Thinking about where I've come from- abuse or discipline?

At the moment, I'm thinking about my life growing up. Right now I'm a sophomore in college, realizing more and more I have anger leftover toward my parents. I suppose I'm trying to put it all together, I don't know how much of it is my fault, how much of it is normal/okay.

It started mainly after my mother remarried. I'd argue with my mother and obviously be punished. My sister and I spent weekends at my dads, and little normal fights would come up between my sister and I, and my dad would deal with them. But when we got back home my sister would repeat the story, and we'd have hours talking about it- at first they'd pull apart my story (honestly, some of the blame for those fights was mine, but not all). It moved from that to mother and my step father not even giving me a chance to share my story. Neither of my sisters was ever punished for anything, I used to be very bitter toward them. Usually the punishment was doing all their chores and then some.

I don't remember exactly what argument brought it about, but, i came home from school one day, and everything was gone in my room. literally everything, in place of the bed, there was a sleeping bag on the floor. Every little thing I did, or they accused me of doing resulted in a punishment. frequently, the times I tried most to be apologetic, they'd say I've got that look on my face, which would aggravate them more. for a span of two years, I wasn't allowed to have any friends over, or participate in any activity other than school or church. I began to long to be at school just to get away from the house. during that time, I'd wake up in the morning, go to school, and be dropped off at our barn to shovel manure until sunset, then I'd come back home, eat, be allowed to do homework, then go to sleep in the sleeping bag on the floor- nothing "fun".

I definitely sank into a deep depression at this point, always felt a weight on my shoulders, literally and in the pit of my stomach. There were a few episodes of what I'm certain crossed the line. One time, my step father tied me up, drove me to the barn, and threw me on a pile of manure. He left me there for a while, and sat in his car and read a newspaper. Another I didn't want to take a shower, he held my face under water.... I struggled, but couldn't get out of his grip, he'd let me up to gasp for breath for a quick moment, then back under. Another time he tackled me when I said they didn't care about me (ironic). After the shower incident, I was left alone in the bathroom, I sat panting probably for ten minutes just in shock. Steve (my step father) came back in and said that I should stop, or I'd pass out, and then asked if he knew he loved me. but these didn't happen often.

I remember how I developed weird reactions, like, when I was startled, instead of jumping, my body would tighten up, I'd just cringe. I always always always felt guilty...

In sixth grade they sent me to a camp for troubled children/ teens for five weeks (it's called SUWS, you can look it up). most of the other kids were alcoholics, or drug users, I was an eleven year old who argued with my parents. When I got back, and they got mad at me for something (this time i'm absolutely sure I didn't do anything- I was working to kiss up after spending five weeks out there), they had the family sit down, and asked my sisters to say how they thought this month and a half long program would have changed me, and how it didn't.

I got the stuff back in my room after a few years, but our relationship remained awful. I was kicked out of the house when I was 17, I moved in with a close friend, their family essentially adopted me, I never had any problems with them.

On the flip side, there were many good things, my Steve took me on a fishing trip once, although a one requirement for going was spending an hour talking about all the things wrong with me/ how I could be better. I bought a car when I was sixteen, I paid half plus insurance, although they did buy both of my sisters brand new cars. I never was afraid of starving. Nothing i experienced was as horrific as things in "A child called It".

After I was kicked out, and did well, I think their perspective of me being troubled started to change. Right now, my mother wants me to go back. I haven't spent more than 10 hours in that house since I was kicked out. They do provide for a small percentage of college tuition. Since then, my younger sister moved to my dad's (I wasn't given that option). Background info on my mother, she hasn't talked to her siblings in probably more than ten years. I just don't know what to think about it all. A few years were very bad, the rest were bad with some good mixed in. I don't know what to think of it all... I still feel that I wasn't the easiest kid to get along with, but at the same time, there is soo much that I was "punished" for which I didn't do.

So completely beyond a normal response.

Tbh, unless they were dealing with Satan to the best of (incredibly limited) abilities, this reads to me like a straight up case of abuse.

I'd stay so far away from them.