Childhood memories - venting

Everyone has memories from when they were young. Some memories are better than others. That even holds true for me. I do not have a lot of good memories, but there are a few. Like when I would get to spend the night with my paternal grandmother. Or when I got a new babysitter called a horse.
But looking at my good memories, I notice something. There are reasons that those are good memories. Those are the times when bad things are not happening. When I stayed at my grandma's, my dad was not around to hurt me. When I got my horse, that was my new escape. Since I did not go to school, I would get up early, go
saddle up my horse, and go riding. I would stay gone all day long. I knew I needed to be home for dinner, but if I had gone home early, chances were pretty good that the door would have been locked anyway. That is how my parents dealt with us. By NOT dealing with us. They would lock us outside whether it was snowing or sunny.
One summer I ended up with 3rd degree sunburn on my back and shoulders because I had only a tanktop on, and was not allowed to go inside to get anything else to wear. To make it worse, my mother decided that something cold would soothe it, so she put on butter. Note to all you parents: grease on sunburns do NOT help, unless you are
trying to make it worse. But I never said my mother was smart.
Anyway, I do have a lot of bad memories though, and writing about them might be
therapeutic, so here goes.
One of my earliest memories is of my paternal grandfather dying very unexpectedly. I was almost 3. Even that young, I remember that night like it was yesterday. The waking up from the phone ringing. The gasp in my parents voices as they heard the news. Them coming in to tell us the news. Them calling my other grandparents to have them come babysit my sister and I, so they could go do whatever it is that they needed to do. Me being so angry, that they would not let me go with them, so I could bring him back too life. It was the beginning of a life of bad events.
My dad was adopted as an infant, and he never felt accepted by anyone. So I think that by him molesting me, it made him feel like I was accepting him. I am in no way defending him, and I absolutely hate him and my mother for what they did to me. I thought if I did not put up a fight, and just accepted that this was what he did, that they would treat me better. That never happened. I was still beaten with wodden spoons, had wooden hangers broken over my head and back, belted for anything or nothing, completely isolated from people, not allowed to participate in school
events, for the few years that I did go, the list goes on. I remember one time, I was chosen to play the witch in the play "Hansel and Gretel". I was in 1st grade, and everyone wanted that part, so for me to have gotten chose was a huge honor. I went home and told my parents, and they immediately called the teacher and said I was not allowed to be in the play because they did not have the time to bother with it. They never did have the time to bother with me, unless it was to abuse me in one
way or another. They could not even bother to buy me a birthday or Christmas present. They always bought everyone else presents, but not me. Even my sister got gifts, but their excuse was, well she is older, and when she moves out we will be able to afford to buy you gifts.
Other bad memories are of when we would eat. For breakfast, they would feed us shredded wheat with water, because milk was too expensive. For dinner we would eat potato soup that consisted of potatoes, water, and salt.
One morning, we ate our "cereal" and as we ate, my parents left. They said they were going to my grand parents and would be back in an hour. Now they only lived 1/4 mile away, so it was not that big of a deal. But they were gone for what seemed like a long time, and when we tried to call, they would not answer. So my sister and I walked over to my grand parents and the door was locked - of course. So we rang the door bell, and my grandma answered. We said we wanted to talk to mom and dad. She said they were eating but would be home in a few minutes. It smelled so good and I asked what they were eating. She said she had fixed banana nut waffles, bacon,
and eggs. We asked if we could have some and she said there was not enough for us. WTF???
Other memories are of us getting kicked out of churches, because my parents would steal from the offering plate, as it was passed around. (no - I am not kidding) They also used to tell us not to eat breakfast, because we would get food at church. Another note: "communion" (aka 1 TBS of grape juice and a mouse size crumb of matzah) is NOT breakfast!
Looking back, I realize what horrible people they are. They are as bad today as they were back then.
They steal from my mom's work by coming up with new "emergencies" that need to be paid right away, so all the employees chip in to help them out. They cheat on their taxes, they lied to social security so my dad qualified for disability. There is nothing that they have, that was legitimately earned or deserved - including me. I wish I had a better family. One I could be proud to be a part of, not ashamed of who I am because of. Anyone want to adopt me?
I should put a "family for sale" ad up on Craigslist. Maybe someone might see my potential :))
Lol!!