✨🎤 greatest hits: inter-generational wifebeating, the og edition 💀👏

buckle the fuck in.
we’re going full-blown
intergenerational trauma—
no respect.
no peace.
just pure,
ancestral fuckery
decaying in real time.

🔪💯💀✨

aka: when your family
is also abusive as fuck.

you’re double lucky.

✨👑✨

let’s fucking go.

—

🎤 “i can absolutely
fucking understand why
your husband
beat the shit out of you —
you’re a bitch.”
— your biological father,

(when i called him out
for his clearly
fucking
predatory behavior)
nah dude,
this ain’t a reddit troll
🧠 like bro???
you watched me survive
a fucking felony
and decided to
play devil’s fucking advocate
like we’re on a podcast
called ‘maybe she deserved it.’

cool. 💖

—

🎤 “i wasn’t the one
who asked you to move here.
he should accommodate you.”
— mom, queen of selective amnesia

(🧍🏻‍♀️promptly—
went to build a fence,
and mow the fucking lawn)

—

🎤 “but when he strangled you,
did he squeeze hard?”
— dad, again

🥇 bro, congratulations.
you've unlocked the
”is this a crime or a kink”
daughter interrogation.
like sir.
this is not the time
for technique reviews.

—

🎤 “you know,
all you’ve brought
is drama
to this fucking family
since you came home.”
— brother, proud recipient of zero therapy

📢 no babe
what i brought was
a fucking child,
a goddamn truck,
and your
entire family’s
unprocessed trauma
served back to you
unrefined
and fucking accurate.

—

🎤 “you’re not my daughter.
get the fuck out of my house.”
— father of the year 👑✨

🌨️ said this while it was
below fucking freezing,
you were holding a newborn,
and he was holding
onto zero shreds of humanity.
should’ve left you
in the fucking snow.
heaven forbid—
you ask for,
basic sexual
fucking decency.

—

🎤 “you’re abusing the elderly
by letting mom help you
fund getting away
from your violent-ass husband.”
🙏✨🐬
— absolute legend of a brother

📉 this full on
fucking man-baby
looked
at financial abuse
and said:
“what if you were the problem?”
bro acting like gofundme
safety plans are
the fucking war crimes.

—

🎤 “why did you
expect your husband
to pay for shit
after you had a baby?”
— the tone-deaf symphony

🤡 sorry, didn’t realize
paternity was optional
in this household.
is child support
a fucking vibe now?
was i supposed
to invoice him
with a fucking smiley face?
after he drained
my fucking life savings,
and totaled the fucking car?

—

🎤 “do you think he punched you
as hard as he could?”
— father again.

🔥💯
🔥💯
🔥💯

lmfao,
direct quote.
why is he
always talking
🥊 idk man
why don’t you call him
and compare notes
since you’re both apparently
wife-beating
fucking trauma sommeliers.

—

🎤 “why were you so dumb
as to pick this dude?”
— big bro 🦋✨

💅 oh i’m sorry
did your marriage licenses
come with
a background check
and a fucking prophet?
tell me how
that arranged marriage
is goin', gavin.

—

🎤 “you shouldn’t have had a baby
if you weren’t financially fucking ready.”
— brother, CPA of delusion✨

🧾 meanwhile
your man
was robbing you fucking blind
and your family was offering
emotional overdraft fees
instead of fucking backup.

🎤 “i don’t think
you’re smart enough
to finish law school.
you can’t even pass the tests.”
💅✨🌈😭👑👏
(blatantly false, but whatever)
— brother again;
main source of support—obviously.

📚 you’re out here
filing lawsuits,
surviving grad school—
building a DV archive,
raising a whole-ass child,
cleaning houses
with her on your goddamn back—
on your fucking own,
but sure,
tell me again
how i’m a fucking moron.

—

🎤 “you need to drop out of law school.”
🎤 “you’re living in a delusion.”
🎤 “you’re too old.”
🎤 “you’re too stupid.”
— family haters: misogyny edition

👏👏👏

🎓 translation:
“your potential success is triggering
and we’re too small to clap for you.”

—

🎤 “i know
you’re a day out
from getting
a fucking restraining order,
but this babysitting thing
is really stressing your mom.
i need you to stop.”
— stepdad
(champ of gaslighting)

🧸 bro literally said
“could you chill with
the domestic violence stuff,
my wife’s tired.”
like you’re ruining
the fucking mood.

meanwhile—
all life must
fucking halt
when his kid
has a solitary
fucking issue,
(we’re the same age)
lol. ok.

—

also sent your brother
to harass your ass
about it—
fucking immediately,
while intoxicated and mean af. 💓
because nothing says “family love”
like using the alcohol fueled—
trauma avoiding,
emotionally fucking stunted sibling
as a proxy war soldier.

dope.

