Well...my mother left when I was like five months old, so I never had to put up with it much. It's just that she would badmouth my father whenever I saw her, and he wouldn't say much about her until I was about...13, or so. He was fairly abusive and one time after he attacked me I went to live with my mother - 800 miles away - which lasted all of two crazy months. She would randomly scream at me for nothing and would just start...ranting, out of nowhere, on how terrible homosexual people are, or how bad the Beatles are, or something. The odd thing is that she would give me two completely different examples, on different days...one day she'd tell me that Stevie Ray Vaughan was a drunken idiot who never knew what he was doing, and then a few weeks later lament the fact he died and didn't release more of his wonderful material. She really scared me.
One day I was out in the yard, working on raking and mowing it with my brother, and I decided to take my money that I got for my sixteenth birthday and treat my brother to a pizza. We get home, we share it, and I get sick from it and start throwing up. I have a really sensitive stomach, so it's nothing that bothered me, I'm just used to it - then my mother accuses me of throwing up to get out of working. Later that day me and my brother walk out to the lake (two or three miles away) and on the way home, he abandons me. I'm in the middle of Greece, NY (which is an unpleasant place to be), in the middle of the night, trying to find my way home because I am exhausted and sore and dirty and want to shower and go to bed. I finally find my way back, and immediately my mother runs at me screaming because my brother told her that I was stealing money, dealing drugs, and doing drugs, and that he found my pot stash. None of the above was true, but she believed him, and that night I had to pack up all my stuff. Apparently "God" had been telling her the same things for awhile now. Thanks God, really appreciate that one.
When I tried to take the guitar she gave me for my birthday outside, she tore it out of my hands and said that I wasn't allowed to keep it anymore. The next morning they d ropped me off at my grandmother's house, let me unpack my stuff, and I didn't talk to her for almost a year afterwards.
Edit: Dammit, I tried to resist ranting. At least I cut it short.