It wasn’t supposed to be like this. As a little girl, I dreamt of having a pony. He would be strong and his coal black mane would glisten in the midwest sun. As a young woman, I dreamt of a simple, yet wonderful life. I’d have a career,...

I hate the way he breathes; after years of cocaine use he has a constant drip and whistle, much like a snot nosed child, but he is not cute. I hate the way he comes home and his jaw is twisted tight, jerking back and forth much like the head of an...