My life was pure hell after Johnny and I broke up. I stayed in my room for seventeen days; I only ate a few bites I could manage to keep down. I could hear the messages on the answering machine, but I could not utter a word. In the midst of the madness of those seventeen days, I felt such shame, I wanted to die. "What had I done?" I asked myself over and over, "How could I have taken the life of our child?" I the depths of my anguish, I took a blade to my throat and began to slice it. The blood from the first puncture began to drip down the edge of the cold steel blade and touched my hand. I began to shake, I threw the knife across the room and cried, "
Oh God I can't do it!"
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