PREDICTABLY, ALL MY EFFORTS TO GET BACK ON THE RIGHT track failed. My anxiety attacks returned with a vengeance. I began skipping school regularly. After two disciplinary hearings, the school principal, a woman who up until that point had only shown me extraordinary kindness, called me into her office.

“I’m sorry, V., but with the best will in the world, I cannot continue to fight in your favor. The teachers have taken against you. Because of your repeated absences, the way you reject their authority, deny them their role.” (They weren’t wrong: the way I thought about adults was beyond anything they might have imagined.) “On top of everything else, you’re setting a bad example for your classmates. Some of the other students are beginning to emulate your behavior. We have to put a stop to this situation.”

If I didn’t want to be expelled from school, which would have gone into my academic dossier and been bad for my future prospects, she suggested that I leave of my own accord, for “personal reasons.” I could sit my baccalaureate examinations as an independent candidate. After all, attending school is not compulsory after the age of sixteen.

“You’ll do fine, V. I’m not worried about that at all.”

I had no choice. I agreed. I was used to an unconventional lifestyle, without structure or framework. And now I would no longer be constrained by school hours. No matter! I’d spend my final year of high school sitting in cafés and studying via correspondence.

I spent my nights dancing and drinking. I had the occasional unpleasant encounter, of which I have no recollection. I left Youri; I couldn’t bear putting him through my depressions anymore. I met another boy, intelligent and gentle, but horribly damaged, someone like me who was silently falling apart, whose sadness could only be chased away by artificial highs. I copied his behavior. Yes, G. was right, I was on the road to perdition. He had made me lose my mind. And I was doing everything I could to stay in character.