As long as Anita took her meds and told them shit they wanted to hear, she just might be out of here in a week's time. Really, it was quite lovely in the garden. But it was such a haze to her. Really, she felt nothing anymore. Nothing at all.
She'd written Sebastian a couple of letters, but couldn't remember if she mailed them or not. Were they nasty? Or such great sentiments? It didn't matter. And the whole Theresa thing, honestly, who cared. Who cared now? She didn't. Anita had decided not to care about anything. Honestly, what was the point?
After all, she was on her cloud, floating by. Some how. And all those petiful people. Everyone was so dreadful. None were mysterious. She could read it on their faces why they'd come here. Everyone had problems, didn't they? And she knew she should feel sorry for them, but really she didn't. It felt impossible to console someone now. Especially, when she felt everything had been taken away from her. Perhaps her own dignity. What did it matter what she did now?
Day 18 -nanowrimo
3 days ago