[“– the delusion that one is in a madhouse – which he in fact is in.” – Michel Foucault]
My therapist reminds me gently that I am in a madhouse. I smile, because he’s here, too. He pretends to be a therapist, while I am secretly treating him, by pretending to be mad. He smiles. I smile. He scribbles some notes, pencil on pad.
If the doctors would give me a pencil and pad, too, my disguise would be complete.
Thank you !
Wow..