I hate my family, and I can't actually tell anyone because then I'd be regarded as some emotionless psycho. My parents used corporal punishment on me, and my brother until we were nine and seven, I vividly remember screaming, and begging my mother not to hit me. My brother's teacher called him "Obno" as a shortened form of obnoxious in front of his peers for an entire school year, emailed my mother everyday about his "bad behaviour", read the emails aloud, and encouraged his classmates to bully him, all because he didn't like the way my brother acted in his class. (Never mind my brother's ADHD) My parents did nothing. My brother soon began to become angry all the time, and because my mom backed up his teacher and never even listened to my brother, he went down a bad path. He started to hit me, and ripped out my earrings multiple times. He'd hold me down, and hit me in the head, suffocate me, threaten me, taunt me. He even started to hold down my dog, and rip his whiskers out. My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease when I was eight. He's never been "there" since. My brother started to watch me a few months later, when I got out the shower or changed. The summer I turned eleven he came into my room. My mom had talked with us about masturbation earlier that day, I had found a health book and was curious. He told me it would be easier to do if I had "help". He climbed on top of me, and basically dry-humped me. I will never forget that at one point I started to gasp for breathe, I don't know why, if I was scared or I was being crushed, or I thought I was supposed to, he told me not to breathe. After he left I dumped a bottle of hand sanitizer over my bed, and self. I wanted to shower but I didn't want to wake my parents. I felt ashamed, and disgusted that I hadn't turned him away, I felt unclean. I started to hate myself pretty quickly, I had panic attacks, I cried often, I was unfocused at school. As time progressed he became more spiteful, he called me names in front of other kids, and they started to call me them too; mainly "cow" was their favourite. I asked for locks to be put on my door, which my dad did, though he never asked why. Years before, I was about nine, I had written a note to my mother saying I wanted to kill myself, that I hated my brother. She reamed me out, and told me to never say such things about my family again. It took me months to finally tell her, she "talk to my brother", but nothing came of it. She told a therapist her version, and they told her it wasn't abusive. I've never known if it was or not because of that. My personality grew sharper, my outlook bleaker, my health fluctuated as I periodically went through depressed phases. I developed EDNOS (an eating disorder) in 2010 when my father left to go back to England, (my parents divorced in 2009, right before I went into high school). I was officially diagnosed with my eating disorder a year later because my mother refused to get me help, I also start to self harm that year. My mother was diagnosed with Stage IV Lymphoma (Blood Cancer) in March, and now, I'm balancing her care, working, being in school, orchestra, volunteer, sports, and a social life, with my disorder, and self harm tendencies. I feel like I'm drowning. Now, I'm just waiting for her to die of cancer, my father to eventually die of PD (though he's does't remember me anymore, and we haven't spoken since 2010), and my brother is going into firefighter training in January, part of me hopes he burns. I hate my family.