My relationship with my mother had always been quite good, or so it seemed to me.
We were very close, and it’s the ‘were’ in that sentence that breaks my heart a little. You see, over the past year or so we’ve drifted apart. Well, not so much drifted apart as had a bomb planted that blew us apart.
It was a bomb that had probably been growing over time, with more and more explosives added to it over the years until it just got too big and had to detonate. It has become clear to me that our relationship was a controlling one which only worked so long as she was in control, and I did as was expected of me.
If ever I did something she perceived as ‘wrong’, she would first blow up in a yelling, abusive tirade, bringing up every way in which I may have slighted her over the years, and all the ways she thinks I’m failing in my life. She would never give me a chance to defend myself, and defending myself would have been pointless anyway because she was never, ever wrong.