I was a living doormat. It’s not easy being a living doormat. Anyone woman who has attempted to survive such an existence will agree. I was resentfu..., exhausted, used up, abused and wounded. I did not feel loved. At the same time, I knew he needed me in his life because of my salary. I was used and abused. I've never been happier since my husband died.' Being a widow is good for her because there is no suffering and less stress after her husband died and free to live her life as she wants. She. So after leaning against the freezer to gather my resolve I once more opened the door. But this time I was ready, so as it attempted to escape/attack me once more I was prepared and caught it in what can best be described as a stranglehold. I wrestled it to the sink, and dumped it unceremoniously therein. Then, taking time to catch my breath, I stood back to survey the situation. It looked innocent enough, though bold as brass and twice as ugly. And then I noticed it had definitely grown in. More

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