I can distinctly remember how I felt the day my dreams died. I was 17 years old, and because of an incredibly difficult upbringing, I was homeless. I tried to be a responsible adult and juggle everything. I went to high school, did my homework, and spent my nights living in shelters, the streets, and friends' couches.
I knew that I needed income, so I got one job, then two, and then three. Working three jobs, high school, and the craziness of my living situation were too much. When something had to give, it ended being high school. I dropped out. As I walked out of the school, I could feel every dream and plan fo...
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