Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Learn To Walk

If you put all of your fucked up business out on Facebook for everyone to see, expect a response. This shit is killing me. When you post a bunch of shit about your man abusing you and fucking with other broads, people who love you are definitely going to respond with some anger, that's what they're for. Your family has your back and would do anything to help you out and make you feel safe. So the next day when you start posting pictures of you and homeboy taken after you bailed his ass out jail for yet another domestic charge (when you still have visible bruises) don't be surprised when everyone is hating on him. I know first hand it's not easy to just walk away from that kind of situation, I'm also guilty of staying way too long. But at some point, you have to say enough is enough. I guess the 12 years you've thrown away with him, all the trips to the emergency room, the broken bones, the bruises, the times you couldn't even get out of bed to get the kids to school because he hurt you so bad, debt accrued with the bail bondsman, the shame and humiliation , haven't seemed like valid reasons to get the fuck out. Everyone has been backing you up for years. You're family begs you to grab the kids and come home. And what do you do? You change your number, go incommunicado on everyone. Thing is, you're burning your bridges. You can't help someone who won't help themselves. If you continue to live this life, I'm not in it with you. I'm sure that seems harsh, but it's tough love, and I'm not the only one on that team. It's bad enough to see these ridiculous pictures you post and have you go off on me and everyone else about how it's none of our business. That's not even the worst part. The thing that's eating me alive is this sick feeling I get when I think about the future. Sadly, I'm pretty sure the next time I see you in person, you'll either be in a body bag or a fucking casket. If you were ever to call me or show up on my doorstep with your kids and your bags packed, I got you. Come on in we'll figure it out. But instead you just talk out of your neck, you don't need me or anyone else. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your babies. Because right now, you're son is watching, learning how to treat women. Your daughter is watching, too. You're teaching her that it's acceptable to be treated this way as long as he apologizes and buys you something after you're done cleaning your own blood off the kitchen floor. I hope you read this. I hope it pisses you off to the point where you grow a little bit of backbone. Open your fucking eyes, and then call me when you can see clearly again.

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