That day, my crying fit on the orientation field made me famous.

Chloe, the freshman business major.

The news that I was a spoiled mama's girl spread like wildfire.

On the campus social media feeds.

Memes made from the video of me crying on the ground were everywhere.

My mom, with the help of my roommates, collected every single one.

She then immediately forwarded them to her family group chat, her friends' group chats, and even the neighborhood Facebook group.

She even ran a "share for a chance to win" contest on her own Facebook page.

It was as if she wouldn't rest until the entire world had seen these humiliating pictures of me.

I begged my mom, pleaded with her to stop spreading the photos.

My mom just crossed her arms and looked at me coolly.

"Go ahead, threaten to kill yourself again. If I said I'd stop if you died, would you do it? If I said I'd stop if you jumped off a building, would you jump?"

I froze.

I realized her punishment for that day was far from over.

Over the next few days.

My mom continued to relentlessly assert her authority.

During orientation activities.

An orientation leader would put his hand on my arm to correct my posture during a team-building game.

She would rush over and shove me, accusing me of pretending to be bad at it just to flirt with him.

While I was out on the field, drenched in sweat, she would wash every single pair of clean underwear I owned.

Forcing me to go commando in my thin shorts for the rest of the day's events.

The intense feeling of exposure made me hunch my shoulders and back when we had to run.

My strange posture baffled the young orientation leader.

He punished me on the spot, making me run three laps around the university's massive track field with my chest puffed out.

And just like that, another set of memes starring me started circulating online.

A week later.

The night before my mom's big interview.

My mom bought a gift for each of my roommates.

On the surface, she said it was to thank them for taking care of me.

But in reality…

"You girls really need to watch her in the future. Don't let her use your washing machine, she's filthy, I could never teach her. She was still wetting the bed in high school. Every time I washed her underwear back home, it was covered in either poop or pee."

"She's hated washing her hair since she was a little girl. A few times she even got lice in it but refused to wash it, she'd rather shave it all off than clean herself."

"Oh, and you have to be careful around her. She's always loved to steal other people's things, and she's great at playing the victim. If any of you get a boyfriend, you better keep him far, far away from her, or you won't even know how you broke up…"

Curled up in my narrow twin bed.

The hot early autumn air felt colder than ever before.

I wanted so badly to ask my mom.

Didn't she know why I wet the bed in high school?

And whose things had I ever stolen in my entire life?

It was true. My mom didn't love me.

She just wanted to use my brokenness to highlight her own greatness.

To humiliate me and control me, all under the guise of doing what was best for me.

In that moment, I lost all hope in the idea of a mother's love.

If she said that everything she did was for my own good.

Then I would return the favor and do to her everything she had done to me.

Late that night.

My mom was fast asleep, sprawled out across the bed she had claimed.

I pulled a sharp pair of scissors from my suitcase and walked toward the long, dark hair she treasured so much.