Sharing Our Innermost Thoughts

I do not see my mother as a parent. I never did since I was fourteen years old. Same goes with my father. Instead of parents, they’re more like housemates— landlords I need to pay back until the day they die; like a curse. Worse than strangers. Because I don’t feel a thing for them. I don’t laugh or cry for them and I don’t think I ever will. The only times I feel them is when the voices of the people I used to be, those they hurt terribly, retells me the stories I don’t even remember what felt. And it’s sad— those stories are. Makes me crumble to the ground. Horrid.