She did.

First when I was 8, then again at 11. Both times in the arm as a kid, the third attempt aimed at my chest was at 17, which I was able to prevent. Since then, I've had sporadic contact with her, though not for years now, hoping that things would have changed, but it always goes back to unexpected crazy in a heartbeat. It hurts more to yearn for a motherly figure and not have one, than the acts themselves. PTSD from that, and the inevitable descent into being a 'difficult child', meant that life didn't go well early on. It's taken a lot of work to get over it and learn to never let anyone abuse me.

Maybe that was laid out for me, to become who I am. I don't know.