The first recounted issue occurred while on vacation in Jersey shore back in 1994. I was about to leave for the other hotel room for an Act-Out Story urge that came up and mom took that as being by myself for no reason and got mad about it. So, I did feel mad about that.
Another time, when my back pack was full of favorite readings of mine, I was asked why there wasn't any room for homework at the time or why I didn’t have it because of lack of room. Mom storms into my room, ranting as she thrusts out books from the back pack and threw them around the room.
Another time, I was using an electric razor to shave, mom came in to show how to do it like I didn’t have a clue, and I kept saying “I know”, she yelled shut up, repeating my words in a condescending voice like that was my tone. Then shaves for me as it felt very disgusting; she recounts what happened to dad in their bedroom as I could only hear muffling.
I remember some scolding moments: giggling/laughing for no reason, she snapped back and I got mad/annoyed/hissy; hissed or tugged hard on at church for whatever reason; at the beach she lost her balance, I kept saying I’m sorry, she snapped a shut up back and if said again got told off again.
I also remember writing a card for a special occasion then that expressed how I felt and how hurt I was; it made her upset and obviously wasn't a time to bring it up. Any time I was in my room alone and doing my Act-Out Story, I remember moments when hearing a yell to “Get a life!” or “Read a book!” She even ranted to me that I wasn't gonna be upstairs by myself at a holiday party and forced me to be socialized.
Though despite these, she mostly did the work for my counseling and therapy sessions; dad being busy with work and the one I felt safer to talk to and had no problem giving what was wanted. At the time, all the enforcements from mom I took as “bad and unloving”. It even led me to comparisons of other mother/daughter, older women/younger women images such as Margaret White (“Carrie”) to the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland. “Carrie” has been a big inspiration in my life, and for why the comparison: more for how a mother could treat her daughter/child that way, the kind of raising that the child only feels fear and confusion on love/help/knowing something isn’t right. I did express a song one time for feeling bad about it. A sort of apology/expression at the time. It’s also been on and off with the love/hate thing. Even in dreams, the trauma is heightened; mentally/verbally abused, unsympathetic behavior from her to the worry and fear that she’s still alive/never died to now stating, from me, something as a chant: “I hate you, I hate you! I wish you were dead!” And stating that I don’t care anymore, wish to finally be free.
+From a separate incident; a neighborhood kid’s older brother took something from me, trying to get it back, he screamed no in front of my face, and I burst out crying and was defended for.
+Mom yelled at me from the car while the other girls helped me ride my bike (not quite sure why or about being in the road: no idea).
+One college roommate flipped out on me for some ridiculous thing all before I left the dorms for good for a group home (2001).
+Aunt lost her temper on me for group home issue, called “mentally retarded” for it.
Second roommate I ever had had her own mental issues. Around the time my guinea pig was ill, she tried what she thought was being helpful for bringing religion in to help, but the conversation she imposed on felt almost on a fanatical level; brought in an example of a gunman pointing a gun at me, asking “Do I believe in God?” I was hesitant in how to answer because of an answer to say. Then it was the discussions of what things you do that bring you to Hell: a major one was playing violent video games or movies. A counselor of some kind reinstated that belief.
Another was doing a duo weight loss. After a while, I felt I made a wrong decision on that and said I didn’t want to do it anymore. She would later bring it up that along with bible reading almost as a way to be mad at me for changing my mind. She would behave very dominantly, using her anger and tone to lash out when mad, forcing us to talk and being the dominant speaker since I felt anything I said would only make her more mad, telling me of things I’ve done wrong or if she assumes how I behave or my facial expressions meant something else. If I got sick, she would accuse me of lying if I was moving around after I was feeling a little better; verbally scolding me for whatever I did/didn’t do.
It got to a point where I told her I was getting bad vibes from her, she got peeved and a meeting was planned that I was scared of, as I felt I was the only one to defend my part when Fitzmaurice higher ups appeared more toward her as I was flustered and scared to speak, eventually thinking that they took more of her side than me of how to get along at that point. She would also one time, almost paranoid, asking if I was making loud noises when it was very much quiet, her tone feeling like I was lying, then her getting mad, sitting back down to hear her rave again. She had said to me at other times that “I can’t do anything without her” and “I would never survive a rape”. Even when sad, if the wrong thing was said, she goes off.
A very motherly-like demeanor at times; other times can be set off if she was provoked. I have no memory of ever calling her stupid while she attended community college (I still fear of what the truth really was). Even when she moved out, I ended up holding the rest of her things in my sun room until she got a ride or a time to pick up the rest. Ended up making the mistake of leaving the door unlocked so she could get them while we had grocery shopping. Despite explaining they would have no idea what would be if I said no to her and then seemingly not caring and assumed they don’t have my safety in their interest from her, it ended up for me doing something I know better than to do. Since then, I don’t trust R. because of it or even CB for her overall persona that I also agree on how the others see her as a bitch or a “c---“. Even when I explained what I could then to Jeanette of the past, I did trust a little then but ended up putting that same hatred there, again because of that demeanor. Another broken trust came before the second house mate by the very first one. Slowly becoming friends, they led me on about a money-making opportunity, involving selling my laptop and bringing in car amps and stereo parts I kept in the closet. Kept putting money into it even after she was kicked out; ended up giving them my credit card so they could stay at a hotel. Knowing I couldn't keep this up, I told my brother and my aunt what was going on. Fitzmaurice was told called the police and took the car stuff out, conversing and supporting during that time went on. Afterwards, night staff was there to see if I am still ok. It was a rare time that I did trust Fitzmaurice for that. But after what looked like the opposite came down from the second house mate, the trust and patience for the residents dwindled from there.