100 Days Project

Anita/Fern: Now and Then

Some days I look at my husband, our three children, our cat, and our home, blink, and think "How did I get here?"
I find myself constantly wondering how my life's events led me to this exact moment in time. How did I become the person I am today?
In an effort to figure that out, I am going to spend 100 days reflecting on the way things are now, and the way things used to be.
Every day I will take note of a single moment or event as it occurs, and will use it to remind myself of a moment or event from my past. I will then write about both my "Now"s and my "Then"s as openly and honestly as I possibly can, in an effort to give myself and others a little insight into both the person I am, and the person I once was. Are we really one in the same?

I’m slumped on the couch and I’m exhausted. Drained. I just want to go to bed and sleep, but the girls aren’t even tucked in yet. The lounge resembles a laundry room, with piles of clean folded washing covering the arm chairs, and clothes horses laden with wet garments placed around the edges of the room. It annoys me, but not enough to do anything about it.

Down the hallway I hear my husband reading to our daughters. He reads with great expression; sometimes he puts on weird accents, but not tonight. He’s reading Milly Molly Mandy, and that’s supposed to be my job. It’s meant to be a special book for the girls and me because I read them when I was a little girl. Frans didn’t even bother asking if I was going to read it tonight. He can tell I am flat.

I rest my head against the back of the sofa. I sigh. I blink slowly, and I consider leaving my eyes closed. I wish I could go to bed. I should go to bed. I’m not sure if I can move, and as I remain in my slouched silence I remember...

I’m back in my flat, sitting up against my pillows with a blanket covering me. The TV is on. I’ve never been this exhausted in my life. I was sitting up all night in the police cells, and I don’t think I slept the night before either. Everything is bad, bad, bad.

My flatmates burst through the door and start asking me a million questions. They tell me that Karl showed up looking for me and he told them I’d been arrested and they’d rushed down to the police station to bring me home. I look at them through swollen eyes. I tell them it’s fine, I’m home now. I don’t want to tell them the full story. Only Beau knows the truth about the drugs. I’m not ready to tell anyone else.

They leave me alone and I reach for a cigarette. I know it’s only going to make my headache worse but I can’t stop myself. I can’t resist. I light it and breathe it in and when I blow it out it just lingers around my face. Someone needs to open a window for me. I can’t do it myself. I’m numb.

I snap to attention and the cigarette is still in my right hand. I slipped away for a moment there. I look down at the smoke and I realise that I’m rolling it between my thumb and my forefinger. I’ve been rolling and rolling and rolling it, and I wasn’t even aware of it. My brain is so fried that I  thought I was holding a P pipe. My brain is so fried that I’m no longer controlling my actions. My brain is so fried and I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.

Day 27:

On the couch

To this day I feel like I'm on drugs when I get too tired.