My mother is a manipulative bitch.

From my childhood, I remember nothing but fear and guilt. When I was 13, she shamed me for my body looking ugly and too feminine. She shamed me for having better vision than her, and that I don’t need to wear glasses.

I had a broken toe once, and she shamed me into admitting it wasn’t in fact broken. After two weeks of pain, she finally got me to the doctor, and x-ray had shown it was in fact broken.

She always made me carry her heavy luggage with her crap to the airport, and once I got hernia. The surgery was needed. After the surgery, they didn’t care, didn’t give me the time to recover, and made me carry her crap again. The second surgery was needed. It was more complex than the first one. Now my body is ruined by those disgusting scars. I hate my body now. It is ruined.

She tried to knock down the door into my room when I was crying and didn’t want to talk.

She screamed at me when I wanted to donate some of my old clothes to charity, the ones I bought with my own money. She is so obsessed with her crap. She hoards it, and she was hoarding it into _my_ room, not hers.

My father is still unknown. She abandoned me as a kid for my grandparents to grow me. I barely saw her till the age of six. Then I grew up with her and my stepdad, and their relationship was all manipulation and guilt. She made him apologize and beg almost every day over the course of thirteen years. They were fighting about their miserable sexual life, lack of her orgasms while I was still a kid. She just didn’t care. Once they decided to talk about their pissing kink right next to me when I was (not in fact) asleep.

When I was raped, she did nothing. She just kept on calling me beautiful and insisting she wanted me to wear mascara, while hating gay people. It was all before I realized my gender identity.

She also didn’t notice I was autistic. She liked it, as it gave her advantage. It’s easy to manipulate an autistic teenager.

After my coming-out, she told me she had cancer, and she wanted to stop treatment in order to “die sooner and not see me”.

But once my bipolar disorder awakened, things changed. Bipolar is my shield. I can be manipulated, yes, but bipolar will obliterate my whole world view once a year, together with your manipulative crap you planted into my life. And because it dismantled a 19-year-long, almost fractal manipulative masterpiece, I fear nothing now.

I disowned her some two years ago.

in the hospital with surgery and our deployment goes wrong, so glad I work with really good people!

Here's an incomplete list of things my mother did to me:
- She insulted my body when I was 13. She told me it was weak and feminine. I identified as a boy back then, and I was going to the gym.
- She told me my face was ugly because of acne.
- She shamed me for having better vision than her.
- She shamed me for having longer eyelashes than her, the told me I looked like a girl.
- She always wanted me to learn everything and have all A's. When I got B+, she destroyed me mentally every time. When I got C, this was a catastrophe. Yet, if I told her she was wrong about mundane things like how many volts there are in an outlet, it was me who's in the wrong, despite me having an A for physics. There was no contradiction here in her eyes.
- She forced me to carry heavy things as a punishment. At the age of fifteen, I had an inguinal hernia. The surgery was needed. After that, doctors told me (and her) that I should go easy on carrying heavy things for a month. She didn't listen and forced me to carry heavy things again after two weeks. I had another inguinal hernia. Now, I needed a much more invasive laparoscopy to implant nylon webbing. Because of all of that, now I have messy, ugly scars all over my belly. Guess what happened next? She shamed me for having them!
- Since I was 18, even though I was studying in the uni, she demanded money for rent, for me living in my parents' house I grew up in. The sum she demanded was 27x my scholarship money.
- When I broke my toe, it was obvious that I broke it. It was swollen, twice the size of a normal toe, for two weeks straight. She told me to quit whining and go to PE/Taekwon-do lessons she forced me to attend.

How the hell does anybody follow the amount of brackets, quotes, single quotes and ` these things in MYSQL, I'm getting a hernia thinking about it.

“Those stitches under my belly hurt, for sure, but what if I… hypothetically, just took manicure scissors, and… was urgently rushed back to hospital for no reason in particular, so to speak?”, — echoed in my head. I was 15. Just out of hospital after hernia surgery, knowing full well they will give me morphine again if I did that.

Yes, they used morphine on a 15-year-old kid. It was a town of 50k people in rural Russia.

Withdrawal syndrome lasted about two weeks that felt like two years. You can't tell if you're asleep or not, you shiver while you constantly think about nothing but morphine, and you're anxious because your grandparents shouldn't know! As if it was ever a 15-year-old kid's fault.

Yes, I, in a way, quit morphine at the age of 15.

The hernia was caused by what my mother did to me, but that's the story for another day.