Bittersweet 3

The session was great to say the least. His warm brown eyes took me in, empathetic, quietly absorbing and I found myself wanting to drown in them forever

My whole life story poured out. I was the first girl child that had survived, three had been lost as still births. One would have thought that since I had survived, the very first child to have lived, I would have been much loved, but, the reverse was the case. My mother took one look at my brown wrinkled face and decided I wasn’t to be the recipient of her affections, simply because I looked like her wicked mother in law, who was then deceased.

I suffered many things because of my resemblance to my father’s mother. I could recall when I had issues with bedwetting. Mother would beat me severely but I noticed she went easy on my younger sister. Once, she put my school uniform under my mat and I urinated on it. She forced me to wear it to school. Oh how ashamed and embarrassed I was. The other kids ran after me mocking me calling me a bed wetter, I stank so bad. That was the beginning of low self esteem in my life. The inferiority complex that never went away, regardless of my comparative success.

Other things my sister would get away with, I could not. I would be flogged mercilessly by my mother. The scars remain to remind me whenever I undress.

There was a time I misplaced my school bag, my mother drove me out of the house. I was just 10. I slept outside on the verandah over the night. I remember the beatings like yesterday. I would cry and cry and sometimes wish for death

My whole story poured out for the shrink to hear. As I talked, I cried hard. The memories were still fresh and still very hurtful

Was it natural to hate a child born from your loins? I saw other kids with their mothers, how they were loved and adored and how the kids loved and treasured their mothers.

My mother’s abuse later turned psychological. She would taunt me ,telling me I was ugly, that I would never get a man to marry me. She said I was a nobody and that I would die, a nobody

I tried really hard to get her voice out of my head over the years, but it was difficult. Her cold, disapproving voice followed me whereever I went ,even as an adult.

I was severely abused. I found it difficult to have meaningful relationships because I felt unworthy, I felt since my own mother hated me, then, who could ever love me.

When I was in junior secondary my mother said I would have to go live with her elder brother who lived in another town. Apparently he needed a maid for his wife and my mother was quick to suggest me.

I moved with my shabby self and my even shabbier wooden box to live with my uncle.

I was hopeful I would be treated better. Anything was better than the daily beatings, sometimes for no reason at all and the spiteful words my mother used to cane my spirit with.

But, I thought wrong

To be continued...