when i was a kid my mom used to intrude into everything private that wasn't safely locked away. she never actually went as far as looking for stuff, but if i was ever to leave letters and messages lying around my room - yes, my childhood hails from a dark era when pen and paper were still commonly found in most houses - i could rest assured that by the following day mommy dear would have rummaged through them to her heart's content.
now, considering i've never been exactly obsessive about keeping secrets, i would have accepted the interference with a light heart, hadn't been for the fact that she completely misunderstood every single word she read or conversation she "accidentally" overheard. her judgement of my character has always been dead wrong. not once did she perform an act of intuition, or even basic rational understanding of anything concerning me. to assume that she could feel empathy, or have the faintest idea about the way i feel at any given point in time is to assume that you can comfortably squeeze eight hippos in your pocket.
this lack of a mother figure is rumoured to have been the origin of many of my issues (unappeased desire to satisfy others, obliviousness to personal safety, excess of sensitivity, fear or being alone, passive-aggressiveness in competitions, and of course the badly amputated bodies down in the basement), but i don't particularly like deterministic theories, and after all parents are hardly ever forgiven for things we forgive everybody else about almost every day.
I'm sorry to hear that... the same thing happened to my brother a few years ago - he was writing a story for like 2 years, and we had to format the computer - my mom backed up everything (she thought), but we later found out that everything he had ever written had been erased.
