Fourteen months ago I was ready to sell up and leave my home. I didn't know where I wanted to go, I just wanted to go. I wanted out of this place so badly, but made myself stay until I could make a logical decision. Apparently you shouldn't make any major decisions for at least a year, the fog lifts and abracadabra your brain grows back.
I have hung on, I've put up with vandalism, theft, kids coming and going all hours of the day and night, having to hide food and valuables in my house so I'd know they'd still be here when I got home. Your home is a place that should be your haven. It's where you should feel safe and comfortable, I don't anymore and neither does my son.
I know my son is hanging with the wrong crowd and I have had so many people tell me over the last week, get him out now before it's too late. Enough said. I admit defeat, I can't fight anymore, I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted. Darren always told me I turned a blind eye to things I didn't want to deal with. He was right.
Blinkers off, time to move on and up. Time to make a fresh start. But I have to admit deep down I am shit scared. I just want to wake up and be in my new place, wherever the hell that is.
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