there were other people there, guests, she looked at me with hate, a wanting to see me hurt, but not having the opportunity (being that there were guests there) to make me hurt. Oh, how deprived she was, my poor mother.

I am not being cynical (or sarcastic, whatever the word is) in typing what I just typed above: part of me feels sorry for her for not being able to express what she felt, having to hold it in.

To love someone who hates you…

Your mother was not poor, she was nothing to feel any sympathy towards whatever, just a horror. I relate to loving mine. I’ve never asked myself if she loved me though. My awareness was how much she said and did things that hurt me, that she thought of me as the lowest of the low, and no matter how hard I tried I never made the grade. Like yours she had her public persona. I loved it when people visited because her mood was nice. She ignored me, but I didn’t notice that, I just felt better when people visited so I wanted them to visit more.

Sorry I’ve not exactly adhered to the above. I should have said this prior to it. I’m not exactly good at not responding. And I really wanted you to know your mother sucks.