I feel a bit shaky after reading all the posts about how the favorite sibling is hated. For all I know, my sister could be on this board writing about how she has always hated me, and how happy she would be if something bad happened to me.
When we were young, my mom picked her as the main whipping post. I got off relatively easy, by just being lucky, by having a more compatible personality, by not being liked by my dad (divorced early from my mom) or his side of the family, and basically because I made sure to do everything my mom wanted. She was all I had, and I could not risk losing her approval and becoming the whipping post like my sister. When my mother has always spoken to my sister, even to this day, she has made out that I am so good and she is so bad. But when she related to me directly, I am the devil incarnate. So there was really little benefit to being the so-called favorite, except that I had to conform mightily, and oh yes, I became the most hated one from my sister's standpoint. And I had to listen to all the abuse she took, and absorb it, and feel partly responsible because I was not defending my older sister enough (I did as much as I dared).
My sister made the most of this with my dad's side of the family, and they were sure to try to make up for things. I went through some very tough times from an early age on those court-ordered visits. My sister was an enthusiastic participant. Only recently she has sort of admitted that things were not fair and she got away with murder. After my dad died, I finally remembered much more of it. When I repeat it, it sounds awful to people and sometimes I can't really tell why, my sense of normalcy is so out of whack.
And still as adults, in our 40s, she still hates me and I think she always will. She pretends to love me, in a very exaggerated, maudlin way, and I have always felt guilty so I let her walk all over me, until recently when my husband said, why do we have to pay for her plane ticket? And I had to think about it and put my foot down.
All this to say, that the so-called favorite child of an N is also being shafted. And the divide and conquer strategy is in place. I wish I had someone to talk to about my childhood who was there. So that when my mom denies beating us with a belt buckle, and calls me a liar every day for the miserable months she lived with us, I have someone to say, yes, I know it happened.