the prison between two bedposts

i had fallen into some kind of mild depression and my mother had decided the best way to take care of me was to have me sleep it off. (apparently, getting up and going about my day without talking about what was bothering me wasn't healthy. she insisted I could never be happy this way) i could tell my father had his own opinion on the topic but said nothing. and so my mom forced me to bed to sleep it off. and every time i woke up she would make me a sandwich. she would watch me as i ate in silence and then she would urge me back to bed - even though i wasn't hungry, tired or all that down. she seemed convinced and i didn't want to cross her. and so every meal became this ritual. the medication was always the same - only the dose would change slightly. one day it was turkey and the next day it was mortadella and maybe a week later it was prosciutto. as time passed i grew accustomed to the treatment. weeks had passed and now all i did was wake, eat and go back to bed without saying so much as a word. i'm not sure if she appreciated the silence at all. sometimes, i would just lie there with my eyes closed, pretending, so i wouldn't have to eat or speak. i began to notice the passing of time; could actually see it hovering over me head like a bad tv rerun. and as the sandwich contents changed from cold cuts to meat and from meat to fish i began to notice a quiet panic set into my mom. she must have realized that she was forcing me into a kind of self-induced coma. she started to cry as she fed me one day. the treatment was not working; she had miscalculated and there was no way to bring me back. she cried by my side and prayed i would snap out of it. and then one day after what felt like months, i did. i woke up and told her i was tired of sandwiches and tired of lying in bed. i told her i just wanted to get up and eat at the table and read the newspaper. and my mom just cried tears of joy as she prepared my plate and got me a newspaper.