I would not get screamed at, but mother would sulk for days even weeks over the smallest of things. 'Crimes' like creasing my duvet because I'd sat on it, or taking a slice of bread because was hungry. A silent seething resentment would ooze from her. 'You make me sick' she'd say. So now if I accidentally break something I feel ill, faint, I hate myself. Stupid stupid, useless, always useless. Her words still there. I hate her.