My body failed me, and my mind did that too. I felt possessed, something was different, a feeling that never occurred to me. When I understood why, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t have control on my body and my mind anymore. I was trapped, and my first reaction was to run away from it the fast as I can. But it wasn’t fast. I took my decision, I don’t regret it, and yet I was filled with emptiness. The complexity of those feelings are still giving me hard times, I’m trying to reconstruct myself starting from my deep desires. But I feel nothing. I cut something away and now it seems impossible to reconnect it. As an author, my life and my art are heavily interconnetted, I often fell in vortex of confusion. My biggest fear was that my mental health wouldn’t be under control, leading to pass all my traumas to another human being, harming them. Paradoxically, my animal body doesn’t care at all about my concerns: every single piece of me is still craving for reproducing my genes. The species is stronger. Despite my personal feelings, I think there’s still the need to pretend the complete autonomy and self-affirmation of the women on their body. In a time of oversimplification, I believe the main focus of an artist is to tie together the different facets of reality, to create an unicuum in which opposites can coexist, and grow from them. This series of images includes some portraits taken by my boyfriend, who was not the father of the baby, along with analogic self-portraits, iphone photos of small psicomagic acts and 3D mapping of my body.