So, I'm a considered the 'bastard child' from my fathers first marriage. My mother left my father when I was born. He raised me with the help of relatives, some were kind, some weren't.
When I was 2 years old, he remarried. I wasn't allowed to live with them until they had a child of their own, so lived with an elderly couple who were relatives; they cared for me but were by no means affectionate, but I was cared for and I am thankful for it. I moved in with my father and stepmother when I was five and they were expecting my brother. My father and stepmother have had three children together. My brother and then my sisters (who are twins).
In my entire life, I was included in only 3 family pictures. I was left out of weddings, certain family events etc. Generally, things were okay, but really my brother and youngest sister have never felt like I belonged in the family. My stepmothers family feel the same way...as do some of my fathers family.
Growing up in my family home was slightly difficult for me, because outwardly I looked and acted like a part of the family, I had my own room (but I never had a bed). My parents have always lived comfortable lives in terms of wealth. I was never to ask for anything. My stepmothers family always made sure to reiterate the point every time they came to visit. Everything I have ever had was an afterthought. For example when school shopping was happening, my parents would go shopping and every year they would forget to buy stuff for me--so on the way home they would stop off and buy whatever they could find.
My entire childhood was spent in gratitude for their generosity. At the same time, I would be left with relatives who had children my age, one boy was a little older than me, the other boy was a year younger.
At first the abuse I suffered at their hands was just the boys pulling my hair and my shirt, but eventually it got to a point where they would both pull off my clothes and their mother would beat me with a hanger. My step mother mentioned it to my father, but they kept leaving me with them, and the beatings continued. We eventually moved to another place when I turned 9 and no one ever laid a hand on me again. Again, I felt gratitude for not being harmed.
I think the reason I'm writing all of this down now is that the aunt who used hit me has sent out 'engagement party' invitations for her youngest child and my father called me this afternoon to ask if I would be coming.