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Life After Abuse: A Story of Hope and Healing

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TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of domestic violence and may be triggering to some. Growing up, I learned early on how to be aware of the little things that spoke volumes.

My mom wasn’t just an ; she was also bipolar, and I never knew if I’d come home to a mom who was cheerful and loving or to one who would say hurtful things and obsess over cleaning.

I grew up in AA, surrounded by people trying to rebuild their lives. My parents were both recovering alcoholics, and while I didn’t fully understand it at the time, it made sense later in life.

The environment made it easier for me to fall into drugs. When I was fifteen, my first experience with meth came at the hands of adults who, in hindsight, should have known better.

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