No one would ever understand why I did it. None of them even wants to understand. All they ever did was shut me up and make me a topic for deliberation and gossip. Now give me one reason why I should not hate my entire existence. What’s the point of living when not one person in the world really cares about you?
They all wanted something from me: every single one of them; from my mother, my father, my siblings, my husband, my in-laws, and even my pastor. Yes, I was just like a tool to them. Without getting what they wanted, I was totally useless.
It was my 43rd birthday and I decided it was the day I would leave this miserable world. I was tired of my God forsaken life and the people that surrounded it. I just wanted to die! Life wasn’t fair to me…has never been.
I started my miserable life near a very small Creek in the Delta region. My mother had me after 5 still births and she always reminded me that I was not just her first surviving child, but the first to give her a very large scar from the caesarean section she had to undergo when I was born. My two younger brothers were better children to her than me.
Well, I grew up, went to fashion school and became a registered designer. I made lots of money from my booming business and my parents, especially my father, finally accepted that a girl child could be useful; so long as she brought money home.
I didn’t get married on time, to my mother’s annoyance. She wanted to carry her grandchildren and I was delaying the process. At 35, I finally met and married Dayo. Everything seemed fine until it became a year after wedding and I still wasn’t showing signs of pregnancy. Two years passed, and then three years and my mother began to suggest taking me to one Creek dibia. I refused. I was a church girl.
She taunted me with the fact that my younger brothers had impregnated some teenage girls in our community, like it was an achievement. All my in-laws hated me. I was too old for Dayo in the first place. My husband was the only person still encouraging me as at that time. Finally, some months before my 40th birthday, I had Shawn.
I was overjoyed. I finally had some pride to my name. Six months passed and then the unthinkable happened. I lost my baby; I lost Shawn. The doctors said he had a serious sickle cell crises and a respiratory disease. I could have sworn I ran momentarily mad when I heard the diagnosis. How on earth did Shawn turn up with sickle cell?
Before we got married, Dayo and I had done all the tests and they were all okay for us. So how in hell did this happen? Dayo was even crazier than I. He insisted the baby could not have been his, until he took a test and his genotype turned up in the affirmative. I couldn’t understand the genotype result manipulation that occurred around our wedding and that strained the relationship between Dayo and I.
Two years and nine months passed. I kept having miscarriages. The doctors said I had developed a medical condition that wouldn’t allow my womb nurture a child to delivery. They suggested taking out my womb when treatment proved abortive. But I refused. I still hoped for a miracle.
But after six miscarriages, I wasn’t sure I was ready to go on with my life. My husband loathed me. And just recently, he got played by fraudsters and begged me to lend him half my business capital. Foolish as I was, I willingly obliged with the mind that things were finally working out between us.
Unfortunately, that was just the beginning of our issues. Being broke makes everything worse. My father and brothers officially tagged me as useless to them now. My mum detests me completely. My in-laws see me as a witch sent to ruin their son’s life. I have no friends. Even my pastor is irritated by my presence. Broke girls are lonely people.
So, I decided today was the day I would put an end to my misery. Let mother earth take back the baby she brought forth on the very day she was brought forth. I had endured so much pain of recent. So, I decided the death process would be painless. I purchased a delicious mix of poison for myself and went to a remote area somewhere around me to drink it, die and disappear.
I picked a spot close to a small river. At least the river would give me a befitting burial once the poison does its work. I sat there bewildered and ashamed; thoughts of my frustrated life flooding my mind. I cried profusely for several minutes before finally drinking the poison cocktail. For a moment I felt nothing. And then all of a sudden, a sharp pain, then my sight became blurry. I smiled as I felt my body giving way and falling right in the direction of the water. I blacked out.
TO BE CONTINUED.
