I Want to Help

Sometimes, it seems like I’m a magnet for the negativity in the world. This is one of those weeks. Every hotline in the world should be on speed dial on my phone. I’m hearing from the abused woman, the abused elder, the assorted phone scams and email schemes that every other person in my world is getting.

Did you know you can call domestic violence shelters collect? You can.

And, you should. You really, really should. Get on the phone, find yourself a safe place, maybe in another state.

She explained why she stays. I didn’t understand a word of it.

And then, there’s that moment where other people jump in. Where suddenly, women are telling their stories, and everyone seems to have a story. Bonding over traumas, rapes, abuse… You’re not alone.

I don’t have a story. Not really. Not a story of my own. I’ve always been treated well by the men in my life. Never been treated badly, even by strangers.

Maybe not having a story is my story.

If everyone else is talking about being abused… About boyfriends turned rapists, and threats, and violence, and being afraid for your life… Maybe not having a story is worth mentioning. Maybe, after all the others run together… someone will remember that having something better is possible.

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