First things first, /u/khouriajen suggested the perfect nickname for my mom: Old Yeller. The reason being that most of my mom's abuse came in the form of yelling at me over damn near everything, plus Old Yeller is a book/movie about a dog (that I have basically no real knowledge of). I thought it fit so well, I immediately decided that if she got a nickname, that was the one I'd use.

Besides, u/allmyshitsdope suggested that I tell my bad stories if it helps me, even if I might be about to actually work things out with my mom, and if I'm gonna take that suggestion (which I'd like to), it means I'm probably gonna come back here several times, and if I'm gonna do that, may as well nickname her, right?

Anyways, on to the show!

The Context: Throughout high school, my dad would buy a specific brand of chocolate milk, in quantities of about 5 to 9 bottles at a time. I would drink them in the mornings before leaving for school as a sort of "breakfast" (even though a drink isn't exactly a whole breakfast, but whatever, I didn't care), and it'd keep me going until lunchtime. During the summers, he would usually keep getting these bottles of chocolate milk even if I didn't need them, I guess because he knew I really liked them.

The Important Nugget of the Context: Because these bottles of chocolate milk were mainly for breakfast/tangentially-related school purposes, I think both my parents knew not to drink them (although I'm pretty sure they both weren't big on chocolate milk to begin with). Because I considered them to be important, I therefore considered them to be my chocolate milk bottles and preferred that everyone else leave them alone so I could save them. This is important.

The Incident: One summer day, I had just gotten home from going for a walk around my neighborhood, something I really enjoyed doing in the nice warm weather. Upon getting into the house, I saw that Old Yeller had her snowcone machine on the kitchen counter, with a bottle of my chocolate milk next to it.

I was inwardly displeased by this, because she knew those were mine and I preferred to save them. But I knew there would be consequences if I showed any outward displeasure, so I nonchalantly asked her something like "whatcha up to" or some other harmless way to ask what someone is doing without actually saying "what are you doing" since that can sound really accusatory to touchy people like Old Yeller.

At first her response was relaxed. "Oh, I'm just making an icee..." And then she caught on. "...Why, am I not allowed to use chocolate milk?" While she'd been talking, I happened to get a good look at the bottle of chocolate milk in question. It turned out to be the low-fat variety, which I was not a fan of. I realized my dad must have accidentally gotten a couple low-fat bottles, which I wasn't going to hold against him or anything, I wasn't bothered by it. It was just a little mistake.

Anyways, having noticed that the chocolate milk was the type I didn't care for, I tried to backtrack and deescalate when I answered her question, because I could tell shit was about to escalate. I told her that no, there was no problem. Nothing was wrong, I had made a mistake. Nevermind, it's nothing. I really tried, hoping she would back off.

It was too late. Old Yeller was already pissed and gearing up to do what she did best. There was no stopping her now.

She starts putting her shit away angrily, practically throwing her ice machine back into the cupboard where she kept it. The whole time, she's yelling/angry-normal-volume-ing things like "Fine, I won't use Dovah's special chocolate milk ever again," "I'll just forget about it," and "No one else is allowed to touch Dovah's chocolate milk" and such. I can't exactly remember what she said, so I can only try to paraphrase.

When her tantrum was over, there I stood having watched the whole thing, probably holding back tears. I can't remember, but I think she might have told me to get out of the house. Whether she did or not, I went back outside to take another walk, except this time I headed straight for a house a friend of mine used to live in. When she moved out of there, no one else moved in even though the house was for sale. In this front yard, there was a tree that we'd enjoyed climbing, and since no one lived there anymore, I would continue to climb up it to relax...or have a good cry in private where no one would see me. That tree was kind of like my sanctuary when my own bedroom wasn't an option.

The Aftermath: Because of course it doesn't end there.

After approximately two or three hours of hanging around outside in the nice weather, I headed home. I believe I said hello to Old Yeller when I got back, but she completely ignored me. This did not bother me significantly, because it was par for the course. Usually after one of Old Yeller's tantrums I would get the silent treatment for anywhere from a few hours to maybe a day, so this wasn't unusual.

But it didn't stop there. Things weren't back to normal the next day. I think I tried to greet her again or say something to her, and again I got no response. I'm pretty sure at that point I slunk off back to my room to play video games or whatever, fear and anxiety probably rising in my heart because I knew if she was still ignoring me, that meant she was still angry, and if she was still angry, that was a bad sign. That meant things were still bad. Even just having her angry at me without actually being yelled at probably made me really goddamned anxious.

The day after that, same thing. I might have tried again to talk to her, and again I got no response. This was Day 3 of the silent treatment.

I don't remember how it ended. I don't remember what made her talk to me again. I don't remember if I apologized for angering her. I don't know. All I remember is that she didn't talk to me for three days over a bottle of chocolate fucking milk.

I also don't remember exactly how I felt during all this, but I can only assume this incident stuck in my mind because of how much stress/pain/sadness/fear it probably caused me.

So yeah. I know I mentioned it a couple of times, but that's The Chocolate Milk Story. Of all the things to be so angry about...but I guess bitches will bark over just about anything, won't they?