By Markie Doczi | Featured Contributor
I remember the day I first became a statistic. I was nineteen years old, and I had a good head on my shoulders. Not being smart was never my problem; it was extreme naiveté that had gotten me here.
My husband had just slapped me across the face for the first time. I felt the weight of the world suddenly bearing down upon my shoulders, and I could see my plans for the future blurring before my eyes as the thought slowly crept across my mind:
I’m that girl.