I am not lost but angry through mom. I lost it. Confused by this experience, my feelings mark a subtle inner turning point in which I find myself in a sort of interrogation with myself, having only the unconscious and absolute representation that has become my ultimate place of safety. Are my memories real? Or is it just a movie that I made up for myself? Isn’t what I have become just a multitude of scrambled voices that are not mine and that shaped me? I am telling you about my constraint, the liberation of which is more and more difficult.