I was both abused by unduly rigid discipline, and overprotected in such a way as to stifle my learning of life skills. In short, I was not allowed to be myself. My parents didn't love me. They loved the child they wanted me to be, but didn't accept me as I am.

My father passed away some twenty or thirty years ago, and my mother refuses to acknowledge anything was ever wrong. All she'll say--and then under duress--is, "I'm sorry your childhood wasn't perfect, but no one's is." Of course, this makes it out like I'm being unreasonable and demanding perfection, when mere stability would have sufficed.

The opposite of love is not hate, because in order to hate someone, you have to care. Hate comes about because you tried to love, and your effort was suffocated. Then over time, if the love can't be revived, the hate burns out because it can't accomplish anything. You don't even care anymore. The opposite of love, then, is indifference. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid I indifference my parents passionately.