One of the times she was mad at me, she went "The dogs are the only things that love me in this house!" So of course I immediately had to try to tell her I loved her too. Upon remembering this, I realized it might actually have been a form of manipulation or maybe guilt-tripping.

When I remembered that happening, it led to remembering that she would sometimes accuse me of hating her during one of her tantrums. At the time, the younger me always tried to tell her that no, I didn't hate her, I loved her. But as I got older, I would occasionally think back on her saying this and think to myself "I can't believe I didn't hate her then, because I sure as shit do now, sometimes."

I can recall a specific incident where she accused me of hating her. This happened sometime in high school. I think she was either picking me up from or dropping me off at this party/shindig at the local skating rink. We were in the car, on our way to/home from the place, and she goes "okay, where do you want to go?" I do not remember whether she had yelled at me before this question, but it is possible she may have. Confused, and possibly recovering from crying or trying not to cry, I told her I wanted to go home (this detail leads me to believe we were on our way home, but I don't exactly remember). Her response? "That's not an option, Dovah." When I asked why not, she said...I can't remember exactly, but it was something along the lines of that she didn't want to live in the same house as me since I "hated" her so much. She couldn't deal with me and my "attitude" (another gem she'd use sometimes) or something? I don't know.

If I wasn't already crying, this is the point where I started. Upon finding out that she apparently didn't intend on letting me go home, I kind of went "Okay...then I guess I could go live with dad or something..." (For context, my parents were separated/divorced/???--whatever the hell their status was, they didn't live together at this time and I lived with my mom.) I think after that I tried to tell her that I really didn't hate her and I didn't know why she thought I hated her, that I loved her and wanted to stay and live with her.

I guess after the appropriate amount of groveling, she agreed to let me continue living at home with her. I don't think she ever apologized, though.

Now that I remember this, I'm a little amazed that I'd even forgotten (or...blocked, maybe?) it to begin with, because this seems like something that should have been emotionally traumatizing. I guess maybe High School Me just thought it was normal, since mom always blew shit out of proportion and could be cruel when she was angry at me? Still, holy shit, I'm probably gonna want to file this under Things To Bring Up In Therapy (Once School Starts Again).