I didn't express myself correctly. Now there is no fear, there is discomfort before going out. Well, it’s like it’s freezing or hot there. I don't want to go out.
Previously, yes, there was a specific fear. I was afraid of people. Women who will be judged.

As for my mother, now I understand that she is a mentally unhealthy moral sadist. But this understanding took 40 years (((.
As I explained. Well, it’s so heartfelt and intelligible that I’m the worst, but the “other children” are very good. And I grew up “a bastard, a fascist.” They never called me daughter or daughter. Like in the movie "Morozko"
-And the stepmother calls her a damned witch and a subterranean snake.

Everything I did or didn’t do was a universal catastrophe. Although I was a quiet, domestic child, I studied well. I loved and pitied her very much in her endless howl about her own misfortune.
Now I understand that in addition to the inability to love main reason Her attitude towards me was that I was by nature a skinny child. And this was “a shame from people.” Like, she's a bad mother.
Until I was a year or a year and a half old, she fed me, as befits a sadist - she stuffed my mouth and covered my nose. I raised two children (thin ones, but what else could they be like?) so I’m scared to think about what happened. Your child is choking and has to swallow to breathe.
But she shows pictures of a fat baby with such pride. like - this is my merit.

Then, apparently, it became inconvenient to strangle me, I became thin, and for that I received eternal hatred. My childhood memories consist only of her face, distorted with disgusted hatred. No one kind words, not a single warm hug.
She cursed me and wanted me to “suffocate when I was still little in diapers” for every bowl of soup she cooked, for every loaf of bread she brought into the house, for every piece of clothing she bought me with her “bloody pennies.”
All my life I have been cringing at those “bloody pennies”. I have always lived financially poorly, but if I bought something for my children, I was very happy about it, rejoiced at their joy and felt only shame that I could not overwhelm them with these rags.
But why hate your only child like that and reproach him with your pennies...

She was not interested in me, but if she noticed in passing that I liked something, she made every effort to prevent me from getting it. I loved to read - it was an escape from reality. So she elevated this tendency of mine to the rank of some kind of shameful, terrible deviation. I was surprised and envious of the children whose parents forced them to read. Even at school I was ashamed to admit that fiction- my hobby, not washing floors from morning to evening. I hid it as a terrible moral deformity...
You can write a lot about this.
This is where most of my life has been lived. It was a lot of difficult and VERY scary things. But still, there was nothing worse in my life than my mother.
She taught me to hide my grievances and wounds. I hid from her like an animal, because... I knew she would finish it off. It will tear you apart. It will take a long time and hard to finish. And so that the initial wound will seem like nothing compared to her reaction.
I wrote a lot, sorry)))