I have a problem.
Yes, Grumpy, we know. You have many problems.
I need to feel useful. Needed. Or at least helpful. I have a particular weakness for women in bad situations. Which makes me gullible and a sucker.
The first intimate relationship I ever had was with a woman who claimed to be in an abusive relationship with no way out. It was over a quarter of a century ago. I was eighteen. B did the same thing to me all too recently. Both ended the same way, with the girl back in the arms of her supposed abuser. We won’t mention any similar events that may or may not have occurred in between. I think it’s safe to say that I will never learn.
But today, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about a woman who legitimately needs help to escape a truly abusive situation. Her name is Stacey. I found out about her from a credible individual, so I can comfortably believe that it is true.
Her story is heartbreaking. My “Prince Charming” complex of wanting to save the damsel in distress kicked in pretty hard. Although technically, she doesn’t meet the dictionary definition of damsel. She’s not local to me, and even if she were, there’s nothing that I could do. Even if she’d let me. Which she wouldn’t. So I threw an hour’s wage into the pot and wished her good luck.
I ask you to consider doing the same.