Am I just Damaged Goods?

I always knew I was destined for greatness.
I've never felt at home among any group, and even my family home didn't feel much like "home." My childhood is filled with a multitude of powerful and radiant memories, however, the closer I got to adolescence, the more numb I became to the ways of the world.
I can still envision the apartment's living room in which I expressed to my mother and stepfather that I felt left out. Everyone in the home carried the same last name except for me. I requested that my name be changed to the name they all carried so proudly so I too could be a part of this American dream.
However, it never happened.
Today I am glad that I never assumed the last name of my stepfather.
but ....
 my inner child still longs for a family dynamic I can call my own and feel one with.
I'm grateful the changes were never made because the truth of all that surrounded me at the time was too much for my 7 year old mind to decipher. Now, at 22 I see the unhealthy ways and traditions of the people I love the most.

A Detached Father:
Even though I am only his stepdaughter, the lack of direct provision and protection of this man has impacted my life in more ways than I was previously able to accept. The worst part of it all is, I've never witnessed him actually love or show compassion towards my mother. I do however, recall times where he would beat her and in times where she was hurt, he struggled to comfort her. As I grew, I learned that his detachment from his mother played a major role in his actions. As a result, I learned to understand rather than judge him from a space of my own feelings of hate.

An Absent Father:
My biological father made his presence known in words, but not action. I assume he was too busy, and blamed the NSA for keeping me away from my father. I needed someone to blame, after all it was too much for my 11 year old heart to comprehend that an important piece of my existence didn't see a reason to put effort into building an in person relationship with me. I think my father is the first man that expressed my beauty in words but made me feel ugly with his actions. I felt abandoned.
​Today I still struggle with identity crisis, I carried his name for so long to no avail.
Our last visit wasn't a good one. I often get notified by men that I am utterly intimidating, I never paid too much attention to those words until my father confirmed them. 
I'll never forget my sister's wedding day, my father saw me and said nothing. It was almost as if I was a ghost who didn't exist. He treated me much like guys do when they meet you online, but are afraid to speak to you in person. 
Another opportunity to revive a part of me that was dying, missed. 
I took it upon myself to do my own healing and put the responsibility to heal us in my hands.
However, I am starting to believe that I may have to purge alone as I grow.

A Battered Mother: As I experience myself as a free spirited young woman, I feel one with the inner child of my mother. The inner child I see when she laughs or when she cries. My mother is human. She is not perfect, but none of us are, What I do know is, my mother sacrificed for all us and never thought twice about doing it. She is my rock and I often feel like I have to be in her corner when everyone else forgets that she too deserves compassion, love and nurturing. I often wish she took on the responsibility to be more kind in her speech, after all life and death exists within the tongue. I often wish the negative commentary spawned from the seat of her frustration didn't impact my subconscious mind and become the voice in the back of my head. Sometimes I'm way too hard on myself and nothing seems good enough. However, I've allowed myself to be a catalyst for the growth and renewal of this matriarchy. Understanding the stresses of the world that can become a domino effect of negativity.
No one ever says look how much we've damaged her yet she survived, they just simply say look how damaged she is.
TO BE CONTINUED