I don't hate them.

Instead, I feel nothing and sometimes I think that this apathy is the worst thing they did to me.
Worse than the scars that I’m forced to look at every day.
Worse than the nightmarish memories that are always present.

I can’t go an hour without thinking about my past, and worrying that it somehow marks me. My own feelings scare me; they make me vulnerable, remind me of those years when I was slapped, held down, choked, threatened…

So, forgive me if I’m cold.
Forgive me if I’m distant.
Forgive me if I don’t speak about it.

I’m not ready yet and, at this point, years later, am unsure if I ever will be.