The Story of My Life: Surviving Abuse, Addiction, and Finding Strength
I met him when I was 20. He was 22—young, charismatic, and full of energy. But there was something off about him. I should have seen the signs, but I didn’t. Or maybe I didn’t want to. The first red flag wasn’t so much a red flag—it was a disaster. He got so drunk one night, he shat himself. His parents had to come and clean him up. At the time, I told myself it was a one-off—a fluke, something that wouldn’t happen again. But deep down, I think I knew it wasn’t. Six months later, we moved in together. And that was the beginning of my nightmare. He’d disappear for days at a time—walking along train tracks, lost in a drunken haze, not even able to remember how he got there. He wouldn’t come home until 3 AM, and sometimes he wouldn’t come home at all. And when I found out I was pregnant, the chaos only intensified. I started hiding the keys to his motorbike because I knew he’d try to ride it, drunk as a skunk. If I didn’t hide them, he would get violent. He would try to punch me...
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