Je vis dans une maison qui n'existe pas

In this new play, Laurène Marx shines, illuminates, uplifts, and upsets as she lifts the veil on dealing with childhood trauma, the inertia of the psychiatric care system, and the need to fragment one’s personality in order to survive in a world where neuro-diverse people feel excluded, maladjusted, and irredeemable. Somewhere between the naivety of a childish tale and the pragmatic brutality of direct, raw prose, Je vis dans une maison qui n’existe pas (I Live in a House that Doesn’t Exist) weaves a portrait of the psyche of a person suffering from dissociative personality disorder and anger management problems. A moment of rare intensity.

“Nikki lives in a house that doesn’t exist. In that house you’ll meet Madame Monster, the Little Ones, and Nuage the cloud. Not long ago, Nikki flew into a rage and now she’s looking for what she’s lost: her composure. Nikki needs to regain her composure and to do that she needs Madame Monster, the Littles Ones and Nuage the cloud. Otherwise she won’t be able to leave the house that doesn’t exist and go home…”.
_Laurène Marx, Je vis dans une maison qui n’existe pas