invite friends over and listen to loud music? Smoke freely? Not have to cook? Not have to smile?

In that same manner, I used to cut. Not for attention, but for a scapegoat. Every time, I had to ask myself why are you not studying for an exam? Why aren’t you working out? Why aren’t you doing the dishes? Why aren’t you combing your hair? Why aren’t you out hunting for an internship? Why are you spending too much money? Why are you smoking 20+ fags a day? Those complexes I asked, those complexes I dodged, by running a razor through the very superficial layer of my skin. The blood, I smile at the blood. It has given me something to blame. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt

I can’t study for an exam, I can’t work out, I can’t do the dishes, I can’t comb my hair, I can’t… I can’t… I can’t, because I am too “disturbed”. And see, look… look there is the blood. The red-metallic-flavored evidence. A razor didn’t hurt much, but it made me bleed. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt

In retrospect though, and in all fairness, at some point I did fall straight down into depression. I was ill. I was medicated. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had an illusion of a liquid, a heavy greasy liquid running through right under my skin, weighing me down. And only then did I truly cut. I cut with honesty. The honest marks are much better hidden than the dishonest marks. It is very difficult to say that this is a characteristic of being cunt. I can’t remember what it was like being depressed, because in depression the mind is blank; unable to think, unable to create.  How can I cuntify that which is void?

V

The Charity Bag

A while back, for a short while, I’d buy some biscuit packs and keep them in my bag. Give one to each aged or crippled beggar I pass by in the street. Now, the question is…why?

To look noble. Generous. Kind. Pretty even. I am more certain of this than any other reason. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt. I was more proud of myself when I heard friends tell me “oh how kind you are” than when I hear a beggar say “thank you.”

Yet, come to think of it, the beggar who took the biscuits was supposedly hungry, and would be temporarily full with the biscuits. So even in my selfish reason of charity, a hungry person was fed. But, it still doesn’t make me less cunt. Anyway I stopped the charity bag idea when it became too much of a hassle; which is a characteristic of being a cunt.

VI

Prude for the wrong reasons

A week ago I was a little over tipsy and I asked a male friend to grab my boob. He said no. I am not sure if it’s because he is a gentlemen or because the thought of it disgusted him.

I lean toward the latter, accordingly if I were in my conscious state of mind I wouldn’t have asked him; I would have remained prude. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt.

VII

Confessions of a cunt

I deliberately lost a friend. We go way back. Not that much of a strong friendship but he liked me and cared about me. He lives abroad and comes to Egypt for visits. We usually hung out. But the last time he visited, I blew him off. He called me, I gave him excuses (I had exams at the time) I told him ” I don’t want to see you”…then I laughed and lied about meaning it. He called me. He called me. He called me. But answering him would mean I have to confront him with my cuntness. Would mean telling him I have been feeling bad. Telling him I don’t have money. Telling him, “although you care about me, and you are a really nice guy, a really handsome guy, someone I consider a good friend; I just do not want to go through the effort of dressing up, borrowing money, doing my eyebrows and mustache, fake a smile through the hang out, chat about what’s been going on in my life which is all cunt, listen to you not being cunt, listen to you telling me how I should not be cunt, listen to you telling me I am cunt, tell you I overslept and missed one of my finals {cunt badge}, tell you I have been eating popcorn for dinner because I am so broke.”

And so, I just let him go. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt.

VIII

I probably would have been less of a cunt had I played a musical instrument.

That is all.

IX

Sleep

My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. today. I have been asleep for only three hours; I had five beers and felt very drowsy and unable to concentrate on my work. My alarm is incredibly loud and incredibly surprising. About two weeks ago when I told everyone I missed the exam because I didn’t wake up… I lied. I surrendered is what happened. Which is a characteristic of being a cunt.. I was very tired, I was on the verge of tears, I looked at the clock and I had precisely two hours to revise, to remember the new Egyptian constitutional amendments, to remember political party procedures, the details behind the Arab Spring, and I had to have the energy to articulate all of that in Arabic, the mother tongue that I have cast aside for so long. I kept saying, I’ll wake up, I’ll wake up. But I fell asleep, knowingly that this is what I wanted; to sleep. Not just for an extra hour, but for a lifetime. And I willingly missed my exam.

And so it happened again today, I have work, reviewing 300 pages of academics. My partner is taking a long time because she is an intern in a law firm. And she spends 2+ hours commuting. She is actively pursuing life. But me, I look at my alarm clock, remember why I have to wake up, think about why would I wake up, scream and snort so loudly that my throat becomes sore, and fall right back to sleep, without resetting my alarm clock, deliberately ignoring the myriad chores and duties I need to fulfill.

Sleep has become my center point. The ambition I have. The event I await. The happiest I can ever be.

Which is a characteristic of being a cunt. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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