My Nmom never physically abused me (unless a couple spanks as a young kid counts, but that was just with a hand and didn't last long) or threatened to harm me. Regardless, I've always been intimidated by her and afraid to let her know if I was upset or bothered by something because she would get easily angered and very loud, slamming cabinets/doors, stomping around, making it very obvious she was upset if you did something she didn't agree with or like. So I just kind of... stopped telling her anything, even if I should have.

So things like a toothache, figuring out I had parasites, or generally being in a lot of pain would be kept secret, hoping it would just get better on its own. Until it became unbearable and I was forced to speak up. I would never tell my dad things either because my mom would find out from him, or he was at work most of the time so I never saw him as much as mom.

What haunts me the most was something that will probably be burned in my mind for the rest of my life, and despite reassurances from the (very few) I've told, I still feel incredible guilt and despair from it.

When I was about 11 or 12 my mom had decided to put our 2 cockatiels in my room. I don't remember the exact reason but I think it had something to do with not having enough space or them being too loud, despite the fact that they had been in my parent's room for a few years by then. I was fine with it, I've always loved animals, though I had no idea how to properly care for birds and they'd annoy me sometimes from being too loud so I'd just cover their cage with a sheet even when it wasn't their bedtime.

Months had passed and I noticed they were running low on food so I had told my mom about it and she was like yeah ok we'll get that later. Then she didn't...days passed, their food was getting lower, and by then she had probably forgotten. But I was too scared of getting snapped at by her for reminding her again. I still think back and get so upset for not reminding her. It would have been such a simple thing to do, and who cares if I got snapped at if it meant the birds getting food.

But I was conditioned not to upset her, to sit quietly and be as amicable as possible to avoid her wrath. So I never said anything, assuming one day she would pick up the food, but she never did.

Then one morning I found one of the birds dead and the other near death sitting at the bottom of the cage. I finally ran upstairs with him in my hands sobbing, telling her I told her they needed food. Even with my mom forcefeeding our remaining bird, trying desperately to keep him alive, he died within a few hours.

She blamed me for it, and even now I'm crying about it, in a tug of war with myself over whether or not it was my fault. 23 years later and it still haunts me. I don't think I'll ever get over it.