20 years ago I was in a clinic.  I wasn’t doing so well. 
Physically or mentally.
I had to stay there for a while and I was surrounded there by all kinds of bodies.
And they were moaning.
Some loud and some quiet.
Some of them couldn’t control their functions anymore.
They like vomited on their blankets or on their matrasses or peed on their matrasses.
And, diagonally across from me there was someone who always held a teddy bar tight in her arms and she reminded me of my gran.
And she always said to the nursing staff that she wanted to die.
And she always grinned: like this.
And I, I wasn’t allowed to leave my bed.
That means, I needed support dealing with my excrement.
And I don’t know either. I found it kind of difficult.
Because it felt like a loss of control.
But then there was a moment, when I noticed that everything was shifting, and that somehow some pressure had been released somewhere.
And I thought:
“Fuck it! I don’t fucking care!”
And then I found that it’s a kind of utopian place.
Nobody has to have control of themselves or pull themselves together.
Everyone is sick and that’s ok.
And it doesn’t matter who is who.