So much so that I, an advanced psychiatrist in my trade and familiarized with the strangest human deliriums, today, feel like my life is like the most unbelievable of all.
My years in Austrian hospitals -the most intense of my life- have turned into a chaotic universe full of an unsettling logic in the past few months. Am I going crazy? It would not be unusual for a psychiatrist, but that is not the case, I am merely trying to order the chaos that my existence is finding itself in. It is a paradox, but now that I know all about my past, my progenitors, everything that fit so perfectly in my life is now a labyrinth, and it is today when I know the least about myself, much less what I will do in the future. I do not know; I simply do not know. Allow me to tell you how I got to this point.
Up until I was thirteen years of age, my existence was normal. I lived in the Mittelland commune, in a quiet neighborhood of Berna, called Gäbelbach. I had loving parents, friends in the neighborhood and almost all the neighbors knew me.
My father was called Klaus Hüttler, he was an accountant, and my mother, Ada Strauss, a kindergarten teacher. They were no different than most of the Swiss bourgeois families: greetings or goodbye kisses, hugs and presents in birthdays and after some foolish play at school. I was used to asking for little, since my parents seemed to get ahead of my wishes.
They used to spoil me, but in truth, now that I evaluate them from another perspective, I believe they were a bit subservient in their love. I remember with special fondness those Saturday afternoon walks through the arcades of the old city, all the way to the Münster cathedral, the Onion Market, which we never missed in August.