Stepping out of the car, I could feel my blood boiling.
My mum Trisha, then 47, and I had been rowing.
What about? I really couldn’t tell you.
Some silly comment or look, probably, as we’d driven home from school.
But it was enough to get me riled up.
So much so that I’d just poured a tray of milkshakes over her as we pulled into the driveway.
While poor Mum went inside to clean herself up, I’d row with Mum over nothing I felt my anger dissolve.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I cried later on. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’
But, truthfully, this wasn’t my first angry outburst.
Ever since I was around 6, my moods had been extreme.
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