Myself and I
August 刘佳欣 190110229
At first，I thought I was just forgetful.
＂August, where did you put the salad dressing you bought yesterday? "
＂It's in the locker with the bread, Dear. "
＂Are you sure? I'm almost turning the whole kitchen upside down, but I can't find any salad dressing."
Such conversations had been recurring in my recent life, like a stone thrown into a river, swallowed by the river and giving birth to ripples, but soon the river returns to its usual peaceful state with seemingly nothing having had happened.
At first neither of us cared, just thinking that my careless characteristic was at work but then things went from bad to worse. I began to be trapped in inexplicable anxiety and insomnia. During the few precious hours of sleep I had, I struggled in nightmares, like a drowning fish. And after I tried to get out of the nightmare, I was always awake until dawn. This chain of events led directly to my inability to concentrate during my day. My husband, on witnessing my fifth attempt to use a fork to scoop up buttercream mushroom soup from a china bowl, immediately rushed up to me and snatched my knife and fork away from my hand, sat down beside me, and put his arm around my shoulder.
＂Honey, I think you should, I mean, I think I should go with you to see a doctor. "
Then I thought something was wrong with me, mentally.
＂Is there anything you would like to add to your husband's description of your symptoms?"
＂I can't sleep at night. My husband says I'm worried, but I don't know what I'm worried about."
＂In my judgment, anxiety and lack of concentration during the day are the effects of insomnia. I'll give you some medicine. You take it regularly and come back to see me a month later. "
Then, my husband and I came home, with colorful pills. I sat quietly on the recliner and watched him bustle around the kitchen preparing my favorite food for me. Actually, my eyes had no focus, just bouncing around the kitchen floor, ceiling, stove, etc., occasionally stopping on my husband. All of a sudden, my pupils constricted, freezing on the eyes of the dead fish on the chopping board.
In fact, I never liked killing. I resisted bringing living "ingredients" home to cook. My husband, on the other hand, preferred to kill fish himself; he said it will taste better. But to accommodate me, he has been buying processed fish ever since he and I got married.
Watching him chop off the dead fish's head, I frowned and looked away.
After taking the medicine for almost half a month, I felt that my condition was not relieved, but seemingly more serious. As I listened to the beating of my heart in my chest after I "rose" from the gory scene to earth again, I said
＂I feel like I just bought a bunch of expensive vitamins from a quack. "
＂… Don't think too much about it. It's still dark outside. "
Listening his dream-gibberish words, I shook off the hand he had just put on my waist, put on my silk nightgown, pulled back the covers, and groped my way out of the room.
The unique refreshing of the night wind blew away the sticky mess after I woke up. I felt like I was awake, or at least I felt like my brain and my thoughts were clear, clearer than ever. But what scared me was that I couldn’t control my hands, my feet, my facial muscles; no, even my whole body.
I felt as if I was in a spasm. My hands were shaking uncontrollably and my legs were so soft that I could hardly stand. I tried to stretch my arms against the table to keep myself from falling. I saw each of my fingers buckling against the table in a strange gesture. My teeth trembled and my unsteady body shook with a ridiculous frequency around the table, as if dancing to the creak of my yelling joints. I couldn't help laughing at the feeling when thinking that. At that time, I tilted my head and saw my reflection in the window. I saw my facial features twisted and bent over the table, fuzzy and horrible, even couldn't telling the emotions from the emotions.
Now my thoughts were no longer clear, as if the maelstrom of churning nightmares swirled me into them. I could not move. I could not escape. I was terrified by the something bright-red in front of me. I felt things moving fast in front of my eyes; sound was so noisy that my ears were ringing like tinnitus. I dimly saw a woman standing before me with something cold and bright in hand. I was blinded by the sweat, but I squinted to see her face. But when she came close enough to make me see her face, I broke down and screamed hysterically. Cold sweat mixed with tears flowing into my mouth, salty bitterness immediately filled the tip of my tongue.
I saw my face.
I feel like I'm back on my feet.
＂What…What are you doing? "
＂Killingfish; don't you like to eat fresh fish? "
I wave the kitchen knife then cut off the fish head, speaking in a dead voice. The sounds of TV programs are all crackling in my ears, the noise of which is disturbing to some’s minds, but I don’t care. In recent months, television has been running the same social news about the recent spate of killings in the area, urging people to be careful and report suspected people around.
My husband, taking off his coat, rolling up his sleeves, gently pushing me aside and taking away my kitchen knife, tells me to rest. I walk nonchalantly to the living room and stare at the blurred picture of the crime scene on the TV screen, keeping my head empty.
I feel like I've come back. I feel good now. I feel like it's over. I really should pay a visit to the doctor who gave me the medicine before and thank him very much, one day.
Tonight, I have another nightmare, but the dream is very clear. I see the woman I have seen in my hallucination. She goes into my dream this time, delivering something cold and bright from her hand. The handle of the oily feeling makes me shiver, but excited molecules in my body are calling. Actually, I don't know whether I am in a dream or reality but warmth lets me feel everything is not so true.
I wake up with a start. Looking down and seeing my husband red chest, like an opened flower, and a knife with warm liquid in my hands, I drop the knife away immediately, screaming and running to the bathroom. I prop myself up in the lavatory.
＂I'm going crazy. "I said to myself.
The figure in the mirror is blurred, as if the wind would blow it away. In and out of consciousness, I see it, in the mirror, raises its hand.
＂You're going to be me, at last. "
I’m just forgetful.