
Originally Posted by
Astarte
From childhood I thought that I never loved my family in a way that I should. They were just people related to me by the similar genes and similar ancestors.
I grew up without any brothers or sisters, I didn't spend much time with my relatives (when I would start to spend time with them, they usually died not long afterwards), barely even talked to my cousins.
As for my parents... My father was never around, neither was my mother. Only after I reached puberty did my mother start to spend time with me. It could've been though due to the fact that she was unemployed after moving to another city and didn't have anything better to do than chat with me once in a while. As for my father... He said lots of mean things and due to such things I saved his life.
He was lying on the floor hopeless, I was looking down and felt to sadness, just shock. There was the person who constantly told me I owed him my life and now his life was in my grasp.
I now regret saving him. It did me no good.
I hate myself for all of this. I know it's wrong. But I just can't love people for the sole reason that they exist.
Bookmarks