My Mother has indoctrinated me

Everytime I open the front door, make a noise in my room, drop something, or produce any sound other than a radio or a conversation, there is a piercing yell from within the house that never ceases to follow. It is my Mother questioning my responsibility with the noise, what happened, where I am, or some unnecessary query that would cause me disturbance. I hate this response with a deep-rooted passion. I hate it, and now I'm doing it. What the hell ?
The front door makes its crisp departure from the wood my Mom thought would look so pretty in avocado green or the house makes a slight rumble, and I immediately think the worst: there's a foreigner in my house here to ravage my body. I make sure to leave my location with a heavy object. The nervous/craziness in my Mother's personality that my brother, sister, and I so commonly make fun of is leaving its ugly scar on my own reactions.