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I'm new. I’m reaching out for support here because I don’t know where else to go. I’ve distanced myself from everyone other than my husband and counselor out of shame. I pray and I go to counseling, but it just isn’t enough. I need help. Please be kind. I know I’ve done the unforgivable, but I’m having a hard time just making it through the day without killing myself anymore. My husband is considering divorce and he has very valid reasons. He moved out and many states away to live with his parents (he is 25) and asked me to move to the same area and get an apartment. I have. I’m currently just under five months pregnant with our first child and that is making the whole thing much harder. In theory, we are trying to work things out, but I don’t think he is sure of that decision. He left because I lied to him for years. It was a mistake. I thought I had a good reason when I started, but of course I didn’t, and once it started I didn’t know how to get out of it. I told him I had no contact with my biological family except for a sister. I did this because I was on very bad terms with them at the time and planned to cut them out of my life entirely, and didn’t want to involve him in the drama because I thought it would scare him away. We hadn’t been together very long when that lie started. But things didn’t work out the way I planned. The economy crashed, we lost our jobs, and I turned to those same relatives for money and they helped. But I didn’t know how to come clean with him and the lie continued. So I stayed in contact with them, gradually my relatives and I got along better, they continued to help out financially when we needed it, but I still wanted them out of my life. I continued the contact to get the money, to keep us off the streets. In short I used my relatives, and the lie to my now husband continued. I made excuses for where the money came from. He never knew. And that wasn’t the only thing I lied about. There was another big one: my age. We didn’t talk about it at all for a while. When he first thought to ask how old I was, it was after we’d slept together and actually moved in together with a roommate. And I panicked, because I was under 18 still (I’m 21 now) and he wasn’t. So I told him that I just didn’t like talking about my age and didn’t elaborate for months. And that is true; I don’t like talking about it. I spent a while on the streets as a young teen and then in an abusive live-in relationship with someone older, and I learned it was a bad idea to ever mention age because it could get me in trouble. Police could get called, I could go to foster care, and other fears. When he wouldn’t let it drop I lied about it too. I thought he would leave me over what I just saw as a number. I told him I didn’t know how old I was, because I didn’t have a copy of my birth certificate and there was some doubt surrounding my age. I supposedly got it cleared up just before we were married to keep up the lie and present a valid birth certificate in order to get married. I didn’t have a copy of my birth certificate for years while we lived together, but the reason wasn’t the one I gave him. We’ve been together roughly five years, married for under a year. We’ve lived together all but a few months of that time. We have had a lot of relationship problems aside from this. He has had two affairs with the same woman, so trust issues aren’t new to us, this is just the first time he hasn’t trusted me. There have been a few physical incidents as well, if you can call it that. He has held me down against my will on three different occasions and the last time it left marks. The last time was about a year ago now. We have fights that escalate, that started after I became pregnant. He didn’t touch me, just yelled and yelled after I asked him to stop, and I ended up in the ER immediately following two of the arguments because of bleeding and miscarriage scares and the doctor told me it was the stress. I nearly left him when things were bad after the ER incidents. Because we had another really bad fight, I locked myself in the bedroom and he kept yelling through the door, and then he called the police and told them I was armed and trying to hurt myself (neither were true, but since then he has said that he wanted them prepared for the worst.) The operator told him to get away from the door so I could get out, so I packed and left, and he followed me down the block until the police showed up. They checked me for weapons, saw his claim was false, and separated us. But I guess he still went to the magistrate to file some mental health thing against me. We reconciled, I thought. But while we were working on things, he had gotten in touch with my relatives and secretly asked them to fly to where we lived and help him confront me. They did. He moved out of state and so have I, at his request. There have actually been quite a few more problems than that, but I won’t get in to them right now. We’ve had a lot of wonderful times too and I want to save this marriage. A bit about the relatives. I moved out of their house as a young teen. My mother and I had a lot of problems and I didn’t feel safe. She self harmed, she was suicidal throughout my childhood, and we fought all the time. Not normal fights like teenagers and parents have, but stuff that would start small and really get out of hand, even when I tried hard to stop it. She also forced me on a medication that was supposed to be for chronic pain but caused psychotic episodes and I could never trust her after that, because she refused to let me stop taking it when I begged. Lots of bad things happened. I tried to talk to my father about everything that was happening with her, he wasn’t there much, and he didn’t believe me. So I brought him tape recordings of an argument, but he refused to listen to them. I stopped trusting him and I knew he would never protect me if I needed it. So when we got in a fight and she said I could leave and to never expect a welcome back, I left. I crashed on friends’ couches for a while until I ran out of places to stay. Then I lived on the streets and friends covered for me when people asked where I was. Then I got together with a guy who gave me a place to live. He became abusive. I have complex PTSD from that. I moved out after a couple of years to a different city. Things stayed bad with the relatives. We still fought, but over the phone instead. That was what it was like when my husband and I first got together. And now he is understandably hurt and angry. He lives with his parents. I live in an apartment in the same city, supposedly so we can work on our marriage. I’m pregnant. He is considering divorce. I’m in counseling to deal with a host of issues that I’m sure you can see here. He is trying to find a counselor for himself, with no luck so far. I want us to start marriage counseling, but he isn’t sure when or if that will happen. One of his other conditions for working this out is family counseling with my relatives, which my mother, father, and half-sister are supposed to attend with me if they are willing, but he will not be attending. I’ve signed consent forms so that my counselor can tell him everything that goes on in my sessions. I make sure there is proof every week that I’ve been there. I try to be completely transparent. But he has no interest in talking about the issues. I see him once in a while, but not much, because he wants distance. I’m trying really hard to find a job because I don’t have much money left at all, and we have a debt to clear up in our previous state as well. We have separate bank accounts now though. While I’m excited about the baby, the pregnancy hormones are making everything so much worse. But the baby is keeping me from smoking cigarettes, drinking, or doing anything self destructive that I might otherwise in this situation, and I know that is good at least. I do struggle with suicidal thoughts on an almost hourly basis right now, but I don’t want to do anything stupid because I love this baby. I hate to see my husband in so much pain and I know I caused it. I do want to fix things. I’m doing everything I can think of and everything he asks. It is so hard. I love him with all my heart; he is my husband and the father of the child I’m carrying. I’m a heartbroken wreck and I have only myself to blame. Please, any advice or support is most welcome. Please be kind though. I know what I’ve done. I’ve taken responsibility for it. I’m doing everything I can to fix things. And I can’t take much more. Thank you.