—

🎤 “he’s sexually abusing you?
lol what an asshole!
but i have nowhere
for you to stay...
maybe the fucking shed?”
🌻🔫
— mom, completely dead inside

this absolute hero 🔥
nothing more
to fucking say.

—

🎤 “no one gives a fuck
that you don’t want
your baby left overnight
with our
predatory-ass father.”
— brother

well,
that’s fucking
goddamn insane.
so,
fuck y’all,

🫠 and there it is
the final boss
of fucking neglect.
said out loud.
in full sentence.
like the words weren’t
soaked in
criminal fucking liability.

🔥

—

honestly
they should’ve
just signed a
fucking group card
that said
“we hope you die quietly”
and please stfu
oh, and don’t ask
for fucking money—
would’ve been less
annoying and inconvenient.

xoxo,

the vetranos 🪓

aka: (why you’re dead to me)

🔥🎤👇

dear entourage of denial & delusions: are you hearing yourselves

✶

unfortunately
accurate
context

(for the deliberately blind):

mid-30s.
pending second divorce.
two-time combat vet.
recorded trauma.
documented issues
with fucking substances.
long history of cheating.
unemployed while preggo wife
funded the fucking circus.
repeatedly disclosed
to the one
immediate family member—
for over a year—
that he was
putting hands on me
during pregnancy
and after.

photos.
timestamps.
medical shit.
filings.

but fuck it.

you have…
burner accounts
and fucking full
terrorize her vibes.

and somehow
your collective conclusion is:
“let’s stalk her, harass her, and intimidate her
into shutting the fuck up.”

damn.
are you serious.

💀

babe.

calling
documented
highly unfortunate
fucking evidence
“two sides of a story”
while you
comment,
view my shit,
ping my goddamn dms,
full on demon internet campaigns—
with this
menacing ass shit.

clinging to a
fucking fairytale
while ignoring the
goddamn body-cam footage:

i’m sorry
to fucking inform you,
but that shit happened.

and my dude?
he needs fucking help.

and your fucking
delusional denials?
are not fucking helping.

like god damn.

that shit is not love.
not for him.
not for his daughter.
definitely not for me.

you know?
his fucking family.

🔥

what you’re actually doing?

that shit is
enabling
his worst fucking self.
and endangering us
in the fucking process.

✨🙌✨

yo.

it’s 2025.

fucking hello?

the most insane part—

you’d rather
spam me
from fake accounts,
try to scare my ass—
than consider
the statistically obvious:
when an
unemployed,
self-obsessed,
serially unfaithful dude
with combat trauma
and a documented temper
is losing control
of the fucking narrative,
violence is not a plot twist.

it’s an obvious fucking conclusion.

and it’s fucking sad.

and nah,
that doesn’t make
every vet violent.
it makes
this man—
in my experience—
dangerous as fuck
to me.
and you knew
enough
of the fucking facts
to stop pretending
you didn’t.

like yo,
come on.
wake the fuck up.

and actually fucking help us.

💀🔥🎉

but what did you do?

you chose denial.
you chose delusion.
you chose to gaslight me
into fucking oblivion.

…

y’all—
choose your fucking fighter

🔥 accountability
or attempting to
🔥 choke me out
because
the truth
is too ugly
and makes you
fucking uncomfortable.

👀

because
yo—
you can’t do both.
you can’t be all
“we’re about the fam”
while you
actively
harass
the family’s victim.
and his offspring.

so pick a lane.
pick a fucking delusion.

if your
best argument is
“he’d never do that,”
fucking congrats—
you just told me
you don’t fucking know him.

or you do,
and you’d rather
i shut the fuck up
than face
what he really is.

listen,

if your
contribution
is stalking,
harassing,
or sending threats:
that’s not loyalty;
that’s willing
participation
in ongoing violence.

🔥🔪💯✨

the financial firm that made me do “baby death math”

how northwestern mutual
potentially 🔥🔥🔥
enabled
a near-lethal financial affair
during my entire pregnancy

and laughed about it.
then billed me.
then defrauded me again.
👶💸💀📉

deadass serious.
no disclaimers.
no fucking grace.
just the facts
i begged them to refute.

📎✨🖕

✨beginning with…

the casual truth bomb
they fucking nuked me with—
mid dv escape

weeks✨
after my estrangement,
a stranger rep implies—
as a joke:

“lol. your husband
was clearly unfaithful to you—
with your financial rep.” 😂💍💁‍♀️

wait,
wtf?

😮

how the fuck
do you casually drop
that the woman
who made me feel insane
my entire marriage
was “removed” from my account
right after i filed
a fucking protection order—
then expect me not
to lose my shit?

