The Beginning of My Abuse , This has Triggers in it so be aware

My Mom leaves my dad they hada Love Hate abusive marriage and I am sure the abuse came from both sides. My Mom and I moved around a lot because she was a waitress and was always looking for better work and we ended up living with my grandparents in Pennsylvania. When we moved in they died shortly after and I was 5 years old. I was then placed under the care of the women down the street while my mom was at work. This women would become one of my abusers her and her much older brother would give me wine and cookies and teach me Italian which I became fluent at. Eventually she started playing games with me like dress up and soon I would be dressed as a girl all of the time and drunk on wine. I know all of this from working with my therapist for the past 2 years. The actually abuse I do not really remember much of, I remember a bad taste in my mouth and later as time passed, I remember pain lots a lots of searing pain. I remember sitting on the stoop watching little girls walk by and him making comments about them saying we are going to get there little asses.
Then one day I remember coming home and my mom telling me if I ever go near Mr. Man who stole my childhood again she will scratch his eyes out. Next thing I know I am living with other people. 

I come home and things seem to be the same except Mr. Man who stole my childhood no longer lives in the house and a family with a boy my age and a girl 1 year younger. 
The area I grew up was only 2 streets of only about 20 houses and everyone new everything about everyone else. The boys in the neighborhood sure new about me and would beat on me and call me nasty names. It ended up the only way it stopped is if I gave them sex. Then they would beat me less.
My mom was a waitress and then got a job in a machine shop and had to work long hours. I guess after The Man who stole my childhood thing she decided I was better off watching myself and so I would come home and let myself in and stay there till she came home. Those where long hours sometimes and I would sit at the window crying wondering when she would come home. 
My mom new as most moms know how best to inflict the most amount of damage with as little effort as possible and she would use this to keep me in line. 
When I was bad she would a: beat the hell out of me with whatever she can get her hands on. Or b: go silent which was the worst I would rather have the beatings the silence was deifying and last for hours if not days..