January 6, 2012:

Hanging up the phone, not returning calls, calling every few minutes then hanging up then not returning calls.
Calling then hanging up when my mother picks up, then calling again and hanging up again.
Calling then hanging up if my voice seems unenthusiastic.
Calling them hanging up if I say it's a bad moment.
Sleeping on the floor when she's angry.
Driving away when she's angry.
Punishment by withdrawal, or by withholding.
You have to cajole her to return.
Childish attempts at control: be exactly what I want or else.

Years later she asks, "Why did we break up, back then?"
I tell her, It was the ups and downs.
She thinks that means her depression, but, it doesn't.
It's means these ongoing chaotic demands for attention punctuated by petulant withdrawal.

I thought I could be patient with her and she'd grow out of it.
Ultimately that's as patronizing as anything those college snob friends of mine believed of her.