Ron and Stephanie

Well, this was the point in my life where I did not nurse for fear of eating
the wall again. In a discussion on the topic, I cleverly dangled from the
wall with my husband's hand on my throat. My breasts were his, as well as
all of my body. If I wanted to keep the Da** baby I would feed the F***er
formula or let it starve. Then again, since I decided not to terminate the
pregnancy to start, it was another item on his list of my faults. When I
left, I felt that most of life was my fault, and I was to blame for anything
that was bad. The cereal fell off a shelf at the store I worked for, and
amongst tears, I was apologizing to my manager for it being my fault. He was
more upset over it than I. Since it was my life, and his just happening to
be there. Does that make sense?
Stephanie