It didn’t take long after marrying my best friend for things to go sour. It was a situation I promised myself I would never create again. Not even thirty, yet I have two failed marriages below my belt. It start early this year, I started getting sick. I was getting debilitating chest pains; I couldn’t go up the stairs without a break, couldn’t pick up my 38lb son. Everything was hard. I had to quit school, and I had to take care of providing for a family and cleaning up after it. Even as sick as I was, I got no help from my new husband. He spent my entire savings before he got a job, but then paid no of it back. He was so messy, I gave him his own room and slept on a chair in the parlor. He broke my things and push me out of my own home (I slept at my mothers). I was spiraling down. Then he put his hands on my throat.
At that moment, everything changed. My world was shattered. My best friend put his hands on me in anger. I knew then that things had to be different. I left him and his daughter; I took my son and my things to my mother’s, and never looked back. I never looked back, because looking back hurts more. I knew this game; I had been divorced before. It seemed a good opportunity to fight for me.
So I stopped my medications slowly (always talk to your doctors about that folks). I began to eat better. Ok, that took a while, who wouldn’t morn the loss of hope? So, I started to exercise. Then I started to RUN!