You know, it might be a little funny….
If you finally work up the courage to call the DV number. If you finally are weak enough to ask for help.
If you didn’t want to. But you were dying a little more each day. You were a little more scared all the time. If you were almost terrified to leave the house. But you were very terrified to stay home. And you wanted to rip your skin off your fat layer. But instead, you kept teaching and churching and surviving.
And then you were finally weak/strong enough to call.
And no one had room or time. And everyone gave you another number to call. To relive your story again. To ask you the questions again. The very real, very painful questions. The ones that hurt your pride and your soul. But thanks for a new number to call. But I can’t anymore today so I’ll smile again and pretend I’m alive. But I’m dead.
And it’s not.