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20 years ago today, I moved out of my mom’s house and in with my unborn daughters father.

It’s 20 years ago today that I’ve been an adult.

It doesn’t sound like a long time, not really. But it feels like a century ago. I was 21 years old, close to turning 22. I had no idea what was in store for me. Motherhood, keeping house, cooking, being in an abusive relationship with a sociopathic slightly older man who wanted nothing more than to strip me of my identity.

He was abusive in all areas. Emotionally, verbally, sexually, physically and financially. It took me 7 tries altogether to leave for good. He stole almost 6 years of my life. By the time that I got out, I was 27.

It’s been 14 years this past February since I freed myself and my daughter from his grasp.

August marks (what date I do not recall) 8 years since I’ve heard his voice. He is no longer a part of my life. As my mom says, he should be dead to me.

I’m working on that.

He is nothing but a sperm donor in my mind. My husband is her father. Enough said.

August holds memories for me. It is a month of anniversary dates, none of which are good. Unfortunately, it is also the month of my birth.

I am always happy when August is gone and September comes.

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