My mother was reading my diary. It caused me anxiety, but I felt it as a contradiction because I no longer have secrets.
--"Mom, you're not supposed to do that until I am dead", I said to her.
--"Son, you're about to die anyways", she answered
I knew I had very little time left, and I found the idea of my mother reading all my journals distasteful, even if I had already decided that I would make them public upon my death.