I sat there at the wooden desk, shoulders slumped, tired eyes drooping and stubby crayons on hand. The counselor sat to my left, asking me to fill out the timeline of events to do with my ex and his disappearances.
Hurriedly, I picked up the crayons and scrawled a brain (which very much looked like a cauliflower). Above the brain, I drew a hand trying to pluck question marks over the brain.
“What’s going on here?” she curiously asked.
“It’s me trying to retrieve stuff from that time out of my brain, but I just can’t get the memories out. It’s just so foggy.”