J.B. Seppel Crow: The Secrets of the Saint Lucas Sanatorium

My family is still together. And if not for anything else, for their sake, I need to figure out what’s going on here. Sometimes it crosses my mind that I should take a few weeks off starting in January. There are private clinics in Warsaw. Examinations. When I think about it, a strange, constricting feeling runs through my stomach – as if my body protests sooner than my mind. Here, I would say we’re visiting the grandparents. And at home, I would say I’m going for further training. Something has to change. This can’t go on. Now only two possibilities float before me. One: I’ve truly gone mad, and my place is among the patients. The other: there’s a mind greater than mine here, playing with me. I’m missing something. Or reality is collapsing around me. Again and again, I go over the events – the past, the present – and yet I feel like I’m running on a circular track. I keep returning to the same place. At times like this, dizziness overtakes me, as if my thoughts are ahead of my body. What was most important when I came here in September is no longer so. Not the salvation of these souls. But my own. Because if this continues, I don’t know how long I can stay awake, clear-headed. But tomorrow is partly for the family. We’re going to get the porcelain. That’s what’s important. That’s what will make our Christmas beautiful.