Lethal force for minor infractions

What lets me know that the situation I am in is going to kill me and I need to defend myself from mortal harm?

Not that the content of my life to date matters, but growing up I was pretty convinced that my dad was going to kill me and my mother--and that my mom was not only powerless to stop him but also unwilling to move us both to safety.

I don't know of any young boys who aren't emotionally sensitive, so I can't say if I was more aware to subtle shifts in domestic barometric pressure than other kids would be. What was clear for me at the time was that I was in danger from my father's rage (in the form of flying plates, large hands, withering sarcasm) and in order to survive, I needed to get read changes in cloud movement, shadows, the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Had I been part of a traditional society, I could have put these survival skills to work in gathering food for the community. My father had his version of these skills to keep him alive as a forward scout in Vietnam--his sense of smell was particularly acute. Perhaps from his feral, solitary pre-adolesence living on the river, he had learned to smell the presence of people and animals before they could be seen. He would come home from work complaining of the way the people in his office smelled, "They all stink from red meat."

I've got a system that's finely tuned to detect homeopathic amounts of negativity in communication, which, as a survival tool, if totally awesome. I get into trouble with Trey (though, who are we kidding, it's with everyone) because of what happens next. The baseline setting: All danger is mortal danger.

It's a little like this:
The Situation: End of day coming, Trey at home, I'm coming in the door. I put the key in the deadbolt and door lock gently, opening the door quietly, but because of an open window in the kitchen the door closes with at loud "Whump!"
The Response: "Hello!" sings Trey from the other end of the house. I say nothing and take off my shoes.
The Poison: On my map of what behavior and language means, yelling throughout the house is rude and dangerous, so I wait until I'm in the same room as she is to give her a warm hug. It's like when I say something and she says, "What?!" as if I mumble and speak incoherent gibberish. On her map, silence and non-response are signs of imminent breakdown from me.
The Results: Trey comes up with a look on her face I read as worry and I feel responsible for making her feel bad. She sees the despair on my face and begins to cry.

Is this love that I'm feeling?
Is this the love that I've been searching for?
Is this love or am I dreaming?
This must be love 'cause it's really got a hold on me.