She screamed so often that you might lose track of what triggered her (which is tricky because while there were certainly things that triggered her, more often than not there would be no discernible trigger that set her roaring. Inconsistency was the constant.)
If there was one reliable source of her meltdowns, it was a party. They sometimes call a party "a rager." Our ragers took place before the guests ever arrived.
When she played hostess, the preparation would push her through the full gamut of her personality. It would start with her warm, playful and creative self (themes! games! ideas!)... and then past her firm, directed self... into her anxious, self-judging self (goddamnit I don't have anything to wear) that was just inches from pouring out into her most drastic mode: attack-the-nearest-person-for-big-reasons-or-small-it-didn't-matter-she-just-needed-to-remove-the-impacted-feelings-of-thinking-nothing-about-her-was-good-enough-and-you-were-part-of-that (you fucking lazy-ass, you're worthless.)
And by the time the guests would arrive, those impacted feelings would be transferred to the rest of the household, the only people who knew her private brokenness. We'd marinate in nothing-about-us-was-good-enough. And we'd tend our emotional wounds (pass the parkerhouse rolls) while marveling at what a truly gracious, generous and warm hostess she was... to everyone else.
For @mariannewest/day-200-5-minute-freewrite-monday-prompt-party