Why I love my parents but hate living with them

I don't live with my parents... I have my own apartment

Damn. Dead on. I feel for all people like me who thought and know that the choice to live with your parents is the safest, and best choice to make, and smoothes out the transition from child to adult. I now feel trapped in my own skin, pretending to like my parents, but having realized long ago that I don't and that love, and like, are two very different things. I don't want to cause them pain. But I don't want to be around them. The pain caused to me by my torn desires are is greater than the pain that would be caused to them if I simply stopped hanging around them, and retreated to my room. And yet I stay.