She was always worrying and crying or overly happy and nice. I hated both. I lived with my father during teenage years after they divorced and didn't want to see her regularly because the crying and worrying and yelling only got worse. It was always about how bad my life was, even though I actually managed to have friends then and did well enough at school to study chemistry at a university after. I didn't complain about anything and never asked for her help but that cunt could never be content unless I was, and she always had to show me how much she was suffering because of me not really enjoying my life.

She has always loved me but I wouldn't care if she gets cancer and dies a slow death. I won't visit her in the hospital or go to her funeral. I remember being a little kid and wishing that some other woman (e.g. primary school teacher) would be my mother instead.