My Life Story- the Reality to Emotional Abuse

The Beginning Years.

Let me start this off by giving those of you a run down of my family history. Each member played a role and it's important to go back to the basics.

I will start on my dad's side of the family. My mother, Angela, got together with my father, Josh, and ended up having me and my twin brother, Owen. We were my dads first children, my mother had us somewhat young (I think she was like, 22) in what she claims was a drunken one-night-stand. From her perspective (though I realize later that my mother is far from a truth teller) she got too drunk, desperate, and was "too drunk to notice that he didn't put a condom on." (Later on, my biological fathers mother ended up showing me a picture of my mom and dad together, which clearly showed that they were more than a fling.)
My mother had a different set of twins before Owen and I were born. Their father, Jeff Sr, and my mother got a divorce. Courtney is my older sister, and Jeffrey is my older brother. (Keep in mind, Owen and I are 18, my older brother and sister are 21)
For a while, Jeff Jr. and Courtney did not live with us. For seven years, it was me, my stepdad (Bill), and my mom. My mother won custody and took them back in before I was 8, and that's when things went downhill. (Side note, Owen is autistic)
From what I can understand, and I may be wrong but I have a great intuition of people and I'm usually not wrong, my mother felt guilty for losing custody and ended up favoring the elder children. Of course, they will never admit that, and that's fine. I'm not writing this for validation. However, they were just as much victims to the abuse as the rest of us, and we all followed the same abusive behavior towards each other. Imagine, 6 complete strangers filled with anger living together. As my buddy Vincent would say, classic.
I was the middle child. For the most part, or under my mothers perspective, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me and I'm just an attention-seeking, gothic slut princess with a bad attitude. (Yes, actual words from her mouth.) But I admit, I have just as many problems as the rest of the kids. We all suffer with ODD, and for those of you who don't know, that stands for Oppressive Defiant Disorder. Basically, we don't do well with authority. We all don't have the best social skills, mostly social cues being an issue. We all also have severe depression, but that's to be expected.
I remember most of my childhood being in a lot of trouble for petty shit, like the house isn't clean enough or I tried to defend myself and it was "backtalking." Being told repeatedly that I wasn't going to make it in life, that I was a complete bitch, that I was over dramatic, that I'm just an emo who slits her wrists, I was brought down on the daily, whether it was my siblings or my parents. And I did speak out, even if it landed me getting hit in the face so hard that my glasses flew across the room and ended up being permanently crooked after that or fighting my sister in the school hallway.
My sister ended up leaving us and moving to a different town after her and my parents got into a fight. (Don't remember what it was about, but this is my story. She can tell her side of shit if she wants.) I hit what we all call the "emo phase" of my life. However, Jr and I ended up getting along a lot better, considering we were usually at each other's throats. I'm going to go back to one of the insults I listed in italics and explain the story behind that.
My best friend at the time, Michelle, had came over because I was going to stay the night at her house that night. She was sitting on my bed and I was getting ready to leave. Now, bear with me, emo phase. I was wearing a black tank top, my skinny jeans, converse, and a black choker that came off a belt that was too small for me. I had my emo hair, the whole getup. I was packing stuff up, talking to Shell, when my mother (drunk off her alcohol of the year, this was wine at the time) walks in just to make the statement "Wow, don't you look like a slutty gothic princess." And walked out. Just like that.
I didn't provoke it, but even if I had, no one in their right minds would ever dare say something like that to their 15-16 year old child. I remember that Michelle's jaw just hit the floor. She couldn't believe my mother actually spoke to me like that, and the look on her face when I said the usual "I'm used to it." kind of shed some light that things were a lot worse for me than I realized.
To give some background to my mother, she was extremely abused as a child. She also had a constant up and down bipolar cycle. When she's up, she's everyone's best friend. When she's down, either no one exists or everything is your fault. Either way, she's drunk at the end of the night.
So this pattern of attacking everyone just continues. I've been called every name in the book by her probably a hundred times over. And the more she drank, the worse things got.
Now, as we all know very well, my mother lives for Facebook. There isn't a single moment she isn't posting something, even personal shit that really shouldn't be shared.
I remember the embarrassment I felt when she publicized my self harm to all 5000+ followers on her goddamned Facebook. I was angry. There's just some things you shouldn't fucking post. However she acted to the world like she was 100% supportive of me.
That was a lie.
While my mom acted like she was extremely understanding and loving to the internet, she was only doing it to gain more publicity on Facebook for the MLM company she had worked for, called Skinny Body Care. Outside of the internet, it was different. I would get in so much trouble, just for being depressed. She would always tell me that I was just trying to seek attention (ironic, she was the one using my pain to gain followers) that I didn't have any reason to be depressed based on the simple fact that I had it better than her. Why couldn't I just appreciate what I had? Why was I trying so hard to act like something was wrong when I'm perfectly fine? Why was I so ungrateful?
These were all things she had asked, actually, screamed at me in her drunken states. Sometimes, I didn't even have to do anything for her to just attack me out of nowhere. Living in my home, everything was tense. It was survival mode, looking over your shoulder, paranoid of who was going to hold something over your head next.
And while I would love to keep going, I'm honestly already getting myself to shut down and I think it's time to call it done. For now, contemplate what I have said. Most people know me as a very honest person, and I have no reason to lie about anything now. I rather like my reputation.