Teen pregnancy and homeless

Today I celebrate my eldest sons birthday, he is 25 years old. I thought the day would feel joyous but instead I reflected and cried.

My tears are for all my struggles and adversity that I have faced. It was 25 years ago that I was made homeless, kicked out of the family home for being pregnant. I was told to leave my family home one week after turning 18. I left the house with only the clothes I was wearing. I cried all the way up the street to the bus stop where I continued to cry. I cried so much I missed the next 3 buses, I just sat there balling my eyes with no composure and unsure what to do. Having finally calmed down I bused to my friends house to ask for a bed for the night. She agreed I could stay, but her flat mates were not happy and voiced their opinions. They didn’t want a pregnant teen who had no money staying. That night was lonely and the room felt dark and empty. I was hoping the flat mates would change their minds but did not happen.

When friendships go downhill.

Recently I killed off two friendships and for two very different reasons. We were tight as thieves, catching up every few days for coffee, drinks and a big gossip. At first it felt very sisterhood, supporting each other, laughing together and really bonding. There were endless nights of gin drinking, deep secret sharing and staggered home after one too many. I felt so lucky to finally have a women friendship circle.

What could test those bonds, rattle our friendship and end all communication forever? Well, friend1 revelled a dark side, a sinful lust and deprave allure. It didn’t immediately click in my mind the little immoral hints she kept repeating. Then one manic Sunday afternoon she blurted out that her friend, a male in his later 50’s, regularly’s molests local young teenage boys. And, to shock me further she added that she saw no issues with this and defended his actions. As I sat there in shock I found my words lost and my heart break. In that split second I found I no longer knew my friend and our worlds far apart.

Paying for sex

Previously mentioned, I spent my teens working in my mother’s brothel as a receptionist. My day consisted of answering telephones while trying to sound alluring in a provocative sexy whisper (hindsight tells me my young innocent girlie voice was what probably what caught punters attention), and booking appointments etc. It was a fairly easy job and not many difficulties arose. If there was any it was mainly from the sour puss pampered girls themselves who didn’t like being told by a 16 year old what to do or who to fuck. And, sometimes my boyfriend would ring as a joke pretending to be a customer to trick me into describing the girls, which made me feel embarrassed but no doubt turned him on as he would have a massive laugh.

When running away is the only way.

Three and half years ago my husband and I uprooted our family to start a new life half way across the world. The decision was out of necessity to safeguard our own children. My parents are always trying to hustle us, our friends and anyone who comes into our circle. They have used and abused every connection and ripped off every single person I know.