Every time something happens, she always starts screaming and crying and playing the victim. She gets mad at me for doing something and then goes on to do it tenfold.

She complains that nobody ever listens to her but she never listens to anybody else. She doesn’t even know what my or my dad’s favorite color is. She doesn’t know what my plans for the future are but I talk about it all the time. She doesn’t know what foods I do or don’t like. Like this adult person who made the choice to have a fourth kid doesn’t know fuck all about me.

I’m speaking to my therapist once I’m 18 to talk about getting a diagnosis, but I just… Part of me doesn’t want to because my m\*ther will start Googling it, see it’s from childhood trauma, and immediately pin it on my dad, which absolutely is NOT true. But part of me is excited for her to find out because maybe she’ll finally realize how bad she fucked me up and how shitty she’s treated me.

The only thing I can do right now to give myself any semblance of justice is to censor m\*ther or call her by her name when speaking to friends. She always says she’s gonna divorce my dad once I leave for college and I honestly can’t wait. That way I’ll be able to visit my dad on breaks and not have to deal with her anymore.