Already small, it was the written expressions that I preferred.
And, already small, it was telling stories that fascinated me.
I invented imagined stories,
which allowed me to escape, to escape from the playground.
“Escape from the playground, what a funny idea! You must ask yourself.
And you are right.
It’s not normal to be afraid to stay in class.
It’s not normal to be afraid to go to the playground.
Was it me who was not normal?
Or the others who did not accept my difference?
Moral harassment, physical aggression,
school bullying, sexual assault;
years of suffering, malaise, indifference, but above all,
many years of silence.
I learned to shut up rather than grow as I grew up.
Because I was afraid of others,
when I realized they were using my vulnerability
to assert their superiority.
Marguerite Duras said:
“Writing is also not talking. It’s shut up. It’s screaming noiselessly. “
I was very good at writing and inventing stories.
I was 21 out of 20 in dictation, 22 in written expression,
and “TB” three times underlined.
But yet I did not find the words to denounce what they were doing to me.
I could not open my mouth to say that I was being harassed in the playground,
and that I was raped in my locked room.
I first closed my mouth to say that persecutors were persecuting me.
And when finally they were not there anymore, I still found the way
to keep it closed so as not to eat.
I found a way to continue
to inflict pain on me
because I did not think I deserved anything else.
Early child martyred and raped,
I went to a mental anorexic at the gaunt carcass.
What a childhood!
And from year to year, the heart a little more disjointed,
and the soul a little more dented.
Today, I’m 19,
and I still love telling you stories.
I have already written mine,
in this book: this book.
A therapy book, a book also testimony
and because I realized that I did not really know who I was,
I wanted to tell my story, to reconcile myself, too,
with my body, with my mind, with my past.
I wrote to try to remind myself,
but we must believe that it was not enough,
because two weeks ago I remembered something else,
I came out of post-traumatic amnesia.
I wrote these words on frozen paper,
and today I have the chance to be in front of you,
to give them life,
because they have much more strength when finally they can be pronounced.
Today I have this chance, that of being able to tell you my story.
To find my way, using my voice to me.
To re-tame my word by saying these words in front of you.
And I’m not scared anymore.
I’m not afraid anymore to be forced to close my mouth,
because I found how to make peace with myself.
How to finally stop this internal struggle.
10 years, 10 years to hope that tomorrow will be a new day
to finally realize that the answer I was waiting for
was behind me.
And yet I spent years looking for ways to heal,
how to solve all these question marks.
And finally I realized that the only one who held the keys of my happiness,
it was this little girl I had left in the playground.
It had been months, years I was looking for.
With my therapist, I can tell you that we have sought solutions,
but nothing helped.
I was still scared.
I was still afraid to let these elements out of my past,
because I was afraid they would hurt me.
The only instruction I had tonight, to write my subject of written expression,
was “reconciliations”.
So I adopted a method, which my philosophy teacher taught me.
My philosophy teacher who does me the honor of being here tonight.
This method is the one I applied to pass my baccalaureate.
Small mention: I still had 18 in the tray.
It must be believed that it served me!
And the advice she gave me is always: analyze the subject.
To analyze a subject, one looks for synonyms, one identifies the keywords.
So I thought, when I was offered the theme of reconciliation.
I questioned the subject and wondered what he was saying to me,
to me, individual.
I did not have four hours to compose.
But that’s what I did. And I said to myself:
for there to be reconciliation, there must have been separation.
We are reconciled with someone, with something.
And here again I asked myself:
“Damn, who were you able to get away from
and with whom do you want to be reconciled? “
Who should I make peace with?
Only one name came to me: Alexia Savey.
Well, I have to admit, there was this little granny in the subway
to whom I did not leave the place last week,
but frankly I’m sure she will have forgiven me
because I always leave my place to the little grannies in the subway.
This time, I promise you that I was tired.
Alexia Savey, so. It’s the only name I found.
It is only with me that I strive to reconcile myself for all these years.
And yet, I tried some therapies.
