Good evening, Bitchfaces. Y’all. And of course, you envious ass hos in the back row.
I hope everyone had a nice Memorial Day, placed your flowers, whatnot. I did so myself.
So, I know that I’ve mentioned my idea about the tiny house village. Just giving women leaving abuse a safe place where their pets can go with them to get on their feet and get their head together. Eliminate one of the reasons they stay, that’s all.
In case you didn’t know, 18% of women surveyed listed the inability to house with their pets as a reason they didn’t leave an abusive situation. I should know. I was one of them.
Just something about leaving my dogs with a dude who had no problem beating the fuck out of me didn’t sit right with me, you know?
Look, I know that there are a lot of reasons not to leave. I know I won’t be able to address all of them. But if I can look at 18% of them and say I have a solution? Yea, you bet your ass I’m about that.
Sometimes, it gets a little depressing. I know those of you who tune in for my ridiculous ass rants and Fuckboy news might get a frowny face when I soapbox the fuck up. However, you know not to complain if you know anything about me at all.
I have to do this. And not to sound fucking self-righteous, but, yeah, I guess probably that too. I walk the same fucking walk I talk, and this is where it led me.
Today, I had the father of a woman murdered by domestic violence send me a link to the grants offered by the orchestrators of the Violence Against Women act. They do a shit ton of work, a lot on the legal side, bettering law enforcement response, whatever.
If you’re abreast of my huge fangirl crush on Mark Wynn, this is his neck of the woods, and yes, I still love him like this is a 1980’s teen romcom, if you’re keeping track.
I digress.
So, obviously, it’s a real fucking drag to deal with this shit every day. It really takes the humor right out of my life sometimes. But then I’m reminded of why I do this work. Of why I’m so outspoken on matters of domestic violence, of why I am out here, day after day, never giving up on some of you.
And I never will. I promise you that. If I ever give you my word that I’ll be there when you leave, you may trust in the fact that I’ll be dead with my ashes spread if I’m not there.
Because someone in your life has to fucking mean it when they tell you that you can rely on them. If that’s me, well, fuck your luck, but it looks like I’m what you got, punkin’. As one of my readers says, cussedness and fortitude will pull us through this shit.
And it will. Really, it will. Once upon a time, I was trapped. Don’t think for one second that I don’t understand. I do. You can’t tell me anything that will shock me. I know what they’re capable of, and I ain’t judging you, sis. Not ever.
Oh, I’m judging him. Yeah, you better fucking believe that shit. But I know why you haven’t left. And I’m still here. Still on your team. And when you’re ready, we’ll get you on the first bubble Caprice out of there.
If any of you are in a situation at home where you fear violence against yourself, children, or pets perpetrated by your partner, 800-799-SAFE. Hit my people at The Hotline, let’s get an exit plan for you.
If you can’t, for legal snafus, whatever, doesn’t matter to me why, hit my logo anywhere you read me, you’re coming right to me. Let’s get you an exit plan.
I don’t want anyone to feel they can’t leave, because you can. I will help you. I’ll find you a pet foster, I’ll Uber your ass to the shelter in like 15 minutes, sis. Really, I got fuck all to do other than just chill and try to help some folk out. My schedule is wide ass open, I’m an author. Y’all know this.
Let’s knock these reasons down and get you out. Keep me busy, at least, you know it’s lonely on this side of the glass.
I love y’all, and I mean what I say. You’re better than being abused. I mean, I know I am.
Love,
Q