I'm not sure whether my childhood qualifies as abusive or not. I know it wasn't great, but then I don't really have a point of comparison. I don't have very many childhood memories but I do remember the following. My mother was very emotionally unstable and out of control and used to hit us (my siblings and I) for all sorts of reasons. By hitting, I mean slapping across the face, arms or legs such that it would leave a stinging red mark, or occasionally grabbing us by the nose (I think - that's a vague memory). She never used implements to hit us. She used to scream 'I'm coming to get you' and chase us around the house. I remember feeling fear. What really troubles me (I think) is that the hitting wasn't an obvious response to something naughty we'd done but was clearly about her emotional state: eg. I remember tripping over and her hitting me for that (presumably because she was upset that I had tripped). I also remember her hitting my sibling because she was cross with my father (I remember a specific incident where she said as much). The hitting only stopped once I became old enough to verbally retort to her 'oh well go on then hit us if it makes you feel better' (about age 11 or 12 I think).
She also never offered emotional support really, I was always on my own and never felt I could tell her anything that troubled me as I would be more worried about the effect it would have on her and that persisted through teenage years and into adulthood. Everything was always about her - eg. on my 10th or 11th birthday I remember having an upsetting row with her as she wanted me to wear a particular outfit and I didn't want to.
My father was not around that much (worked long hours during the week). He never hurt us but never really engaged with us too much either (not emotionally anyway). He had a very short fuse in terms of temper but didn't hurt us physically or emotionally really, was just emotionally quite absent and no support to my mother (I can see with retrospect).
My parents also used to argue between themselves viciously and constantly. I remember being very upset by it. When I was about 10 or 11 or maybe 12 my father told me he thought my mother was having a nervous breakdown so I would have to help out. I'm not sure whether she did or not; she was never hospitalised or anything.
As a counterpoint to all of this, we were privileged in many ways and never materially neglected. We were sent to private schools (parents couldn't really afford this so no money for anything else), had lots of friends and my parents were outwardly functioning (both had reasonably responsible jobs). I now have a good marriage and have been reasonably successful (whatever that means) as far as academics and jobs are concerned.
Now I'm a parent myself and I feel the spectre of my childhood inside me a lot, and I'm struggling to make sense of it all. I would be grateful for any thoughts on how bad it was! Sorry it's so long.