Sometimes, often, I’d told myself that it wouldn’t have been an indication of mental health to be able to adapt to such a deeply disturbed family. And how I had ever succeeded, how it’d even been possible to succeed in extricating myself from these unfathomable abysses and becoming a halfway normal human being—this I was incapable of puzzling out as I lay on the hotel bed staring at the ceiling, while outside, beneath my window, intoxicated Zurich youths caterwauled and celebrated their depressing intoxication.