In the beginning, everything was fine. At least I thought so. Until I woke up in a hospital in France, being on a drip-feed, having a catheter between my legs, paralysed. My thoughts moving all the faster, even faster, dashing, circulating at hyper-speed around one thought: It’s me, the virus.
Passing my time letting my sight flow from the ceiling to the floor by simply moving my eyeballs, blink, repeating it, some kind of streak in my sight is following my eyeball movement, I am playing a kind of bizarre ping-pong with the streak. Seeing UN soldiers running through a labyrinth, surrounding two persons, feeling like they are approaching. I have taken a nap, the door opens, the two persons enter.
My parents, deeply shocked by my look, they are asking me something, I don’t understand them, would not be able to answer anyway, beside this I would prefer they let me alone here. Me, the virus. A few days later, I am transported into a German hospital by an ambulance service. Back in my hometown, Karlsruhe, Germany. Another week later, I am able to move slowly again, going to ergotherapy, leave the hospital in woolly slippers, supported by a nurse. I am feeling like being at least 60 years old, pinched, almost no hair, pale skin, no smile, who is that person, where am I?
Then I arrive at the adolescent psychatrie, me, the virus, what am I doing here? Some psychotropic drugs for me, I am sick of AIDS, I am plague and cholera, spreading the disease everywhere and they only care about my mind? What a crazy world!