Dis­t­ress

They say, victim, autistic, borderline, maladjusted, I try to be me and invent a second skin to make all this bearable.

I come from a one night stand. They didn't expect me. I simply came from an opportunity, or an inopportunity, it doesn't matter. Alcohol, a festive atmosphere, a desire… and me!

I was not in the right place, at the right time, parents too busy, too trusting. He seduced me, took me under his falsely protective wing. In exchange, he took me on his tours and always found a moment to show me his penis, make me manipulate it, abuse me, distorting my mind and my understanding, I was 9 years old. I trusted him, until I learned from a friend better informed than me, (in Valais, modern math arrived well before sex education), at the appearance of my period, not only that I I was going to become a woman, but that this man was going to be able to give me a child: the horror! ...and the complete loss of trust in all adults.

I love moving while dancing, but I scare them when, to reassure myself, I measure their height by passing my leg over their head. I don't know why, but they look scared. Fewer and fewer people approach me, and this increases my unwanted actions. I try in vain to make them understand my life, my space and if I am lost, I have to navigate everything, cars, people, obstacles...; it’s innate to me, dancing.

A pervert is someone who does not hesitate to transgress and use others for their own purposes. To be a victim is to be attacked, violated, appropriated to satisfy the impulses of others by being canceled sexually and psychologically. Dramatic problem for the victim: the irrepressible fear of becoming one yourself. Through a sort of contamination, all points of reference are lost and displaced. Not breaking up, disintegrating every day.

If they could guide me, take my hand and take me on paths where I could freely let myself go, learn to better control my body, maybe there is this bridge?
Not everything is comparable, the only thing these two stories have in common is the presence of the human species. How do we stay human?

Perhaps, in the delegation of doing, there is a way out? Thus, by choosing beings who have talents that I do not have, it would be possible to represent something: 'for my own purposes' which is shared in trust, as an invaluable poetic gift.

How to invent an aesthetic to heal, rethink, the wounds of ravaged minds, sharing them from another point of view. Karine and Yannick Barman, Anne Marie Bangoura, Eddy Savioz

When the skin proves too sensitive in the immobility imposed by conventions, feel this interstitial space between reality and the shadow that we are. Bringing to the surface the sensation of an exposed body, giving birth, from the nymph, to being, until the last second of our last breath, a fleeting and immanent movement.

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