vinegar in the morning

I am sitting in my room, contemplating breakfast.
Breakfast is the one thing I truly miss about home. Every morning my mother used to force-feed her children some form of breakfast, and those meals, to this day, are the only morning meals that do not made me sick.
Try as I might, I cannot seem to recreate them – possibly, because most people would not consider our mother’s version of breakfast real breakfast food, or real food at all.
When I lived at home, she would slap a boiled egg in a plastic bag and shove it into my hand as I walked out the door, or she would make these shakes with soy protein, flax seed oil, and apple cider vinegar.
Yes, vinegar.
I would turn around most mornings to find my hand holding a plastic sipping cup full of frothy orange liquid. “Drink it now,” she would yell (literally, she yelled), “It’s going to go flat!”
Currently, she is in her “green drink” stage, which means she beats green peppers, celery, cucumbers, green apples, and ice into a pulpy mass and gulps it down. “It has digestive benefits,” is her claim, and when she convinces me to drink it from her blender, I admit—it’s not quite so bad as it sounds, or looks for that matter.
But, I cannot seem to make any of it for myself. It is not the same.

For all the pain and anxiety (and I do mean pain and anxiety) my mother has caused me, for reasons too multitudinous to list, I digest better in her house. I cannot live with her, but I can’t eat without her.
What is this?
Perhaps, this is all there is. Perhaps, this is love.