#2 - The wandering
October 2018 — At church
Dear Lidy,
We look for places like this when we suffer. Places that would make us feel like we still belong to something... Anything.
There's no one around. I have the vague impression that I've heard these whispers before, seen these windows —in my dreams or in my memories, I have walked through this door, caressed its wood, I'm sure of it. I can’t say whether God was there or not last time I’ve walked this floor, but I know a part of me died within these walls.
I spent the week wandering around the city. I couldn't go to drama class because I've lost my voice and I can't be there on stage in front of everyone else. I don't have the strength. (Please don't say anything, okay?)
It's my fault. I had established a long time ago that when things would go wrong, I’d simply cut myself off from the rest of the world. Remember when I was a kid? I used to call it “the extinction”. It’s shutting down your senses. You're like a rag doll, you let your body take control. The humiliations, the gestures to resist, the things to face, all of it becomes so distant that nothing really touch you anymore.
But I'm scared. I think I'm stuck, Lidy. I can't get out of it. He wanted me to kneel down the other day and I haven't been back since. I don't live in this body anymore. I grabbed a backpack, threw some things in it, didn't even look... I just stuffed everything in and since then I've spent my afternoons wandering around. From time to time, I write. I move my fingers to see if it's over. And I think of that sentence from The Little Prince that suffocates me every time I read it:
“You will be sad. I'll look like I'm dead, and that won't be true. (…) You understand. It's too far. I can't take that body with me. It's too heavy.”
He fell gently, as a tree falls. It didn't even make a sound because of the sand. — The Little Prince, chapter 26
Without really knowing how or why, I ended up at the theater, knocking the front door. I felt both hopeful and nauseous. It's Tuesday. That's four. Four days without eating. He opened the door, surprised. Class doesn't start until six. I pushed him. I told him I wouldn't be there at six. I climbed the stairs, went up stage and, facing the light, I tried again: Here I am. I must have said it a thousand times. And then I started to cry. He took me in his arms. I kissed him. He didn't flinch. As if we knew from the beginning that it would end up like this. He made me sit down to breathe a second, then asked me what was going on, but I don't know how to do this: talk. If I had known where to start, I would have screamed out. Instead, I kissed him again. We got carried away, he took my hand, slid it in. He was hard, I wanted to pull away. Men love that, making you feel. Like it's the greatest compliment, no kidding.
Somehow, I left. The sun was beating down on the whole city. I staggered on, but I had nowhere to go. I had exhausted every meaning of the word “home” — the pen, the paper, the stage, the arms of a loved one. It no longer meant anything. Everything went dark. And as long as he exists, Lidy, I will never be able to return. —
To take with me:
Passport
Rosary
Sleeping Mouse T-shirt
2 pairs of pants
6 pairs of panties
6 pairs of socks
Blue jacket
Toothbrush
Makeup
Cercles, Yannick Haenel
NB: This episode was the day before my departure. The next day, I was leaving for London, where I lived for three years.
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