The Great Unpacking Of Love
Part 15

I head towards what looks like a dining room. I see zombies wandering around, totally locked in their anxieties, sealed off from the world around them. Their approach is slow, without dynamism, like snails crushed by the heaviness of their shell. Some smile like angels, blissful, others seem to be mounted on springs like real electric batteries. Here, there is suffering. And me ? Do I look like them?

Like a Panurge sheep, I follow the movement. Suddenly, I feel alone in the world, right in the middle of the room, not knowing where to sit. It does not seem to me that nurse Roi gave me precise instructions on this subject. Come on, Adèle, courage!

I walk, at random, towards a table of four. I sit down on the only free chair, opposite an affable-looking young man.

– Cleared !

– Pardon ?

— Get out, I tell you, it’s my chair.

— Your chair? It seems to me that you already have one.

—Are you going to get out? I tell you this chair is mine and mine alone!

— No worries, young man, asked so politely, I will replace another chair elsewhere to avoid serious trauma, which could harm your mental balance.

— Good for your face Frankie! Well done, Madam! This one has been pissing us off for quite some time.

I then hear a roar of applause invade the canteen. For my first entry onto the psychiatric scene, I’m making a splash! I am proud of myself.

– What’s your name ?

— Adele Ying.

— Welcome, Adèle, to the court of miracles! Come to our table. My name is Jekyll, opposite you have Mister Hyde and next to him, the pretty Camille Claudel.

— Good evening everyone, thank you for welcoming me among you for my first meal.

6:30 p.m.

I head to my room. What am I going to be able to do? It’s too early to wash, let alone go to sleep. What if I watched television? Maybe it would take my mind off things, quiet in my bed, far from the Halloween zombies.

Damn, I can’t replace the TV. No matter how much I search, not the slightest trace of Laurent Delahousse, nor of Michel Drucker, nor even of Claire Chazal! I bet it’s another mediatherapeutic hit! Damn, I’m going to have to deal with Norman Bates and others. Adèle, take your courage in both hands and go back up death row to the living room.

The corridor is deserted. Not a soul living, the silence is total. With soft steps, I head towards a large glass room. I can see club chairs, a table, a bookcase and a heavenly TV. I don’t see anyone and decide to enter. What a surprise to me to see an ebony version of a mirrored wardrobe, back turned, feet resting on the window sill, wearing a bright green T-shirt, headphones on, an obvious sign and willing to cut himself off from the world.

– Sorry sir.

— …

— Sir?

— …

— Sir? Do you mind if I sit in this room with you? The colossus deigns to turn its head towards me. His eyes are injected with hatred and terror that makes my b***d run cold. With a gesture of the hand without any words, headphones on, he signals me to get out of the living room.

Well Adèle, all you have to do is go and do your ablutions! The bathroom, the bathroom? Where am I going to replace it?

— Are you looking for something Adèle?

— Yes, I would like to go wash.

– The bathroom ? But there is none, Adèle.

— There is no bathroom? How do we do it then?

— We have to go into the garden.

– In the garden ?

— As you can see, nothing here is conventional and everything is therapeutic.

— I was warned that this hospital used innovative techniques, but still!

— You see halfway down the corridor, on the right, there is a door, you open it and you go down the flight of iron stairs. Arriving at the bottom, you will replace a fountain of psychic youth in the garden.

— But it’s dark!

—Adèle, it’s you who’s in the dark. You are here to return to the sources of your problems. Come on, go ahead, you will see the experience is astonishing.

– Thank you sir.

—Thank you, Joseph!

— Madam Ying, Madam Ying, where are you going?

— I’m going to wash, Madam.

– In the garden ?

— Yes, Mr. Joseph explained to me that it was part of the treatment protocol.

— Mr. Joseph! Madam Ying, be careful of this zygomatic pervert. He’s here for rehab. He must relearn gloom.

— Relearn gloom?

— Yes, in your workplace, it is fashionable to take yourself very seriously, to display a stern, gloomy and forbidding face. It seems that it sells better and that customers feel completely confident.

— That’s absurd reasoning. How will a sinister face increase sales more than a friendly, smiling face?

— Completely agree with you, Mrs. Ying, but Mr. Joseph has no choice. If he doesn’t get treatment, he risks losing his job. There is no room for eccentrics like him. His boss fears he will damage his company’s reputation.

— For my part, I note in many workplaces the worrying spread of a disease mainly affecting high-ranking males: macro swollen head.

— I have never heard of this phenomenon, although I am a nurse. What is the first symptom?

— The head circumference, particularly voluminous.

— Why do you say it’s an illness? Isn’t it rather an asset to have a big, full head on your shoulders?

— Unfortunately no, we could see in all the patients that their incompetence was measured by the size of their head, or even their neck.

—Strange, all the same. Ah, capitalist society and its avatars! Madam Ying, the bathroom is at the end of the corridor on the left. Watch out for crabs.

— Crabs?

— Yes, if you wash yourself in the sea that loses the North.

— No worries, I’ll be careful.

— Oh yes, I forgot Madame Ying, tomorrow morning you have an appointment with your psychiatrist.

Day 2.8 h

I painfully lift my eyelids, heavy from a night agitated by the demons of my past. Where will I replace the strength to get up? To do what ? My life is meaningless. What good reason could push me out of bed? Breakfast ? Not even that, as I am so greedy, I no longer have any taste for good food. My companions in defeat? Me, usually so jovial, so sociable, I avoid others like the plague. Good God, what am I holding on to? To religion?