Growing Up as the Scapegoat

Writing down our thoughts for anyone to see is a scary adventure. I have started several blogs and stopped writing in them because I am not sure what I want to share is worth anyone elses time. But there is a need in me to continue with the words and hope that I can make some sense out of them and maybe, hopefully help or move someone else in some way.

I have had a pretty fucked up life. I know that a lot of us had and maybe we can share a little of the journey here together. I am the youngest of three kids. I know that most of the time when we think of the youngest we think of the spoiled child. The kid who got our parents experience and less of the mistakes that they made with the older children. The other possibility though, is that the youngest kid wasn't really a wanted child. My mom and dad had their first born son and their beautiful yet sickly daughter. They did not want or need another child. So I became the burden. The problem. The easy target to take out frustration on and worse is that my family wasn't a good family to begin with. Looking back now I realize how twisted they were. I realize how easily they allowed my brother and sister to share in their use of me as the target.
I know this will come off to some as whining. It would be easy to say "Grow up. Get over it." I don't believe that just because I am now an adult I am able to push all the abuse under the rug or forgive and forget. I don't think that children that are abused and not nurtured can completely grow up or mature when there is still a hurt, humiliated, confused child inside of them- that is still dealing with the pain from the past on a daily basis.
I have been diagnosed as having the following: Chronic depression, agoraphobic, PTSD, and disassociate disorder. I also have physical ailments that are not because of these emotional issues but are made worse because of them. Chronic pain from a couple screwed up back surgeries, a bunch of allergies that I never had until I had so many surgeries that my immune system went into the toilet. blah blah blah
Enough about the physical ailments right now.
I guess my point was that even though I am no longer a child being molested by my brother, or being sent to my room with the lights off and the door shut to the rest of the family because I couldn't stop crying... I feel like my brain is still stuck there. I have a history that won't leave my present self alone.
Maybe through words I can let some of this out. I have started therapy with a wonderful lady who comes to my house two times a week since I don't leave my house. She is helping me. I would like to share a little of my help with others as I go through this journey. Join me. Maybe we can help each other.