Step by step, at a rhythm very different from that of a walk, the hypochondriac, restless and restless, is on his way to his natural haunts: a doctor's office, a specialist, the CAP, a hospital, the next pharmacy, perhaps a gathering, or better yet, a gathering of equals. In the resounding absence of an association, group or entity such as The Home of the Hypochondriac or a party – there are for all troubles – that vindicates their rights, hypochondriacs tend to relate to each other to exchange symptoms, medications, contraindications, rare diseases or new, treatments, natural therapies... The Harvard Health Journal is the bible for the most elitist squeamish.
The man and woman suffering from hypochondriasis are sensitive people, they say they are intelligent, and they suffer in silence, or not, their real or imaginary fears – be careful! The hypochondriac, like the pessimist, always ends up being right. And already in the waiting room he scans the complicit glances of other patients and, if he is not one of the shy ones, he will ask, inquire and remain convinced that no one is as sick as he is.
The true hypochondriac is not surprised by any disease, he fears them all. And often the visit with the doctor becomes an interrogation that ends in a: "Have you told me the truth?" A diabolical drift from query to query. Scrutinize even the slightest gesture of the doctor and look for non-verbal clues. Melancholic, gloomy, sad and pessimistic, the solvent hypochondriac is curious, he is less anxious about being sick than when he imagines he is. Deep down, what the hypochondriac citizen seeks and longs for is to be loved. I mean, like everyone. That's also why Lorca became a poet, he wrote it down.
The ashes of the pandemic have left a perplexed landscape of blurred photos for hypochondriacs. Of video consultations, of online visits, of glacial prescriptions, of soulless screens. They say that perhaps the doctors who “touch”, who auscultate, words that heal, that empathize, that… A dream for the terrifying epidemic of mental illnesses, and their solitudes, may return. Hypochondria is, without a doubt.
The door opens: "The next one"... And?
