The possessive Mother

Sa

Constant gloominess had been the order of my days for as long as I could remember. There was no peep of sunshine anywhere in my life and each day more and more, I was pulled under by the voices in my head. They had all come to a solid conclusion. To end it all. I'd shake my head anytime it's voice rose up and wheel myself out into the sunlight to at least distract myself with the environment. It was no use. Tears would often leave my eyes but I was used to that too. There was nothing that was going to change. I was still in this wheelchair now and forever. I could not go on like this. I emptied the contents of the little container into my mouth. I thought about the events from the beginning, years back. All began from my parents. From finding each other to knowing just like in the fairytales that they were it for each other forever. After a year in marriage and a baby wasn't forth coming, panic set in. They tried all possible ways to conceive but it was all in vain. Favour smiled on them seven years later when a bouncing baby boy, me was born. I've heard stories that the celebration was massive. I was I had such celebration to keep going each day. After I was born, my mom kept me to her side. Literally. I never left her sight. She became too possessive even denying father the right of holding me. When visitors came around, she'd make excuses of me sleeping when the insisted on rare occasions when I was "awake", she'd quickly take me back saying I needed to feed. I used to enjoy the attention at first but then it became an issue when she wouldn't let me play with neighbors. It was so bad that she enrolled me in the school she taught in. She monitored my every move. I had heard my parents arguing about her behavior and she had plainly said that ", the world is a wicked place and she would do whatever it took to keep her only obim safe." Her sole attention was on me and it made me uncomfortable. I had tried sneaking out a few times when I was still little to play with the boys in the neighborhood but she had come out shouting for me. She dragged me by the ear all the way home. My father left two days after that. I was left with my mother. I was not happy. When I was nine, my mother shattered me. I was in my own room sleeping peacefully dreaming of life in another place where I was free from this cursed love of a mother. Pain shot up from my knees throughout my whole body. My eyes flew up in horror at what was in front of me. My own mother using her pestle to pound my own knees. I scrambled from the bed. It didn't deter her. I fell to the floor. I screamed and screamed for help. I was crying profusely begging my mother to stop. I asked her why, why do this to your own son. Her only reply "to keep you safe obim. It's a dangerous world out there". I hated my mother. I didn't say a word to her after that day not when the doctors at the hospital told me I would no longer be able to use my legs, not when we reached home with her pushing me, not when she knelt in front of me begging that she didn't know what came over her. I retreated into my self. Now three years had passed and as young as I was, I wasn't given a chance at a normal life. I was desperately looking for ways to escape this reality. I haven't opened my mouth to my mother and I had no plans of. Not when she was holding me in her arms crying and shouting for help. Not when she begged me to open my eyes. I simply stared at her and my pathetic body in her arms. I shook my head and made on in the opposite direction.