I don't really remember all that much. I remember being a "sensitive" kid, people were always using that word to criticize me, like we're in some kind of bizarro world where somehow that's a fucking flaw. I would wear colorful shorts and clothes with cute pictures on them and I was bullied for it. People were calling me a faggot before I even knew what the word meant, including my father (turned out to be true though lmao). This one girl punched me once, and told me to hit her back. I didn't and I started crying instead. After that she kinda treated me like a friend which was weird and unexpected. But through all of this I developed a really manipulative and vindictive persona to deal with all the flak I was getting for not being tough enough from people who I never did anything to in the first fucking place. If someone wronged me, I'd wait until the time was right to really screw them over so they wouldn't hurt me again. I'd play like they'd hurt me, that they'd successfully asserted their dominance, but secretly I'd be full of anger and plotting to prove to them that in spite of my fragility, no, *I* am dominant over my own domain, and you are nothing within it. I actually credit my own maliciousness and social distrust for being a large factor that prevented me from being abused, or at the very least from taking abuse at face value as a hit to my self-esteem. I threatened my father with poisoning him once, when I was really young, must've been 8 or so. I found my mother crying in the kitchen. She's the kind of incredibly rare good-hearted person who straight up does not do wrong. HE did this to her. She's obese now because of HIM. And I was angry. It didn't scare him, but he knew I actually would if I had to. It was a threat to his own psychologically manipulative bullshit, that maybe his hell-loins created their own hellspawn. He saw himself in me and he loathed me for it, disinherited me when I was 12, couldn't stand looking at his own fucking reflection. I was the only person who ever effectively challenged him, and I was way better at it than he was at a much younger age, and he fucking hates me for it. I love it. He favored my brother, who in spite of being more intelligent, charismatic and overall a better person than me, is way more easily manipulated. I can't believe my brother wanted and still to this day wants that fucking alien's approval. He never hit us, he was too much of a pompous ass obsessed with appearances (like father like son loool) to do that because he knew how risky it was. Whenever he had a problem with one of us, he'd recruit the other to attack the first. My brother threw his punches for him. Always orchestrating conflicts between his own fucking children. Damn this is getting weird. But yeah fuck that guy lol. He's on this indecipherable level of crazy that you can never pin an actual crime to. Robbed my bitch of a stepmother of her family, made her hate us for no reason. Fuck if I hate inheriting that. Oh and he treated her kids like less than fucking dirt. Made them sleep in the basement, used every excuse to make them feel unwelcome in *his* home even though they didn't want to fucking be there and they knew their mom was making the wrong choice. And of course he got them to take it out on me (mostly me, I had his special hatred) and my brother in his usual fashion.
I never wanted to be tough, instead I wanted for everyone to get along and express themselves and be happy. But in choosing not to be tough I kind of created a much more antisocial part of my personality because it was the only defense mechanism I had. Now most people as adults are outgrowing that bullshit but I still have this entire defunct part of me that's dedicated to vindicating me and ensuring I always come out on top.
My childhood wasn't even bad by any objective standards, aside from the social isolation. I just didn't want to play peoples' games so I played my own instead, and I'm left with a lot of residual anger, further complicated by the fact that now I know that the way I adapted makes me into something I don't want to be.
I mean seriously, if you're only becoming superficially "tough" because everyone is telling you to, then how tough are you REALLY? That's kind of what it's about.
EDIT: Sorry for the unwarranted textwall catharsis but really, I needed it. The tl;dr of it is that we're both fucking sociopaths but my sociopathy was brought about by his and I'm at least tempered by my mother's compassion in that I feel some fucking remorse for everything I do. Shit is fucked you guys. I know I was never beaten. I wouldn't have stood for it. If an adult ever beat me, I would have fucking killed them. So that's a matter of course. I'm tired of feeling like my bullshit doesn't matter because there is no hard substance, because my father was intelligent and evil enough to ensure that there never was any. I hate knowing that my genes are tainted with his BULLSHIT but also being aware of that fact while my brother gets off scot-free being the savior of the world having not had to deal with these tendencies not only because he probably didn't inherit the relevant genes but because he was too fucking ignorant to know what was going on in the first place. So yes. I am FUCKING. PISSED. I've been dealt this personality hand I don't fucking want. I've been treated like shit for reasons outside of my fucking control. I've treated other people like shit for reasons outside of my control (hurrdurr I don't beleaf u, predispositional behaviour dousnt exist, fuck off. I fucking hate you. Tell that to a PTSD victim you fucking twat). Everything is FUCKED.