I’ve seen psychologists, psychiatrists, psychoanalysts,
white coats.
I agreed to tell my story at least fifty-twelve times.
I wanted to comply with what it is supposedly good to do.
But one day, I understood that what was consistent with society
was not necessarily what was good for us, unique individuals.
So I did differently.
I took the lead and made my own therapy.
I tried things a little new,
parallel therapies, magic formulas.
I never managed to melt my carcass in a mold.
And it’s trying things a bit atypical
that I finally could assume my difference.
I wanted to bring a little lightness to everything I had already gone through.
And, facing the symptoms of anorexia,
rather than consulting an umpteenth dietician,
who was going to talk to me about weight, nutrients, calories,
and I used what I can do best: I wrote.
And I used social networks to spend a star cast.
I asked for chefs, people who like to cook,
and I asked them to relearn me,
as we would teach a child to ride a bike,
except that I had to relearn myself to love to eat,
to regain the taste of taste.
They taught me how to season, how to choose food, how to cook.
I had a great adventure with them.
I freed myself from the claws of the fork,
by melting into the skin of a chef.
Today, I’m better.
Today, I have less pain.
Yet, I have not taken any medicine for at least two years.
Finally if we consider that Bach flowers and aromatherapy,
it does not really matter.
I have not been to the hospital either for four years.
Yet, a year ago, I stopped talking;
and two years ago, I was in a coma in intensive care.
Yes yes, I assure you.
I am still not healed today.
But I gradually reconcile with my body,
with my plate.
Thanks to all the steps I take,
and despite the fact that my body is still wearing
all these traces of the sufferings that I suffered,
I am still standing, to speak to you, in spite of all that has happened to me.
Death has not yet wanted me,
and that I still have things to do on Earth, here below.
And tomorrow, I want to extend my approach
reconciliation with my body, with my mind, with my soul,
to finally reach that ataraxia of which my professor of philosophy spoke to me.
I want to create, I want to be creative, I want to imagine,
because it’s when I create,
when I draw all these little drawings you see,
that I forget that I am sick, that I forget everything that has happened.
that finally I can get out of my anorexic status,
of those labels that were stuck to my forehead.
I want to change the disguise, I want to drop the mask,
and not be afraid anymore.
I’m fed up.
I’m tired of having a little girl’s body in an adult spirit.
What a pleonasm!
Theater, photography, singing, dancing,
drawing, massage, yoga, painting, makeup, whatever!
These are all inspiring and helping actions for all people
who, like me, suffer from their bodies, in their minds.
I do all this for myself, but not only.
And it is within the association that I founded,
together with the release of my book,
that I would like to propose to other people
to repair their machine a little dented.
To offer them new instruments,
new tools to put in their toolbox.
By turning around in circles, we end up returning to the starting point.
Me tonight, I want to go back to the playground,
and reach out to my frightened inner child,
the one I left behind.
I want to give him the opportunity to express himself differently,
other than by hurting me, other than torturing me.
I want to let her express herself,
and to finally break with the silence I imposed on him.
Tonight, I believe I respected the instructions
to respect the theme of reconciliations.
But I would like to go beyond the norm,
go out a little rules.
Tonight I would like to invite you to do the same as me,
not to be afraid to let your inner child speak,
not to be ashamed to listen to what he has to say to you,
because he has all the answers.
He is the one who holds the keys to your happiness.
We are unhappy and tormented adults
only because we did not pay attention to what he had to say to us.
You know all these little subliminal messages
that it sends us in the day and which divert us from our priorities.
Let’s not be afraid of being who we wanted to be,
let’s not be afraid to reveal our true identity.
There is still time to change,
not to conform once again to society,
but to let emerge our true and deep personality.
You can be a creative and responsible adult,
an adult still a little innocent, but reasonable.
And believe me, you will be even more fulfilled
and you will strengthen the abilities of your adult
that you are today.
So, does it tell you to go with me to the imaginary country?
(Applause)
”
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