She seemed to love putting me in situations where she manipulated people and made me look bad, and naturally they lapped up every word of her bile and made decisions accordingly. She took pleasure inflicting in my pain and reveled in sympathy that she unjustly got. I think the word for that is "gaslighting" but I'm not exactly sure on the definition. She also seemed to be some kind of fake martyr who deliberately incurred her own suffering to ***** sympathy out of people, and then shot it down once it was offered. Either way, that was my reality for me growing up, and it really did damage to my developing mind; it's really all I've come to expect. As a result I am devoured by absolute hatred for all of humanity every second of my life because of how I'm constantly reminded of the heartless and sadistic oppression they perpetrate. Every day this hatred is only further confirmed, and it would not have ever formed if my mother bothered to treat me with an ounce of compassion.

As for your childhood, in a way yours was worse. I was always well fed, but then again my mother would scream "why don't you stuff your face, you fat tub of ****?!" while slamming my plate down on the table. I'm sorry, it's just all so ridiculous... that level of trauma, and that a person has to grow up in it... to even begin to comprehend it is hazardous to my health, no doubt. My mother never really drank or did drugs, and neither did I. I've maintained a straight edge lifestyle all my life without even trying, because I never was allowed to go out and have friends. Naturally this, in combination with Asperger syndrome (a condition so many people demonize and mock and deliberately misunderstand) has lead any attempt at initiating or attracting a valuable IRL friendship crashing and burning because I make a complete fool of myself by somehow violating some fake, unnecessary, and ever-so-important social rule. It's not like I can help it. I almost wish I was a junkie, because then at least I'd have a more valid reason to be as much of a failure as I am, and there would be a possibility of me ODing and dying happy.

There I go again making it about myself. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that you had to go through what you went through, and I'm sorry that I come across as selfish by ranting about my own issues while pathetically attempting to empathize.