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Ever since I was little I never had a very close relationship with my parents. It's always been my mom, my step dad, and I. I've never laid eyes on my biological father. Maybe that is the beginning of my problems. As I grew older, I grew farther and farther away from my parents and my home.
Graduating high school was one of my biggest accomplishments because I spent so much of my time in high school working. I remember getting home at 10 or 11 at night after a long day of school and work and just crying at the edge of my bed because I knew this kind of struggle was something I was going to endure for the rest of my life. There were some nights I would come home and the doors would be locked because I "stayed out too late"... at work. After high school I looked into colleges and got into school I really wanted to go to. Two weeks before I was supposed to leave, I dropped all my classes because I didn't want my little brother to feel like he didn't have anyone like I had for so many years.
I spent most of my time at 18 at work and on friends couches because I couldn't go home after 11pm. Working in restaurants, you normally don't get out of work until 11pm or 12am. My 19th birthday, I met a boy. He encouraged me to get out of my parents house and start looking out for myself. I moved out almost 2 weeks later into a house with one of my friends. I also fell in love with the boy I had met. He chased me until he finally got me to agree to be with him. Little did I know the path this would take me down.
Soon after I moved in with a friend, I found out I had some health issues and wouldn't be able to work for a period of time. I moved back into my hell. I was going through all of these health issues, meanwhile every few days my "boyfriend" would break up with me so he could go find someone else and not feel guilty when he talked to me the next day. It took seven months before I was pushed to my limit again and moved back out of my parents home. I came home for work one day to all of my belongings on their front porch. I quickly picked up my things and headed 2 hours away to my boyfriends house. (I still had no idea he had cheated on me). We got along for the most part. Yes there were fights and looking back now, I was not treated the way I was supposed to but it was a lot better than where I was before.
After four months of living together, I found out I was pregnant. He got a good job and started supporting me because I couldn't work much. At 8 months pregnant, I decided to stop working because we had the income to do so. The same day, I found out he had been cheating and the full extent of how many girls. I was devastated but had no where to go and I was 8 months pregnant... was I going to raise this baby completely on my own? My son is now almost a year old. His father and I are still together. I hate myself more and more as the days going on. I am not the confident person I was before. He financially supports me and gets me whatever I want. He is an amazing father and really an amazing partner now. But I cannot forgive him no matter how hard I try. Not only for the cheating but for the way he treated me. I feel like I've had no one who has been true to me.
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