On DV: The Day I said "Enough."

⚠️ Trigger Warning: Contains graphic depictions of domestic violence, emotional abuse, and physical assault. Proceed with caution.

The story really starts in 1990. By the end of this, you’ll probably hate one of us. I’m hoping it isn’t me.

My sister was in the city to have her first baby. The whole family was buzzing, but being fourteen and turning fifteen, I had to play it cool. Big deal. Everyone has babies. Truth was, I couldn’t wait to get to that hospital. I wanted to meet my brand-new niece and see my older sister, the closest thing I’d ever had to a real best friend.

So, I had a wicked scooter accident last Wednesday.

I already shared some of the aftermath on Facebook and Bluesky — you know, the blood, the bruises, the slow-sip soup life (though let’s be honest, I’ve always been an obsessive soup sipper even at the best of times). But I realized I never actually told the whole story. And honestly, this one begs to be told.

Be Weird. Be Rude. Stay Alive.

 Something happened yesterday that I’m still processing, but I want to write about it while it’s fresh — partly to make sense of it, and partly because I know someone else out there might need to hear this.