Book Excerpt: Disgruntled Body
The Invader
What do you want from me? Why do you hate me? Why are you so cruel? You inhabit me…like an intrusion. You are there inside me. You attack me from within. You defeat. There are glares…mine and those of others. There are injuries…there is fear, there is anguish. Risk of death. Do you want to kill me?
I know battle, I know resignation. I know days of victory; I know days of defeat.
My body…you make it ugly. Every day, you attack. Relentlessly, you injure. Always, you hurt. How can I get rid of you?
When I was young, I was unaware of your presence… Naive, I could not begin to think that you were getting ready for a slow, interminable siege. Young people have no weapons.
Then, when I was becoming vulnerable, when my conscience was awakening, at the most precious time of my adolescence, you launched your first assault…without warning, without my having had time to protect myself. This wasn’t loyal. I defended myself to the best of my ability. I found myself a weapon: an identity. You were forcing me to be different! By attacking me, you were serving me my identity on a silver platter. I was different from the others. I was me. Finally, I had somewhat found myself; I gave myself a certain importance. I was making do with your presence. I was not too angry at you.
There were flirts and fancies…and then love, the love of my life. He was everything. He loved me. I loved him. You bothered me a little…but whatever. I would have liked to be more beautiful in his eyes, in my own eyes…but he loved me above all else. The start of your siege did not overly weaken the fort.
Then came the child… I will be giving life. I feel beautiful. I feel like a woman. I feel like “Life.” And then, while I was putting all my attention, all my energy on this, at the very moment when I was almost forgetting you…you attack once again. You strike me down. You make me become even uglier. I must once again defend myself…I then choose Beauty! Yes! Amazing, isn’t it? You must have been surprised. You make me look almost monstrous…and then I find this incredible, unassailable beauty in the gesture of giving life, in this new and so intimate love that is slowly germinating inside me, in this privilege that life is granting me.
You are desperately trying to destroy me. You are forcing me to resist, to survive, to Live. An Identity. Beauty. I think that I am defending myself quite well. Oh! Inside me, your invasion is worrying me, inflicting injuries, leaving scars…but I am still standing and getting stronger all the time.
Making love with my love, the one who shares my life… Passion, tenderness, pleasures… Injuries, shame, death. A hand travelling, caressing, tender and loving. A hand that also hurts, reminds, injures and kills a little with every caress, because it is shameless…knowing the secret and seeing my ugliness. The insupportable suffering caused by this intimacy, this nudity before the other. The other, my love, loves me, wants me. I give myself…and hold back a little. Give everything? Let go? I can’t. Giving love, giving pleasure, giving tenderness…yes. But giving ugliness… Too difficult! There is the shame. I try… But this hand that touches…who knows… Oh! Loving hand, don’t be too insolent, don’t tell me my ugliness. Be discreet. I love your presence, I love your warmth and the pleasure that you give, but I’m angry at you for sharing my secret. I’m angry at you for infiltrating my heart. I’m angry at you for violating my soul.
Other men… Their proximity? Velvet and harshness; desire and fear; joy and sorrow. Their gaze? Attracting, invading and penetrating; humiliating and hurting. Scraping my heart.
Children… Curious, inoffensive, such bearers of truth. They hurt sometimes, without really realizing the reach of what they mirror back to me: “Did you ever touch a toad when you were young?”
The mirror… Attempted murder. You hurt every time. It is your daily weapon, and me, the idiot, I use your own weapon to hurt myself. The mirror is killing me.
But I’m not done resisting. I continue to defend myself. I want to live.
You, you keep attacking. Like a tank, you invade me without respite. What do you want from me…do you want me to abdicate? Could there be a secret weapon that I have yet to find? For so long, you have inhabited me; for so long, you have hurt me while at the same time pushing me forward. The discoveries that your presence led me to make throughout my life are invaluable. If you left me now…
It’s true that I still sometimes dream of having another skin…a beautiful wrapping paper, of being beautiful on the outside like on the inside. Useless dreams, impossible dreams, dreams for another lifetime.
My dreams are hungry!
Life, on the other hand, whets my appetite!
If you are interested in purchasing a copy of Suzanne’s book, please contact us. Corps Chagrin is available in French only.
