I have had times in my life, when I've reached the point of no return.

By saying something that I maybe shouldn't have or by making a choice that I maybe shouldn't have chosen; my life changed.

It's known by myself as my inner PONR button; Point Of No Return. One press, and my life is more screwed than ever before. Well, I pressed that button with Jamie on the day that I found out I was pregnant.

Even though he had given me Chlamydia and Pelvic Inflammatory Disease, I still stayed with him.

When he continued to keep leaving me, I still stayed.

Over and over, he kept hurting me...and I kept on staying.

Why?

I've asked myself that so, so, so many times since.

All I can say is that I poured everything I had, into that relationship with Jamie. I gave him all of me—my past and all of what I could one day be—it was all his to do as he wanted with it.

I thought, that was love.

Pain, was something that I had grown up with.

Pain and love—they had fused themselves together for me.

So all that Jamie gave to me; the lies, the promises, the hurt, the STD's...I took them all.

It became all I knew.

All that I thought I deserved.

When I discovered I was pregnant, I was drowning in a whirlpool of emotions. I knew that of all the hurts I had suffered, the hurts caused by Jamie, were the hurts that hurt the most.

By now, my self esteem had all but gone. My confidence, that had long gone, too. Both, had been devoured by Jamie. Every one of my thoughts, every one of my actions, were manipulated by him.

Mary Rose, she was now owned by Jamie.

And I had let him do it.

He took the last of my fight.

He took the last grain of strength I had.

We didn't use condoms, so I decided that I must face having a baby with someone I knew wouldn't be a responsible father. That was me owning my stupidity. Owning the consequences. It was a time to start facing the consequences of my many and stupid actions. I didn't have any strength or fight in me to do battle with Jamie over him needing to grow up and mature on account of the child that we had irresponsibly created together, but I had resigned myself to my own fate—no matter what, I was going to be a mum.

Jamie had wanted me to have an abortion, but that was something I just couldn't do. Somewhere inside my screwed up head, I thought that my getting pregnant might even bring us closer, that it might make us a loving couple again. Such ridiculous notions. That alone, tells you just how immature my twenty year old mind was back then.

Jamie was only nineteen, so when I told him that I was keeping the baby, his selfishness and his immaturity only increased.

He was running.

From me.

From us.

From the baby.

Knowing my final decision, he just couldn't cope with all that it meant.

So, he went and got high.

As high as his 6ft body would let him.

When I told my mum, she was surprisingly excited. At this point, her drug-taking was weakly back under control, and I figured that the drugs were maybe her version of having a bit of a mid-life crisis. Nothing my mum said or done at this point, could ever shock me anyway. I understood that she always would be an unpredictable and reckless person to be around, so I became desensitised to most of the chaos that she threw at me. When I found out I was pregnant, mum and dad were no longer having sex. Their thing, it just kind of ran out of sexual steam. Dad was getting older, mellowing into his easygoing ways. While mum was clinging onto her late thirties with utter desperation. Yes, they still talked. Yes, dad would sometimes help my mum financially. But the sexy little meetings, they all stopped. Dad could no longer keep up with my mum's antics. Being older than her, he decided to slow the pace of his life down. He once told me that being with my mum, meant that there was always some drama or some chaos. It wore him down in the end. There was once a time when he would get insanely jealous when she had other men, but dad had reached a point where he was grateful for all those other men—they meant she was no longer his problem.

When I eventually told my father that I was pregnant, I heard the disappointment in his voice down the phone line. I remember walking myself to the end of our road, so that I could call my dad in private, from the old and dank-smelling red telephone box. As I had nervously pushed in the coins, my heart had thumped around in my chest. That was probably one of the first times when I realised that I actually did care about what my father thought of me. As I made that call, I knew that I cared much more than I ever thought I could.

Dad might have been a distant and hands-off father, but he was my distant and hands-off father. And in some ways, my pregnancy did strengthen our relationship.

With my grandparents, telling them that I was pregnant, was met with tears of support. They had always been my rock, and that wasn't about to change because I had a baby growing inside of me.

While Jamie was out doing whatever he was doing, myself and my family started making preparations for the baby.

I put my name down on the list for a council flat, but had to stay in a dingy shared-housing place first. "You're not staying here." My mum had said with disgust on her face at the sight of my unfurnished room. "Leave a few of your things here, come and collect your mail, but you're not sleeping here." Yes, there were brief times when she actually could be a thoughtful mother.

I never did stay at that damp-infested place. I would occasionally swing by; showing my face and picking up any mail. Within a couple of months, I was offered a flat, that was near to both mum and Jason. With great excitement, I moved in with what little belongings I did have. It didn't matter that I didn't have much, what mattered was that myself and my baby would finally have our very own place. One of my uncles helped me to paint and to carpet that very first home. While mum, dad, nan and gramp helped me to furnish it.

At last, I had my own home.

My own little sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Jamie carried on doing his thing—partying, getting high, DJing—doing everything else but not getting ready to be a father.

Again, I accepted that.

I was too busy making a home, filling it with homely things. I was nearly ready to have a baby, so my thoughts were thankfully wrapped up in that...not wrapped up in the ball-less man who helped create that baby with me.

It was a sweet relief to not have my mind drowning with only the thoughts of Jamie. It was a sweet relief to not lie in bed, wondering where he was.

My baby.

My flat.

They were going to be my fresh start.

I was ready for a new beginning. A Jamie-free beginning.

He had made it clear that he wasn't interested in settling down with me or being around for his child, so as much as I wanted him to be in my life...he had chosen not to be.

It was a time to just focus on my impending motherhood. I couldn't keep hurting over Jamie. I couldn't keep worrying about my mum and whether or not she was taking drugs—it was now time to focus on myself and the baby.

Which I did.

I bravely did....

..... until Jamie decided to return again.