A Better Life

Letting sleep consume me

3 days of no sleep – sometimes I would doze off, but then sit up straight again, even using my fingers to pry my eyes open and keep them open.

Calum has asked me countless of times if I'm getting enough sleep, because as he put it: "We don't know why you're not healing as quickly as you're supposed to." They've done countless of tests and scans to find the bigger and deeper problem and quite frankly I've been on the verge of telling them that it's probably because I'm not really sleeping as I've been telling them - I'm tired of the MRI machine making me claustrophobic, the X-rays making me feel exposed, the needles poking me and the amount of times I've had to pee into a cup.

After thorough consideration (and probably 90% of sleep deprivation talking), I've decided to take the much-needed nap tonight. I'll just have to find another way to escape miss Rachel.

2 Days later and Calum thinks the medication has finally kicked in, because miraculously I'm feeling much, much better and I'm almost entirely healed up – it's funny what 2 days of good sleep can do to you.

2 More days later and miss Rachel has been called to come sign me out and take me home. I was really surprized when she actually showed up. I however wasn't surprized when she started scolding me in the car for leaving her to feed the children and help them with their everyday lives, while I was supposedly "having the time of my life and resting."

Never in my life had I thought I'd be lying here, on a springy mattress (not the springy type to make you bounce, but the ones that poke deeply into your back), actually missing the hospital and a few doctors.

Since coming home, I haven't had the time to rest as Calum had told me and miss Rachel I should for at least another week. No. I've been making all the meals, helping all the children with their homework, taking all the children to school (by foot) and doing all the house cleaning. With no help. And to top it all off, miss Rachel's drinking habit has worsened significantly and has made her violent. At least she doesn't hit me when she's sober?

"Jany, get down here!" Miss Rachel yells.

I scramble to the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to keep her waiting.

"Yes, miss?" Downstairs, she's hauling 2 big suitcases to the front door.

"I won't be here for the next week, make sure all the children are fed and taken care of. I don't want to come back to a mess, you hear me?"

"Where are you going miss?"

"Did I tell you to ask questions, huh?"

"No miss, sorry miss." I eye her luggage, it looking to me that she'll be gone for longer than 2 weeks, no less than 2 months.

"Bye now." She says in that sickly sweet voice of hers (it sounds like nails on a chalk board), plucks the door open and then slams it shut in my face. Leaving me standing there all alone, trying to wrap my head around what just took place.

Miss Rachel has never done a thing to help me with the children, but they are all afraid of her – too scared to yell, run, play or even speak. Now that she's gone, things are proving to be difficult. After I got the children from school, we made our way home (in silence, might I add). Upon reaching the orphanage, they found out miss Rachel wasn't going to be back for the next week and then all silence was replaced by utter chaos. And it hasn't died down since.

I've given up trying to get them to settle down and just told them to at least eat something. Getting them to bed, was impossible, so I stayed up until the last of them was passed out somewhere in front of their toys and carried them to bed. Luckily tomorrow is Saturday, so hopefully they will sleep in and give me some time to catch up on much needed rest – doctor's orders.

It is currently 3am and I'm still rolling around in my bed. Every sound grabs my attention and I halt and when silence falls over the orphanage, I'm back to twisting and turning, all thoughts occupying my mind. Overthinking at its finest.

Sighing I get out of bed and make my way down the stairs. Miss Rachel has a stash of alcohol that she thinks no one knows about. Unlucky for her, Macy and I had found it one night when I snuck Macy inside. We didn't drink any of it, even though we were really tempted to, but I think this calls for an emergency – I mean, I never asked to have 12 kids on my hands. Plus, I have an entire week to replace the alcohol, she won't even know it was gone.

Slipping into the kitchen, I drag a chair to just below the desired cupboard to reach the alcohol. I pick out a Vodka and carefully place it on the countertop before climbing down. Quickly twisting the cap off, I take a big swig, feeling the alcohol burn my throat.

That's disgusting.

Next, I make my way to the refrigerator, searching for Sprite or any kind off cooldrink to mix the Vodka with – I want to enjoy getting drunk tonight, not force the alcohol down my throat.

After I have everything I came down for, I make my way back upstairs – the Vodka in my hand and a half full Sprite under my arm.

Situating myself against my bed, I pour half of the Vodka into the Sprite bottle and take my first sip.

Much better.

Calum's words echo in my mind and for a millisecond I feel guilty. What would he say if he saw me now? But I quickly drown it out, with two rather big gulps of the concoction – tonight I'm getting drunk.