I am not a real person
I was raised in an environment that was, shall we say, light on affection. We never talked, except for formal discussions of our day at school over dinner with the good silver.
We never touched. No hugs. No caresses. No warmth.
Two angry parents, each one covered what the other did not. One criticized every aspect of my social interactions, the other my every task and chore and job.
I was into my twenties when I realized that I couldn’t tell if I was speaking out loud or…