Oh no.
“Your mom called you to check on you and then you told her you were on a plane.”
“A gentleman next to you took your phone and told you that you were acting very confused used to be."
Oh no. It is fortunate that the camp can be contacted.
“The ticket cutter had called the police just to be sure, that's why they're here.”
“Who are you, sir?” an officer asked.
“Luc Schrijvers.”
“When and where were you born?”
I could answer it. Happy.
“Do you want to go back to Peer, Luc?” the nurse asked.
“No, I'm staying. I feel good again!”, I said.
It wasn't a lie: I felt clear as day.
In the camp I was assigned different tasks than in previous years. I would no longer man the welcome tent, but would hand out information flyers together with other employees at the entrance to the camp. Okay, I got that. I had a small but cozy caravan to sleep in, just between the welcome tent and the medical post. I slept in the afternoon, as I had done for years - to maintain my mental and physical strength. That's how I had always done my work at Brussels Jazz Club.
I have to call Charles again, I thought. I miss him, I miss us!
The next day I went to the store to buy all kinds of things for myself and other camp employees, with the money from the fund. We had recently had a small meeting and this was my assignment. I found myself at the checkout, with a cart full of things I didn't recognize and no money. The store detective had been watching me. The cashier called the police. For safety reasons, we had ensured that I always had a medical form with contact information with me at the camp.
The officer found this and called the camp. The medical staff came.
“Keep an eye on him, okay?” the officer said.
“We will, don't worry,” they said.
The money was gone. I didn't know where it had disappeared to. I had thrown all kinds of weird stuff into the cart – not what needed to be shopped. I talked strangely again. This was so exhausting. When we got back to camp, I immediately crawled into bed. After a few hours I woke up and I was back to my old self.
I didn't remember my trip to the store very well.
The next day I slept well and woke up feeling good. We agreed that I would stay at the camp, with the nurse.
“Luc, come with me,” he said. We walked out of the medical tent together and ooh– many activists had arrived from Brussels! I knew them. These were friends. I was so happy to see them.
That evening a meeting was held about how we would further deal with the situation. My situation. It was decided that I should go back to Peer. The camp and the medical staff felt responsible for me and had serious concerns that really bad incidents could happen. The nurse would take me back to Peer, together with his girlfriend, by car. Their travel expenses were reimbursed from the camp's solidarity fund.
They brought me home safely. Later I made a donation to the fund.
I felt terrible. I wasn't myself – but I was myself? Was I myself in so many clear moments? Why did this happen? Why could I sometimes not remember any of these strange occurrences?
I grasped for straws to hold on to, but found only fog. I felt so okay, so clear – why were those strange things happening? I held myself upright as best I could and did what the doctors and other care providers told me to do: I took my medication and was taken care of as best I could.
A while after my sadly early return from the No Border camp, I was chatting with a nice guy I met on a dating site. He was also from Peer. We wanted to meet up. We made good agreements: we would meet in a public place and possibly have a drink. I wanted to build good, real connections. If I felt like things weren't clicking, I could just leave – and the same was true for him. The guy was a lot younger than me, he was 19, but I had already experienced a lot that I got along better with younger men than with peers. Quite large age differences often occur in the gay community.
“Shall we meet in the park?” he asked.
“Okay!”, I said.
50.
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