Writing the body

I think what interests me about Hélène Cixous’ Laugh of the Medusa isn’t the heavily feminist viewpoint bashing the male oppressor, the “phallocentric” society, the “imbecilic capitalist machinery” that she is so passionate about breaking down – I’m interested in my own experiences in my own body. I’m interested in my guilt, my desires, my needs, my insecurities, my sexuality, my breath, my blood, tongue, nails, hair. I’m interested in the ghosts and what they say about me, about my history, my future. I’m interested in things women aren’t supposed to talk about – our outbursts, our “luminous torrents,” our floods and passions and emotions that we ourselves view as a “shameful sickness.”
Was I raised to be steady and composed? Did I learn I needed to be steady and composed? Did the Bertha’s, the Medusa’s, the Wicked Witches of the West shape me to view emotional, dark women as the crazies of the world?
Perhaps in a way, there is a need to break down some societal wall, but my desire to do so stems from understanding. I want to understand myself. The darkness and the light. I want to understand why a woman’s worst enemy is often herself.

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