💀

i’m fucking
mind-blown.
and yeah—

ongoing ptsd.
right now.
still.
as i write this.

your reps—
plural—
fucked me
while you claim
“independent contractor”
and no duty. ✨

lol
no duty???
you almost got me
and my baby
killed
because your
mid-ass rep
was too obsessed
with my fucking husband
to keep it professional.

oh yeah,
you’re getting sued. ✨

not for greed.
for fucking justice.

you destroyed my financial safety.
you endangered my fucking life.
you nearly cost my child hers.
and all because
a mediocre,
obsessed,
exploitative,
predatory—
office chick
saw her chance
to fucking replace me.

baby death math:
🔪 they fucking obviously
didn’t want her born—

preface to my daughter:
i hope to god i’m wrong.
i’m sorry you have to read this.

do the fucking math.
men don’t want babies born
all the fucking time.
mine clearly didn’t.
maybe because
the chick sending him
fucking venmo kickbacks
couldn’t live out her
war-hero-wife fanfic
with me
still in the fucking picture.
and the baby?
shit,
can’t have that.
a living witness.
a legal problem.
fucking proof.

bro,
think for five seconds—
they never wanted my baby born.
that’s why
he tried to fucking kill me
my entire fucking third trimester—
holy shit.
while clearly having
an affair
with the woman
you put in charge
of our fucking life insurance.

🗣️ and you knew.
🗣️ and you did it anyway.

you let my husband—
a dude with
no job,
no ethics,
clearly no fidelity,
no real income—
defraud me out of my life savings
under the false pretense
he was employed by you.
(but now—
you don’t know
any of these
full-on
fucking
recruited,
independent
rogue ass
contractors
lmfao sure)
you enabled him
to pretend he was
a financial professional
while i paid for his licensing,
exams,
conferences,
hotel stays,
his car,
his entire goddamn “career.”
and you let him
do it under your brand. 🔥🔥🔥

you
constantly
solicited me
as the experts,
induced me
to trust you
while i was
at my most fucking vulnerable—
and instead of protecting me,
(i know, fucking revolutionary)
you assigned
his infidelity partner
to manage
my accounts,
my money,
my newborn’s policy.

you handed her
my household file
while i was in labor
and fleeing fucking abuse,
while she was privately
accessing my husband—
and you thought that was funny.

the moment
we estrange
and i file for—
a
fucking
restraining order?
oh, bet.
she fucking bounces.
you “remove” her for a conflict—
no notice,
no explanation,
no audit trail,
no disclosure.
but i’m supposed to
keep paying premiums
for shit i don’t even own
because you “omitted”
those crucial fucking facts?

🔥🗑️ nah.

fuck it, let’s go deeper 🙂👍🔪

2 a.m.,
panicked,
on my living room floor,
doing “was my baby supposed to die?”
fucking arithmetic—
because you
didn’t disclose
she was personally
fucking entangled
with my abuser
while stalking me,
watching my post-estrangement
fucking confessions
of pregnancy strangulation,
my bruises—
gawking—
still managing my file—
then she dips,
and you mock me
for not fucking knowing.

💀🔥

here’s what you
received and ignored:

✶ the restraining order ·
✶ notice of police warrant ·
✶ hospital report ·
✶ onboarding records ·
✶ public venmo history.

you saw it all.
and you still lapsed my policies.

then: “lol, yeah—it was awkward.”

awkward?
try watching a woman
who sent my husband money
while i was hospitalized
for obvious wife-beating injuries
keep monitoring my page
after you
lapsed my infant’s policy
without fucking cause.

you don’t call that murder-adjacent? ✨
you don’t call that fiduciary breach? ✨
i do.
this is a
horrific
fucking
fact pattern.

as i come out of shock,
i’m calculating
what it’ll cost you
for making me assemble
the full felony fuckery arc
you built,
sanctioned,
laughed about,
then billed me for.

the math northwestern mutual
thought was funny

💀 him:
☑ unemployed ·
☑ image-obsessed ·
☑ violently unstable ·
☑ never passed licensing ·
☑ never onboarded his own family ·
☑ zero profit in 6+ months ·
☑ lied about work ·
☑ lived off my savings ·
☑ beat me during pregnancy ·
☑ two-time combat vet ·
☑ special lethality ops ·
☑ known ptsd ·
☑ court-documented abuse.

couldn’t keep
hiding the affair,
so he turned to violence
and fucking sabotage,
hoped i’d miscarry.
didn’t want the baby—
because babies are proof,
you can’t erase.

🧷 her:
☑ your rep ·
☑ basic ·
☑ “not your problem” ·
☑ openly inappropriate ·
☑ boundary-crossing ·
☑ public venmo payments to my husband
while my active rep
during a documented dv episode ·
☑ ongoing stalking ·
☑ conflict acknowledged ·
not passive—
complicit.

if i had miscarried?
she wouldn’t have cried.
she would’ve fucking celebrated.

how the fuck—
are we alive.

🔪💯✨

willful misconduct:
you had the history
and stats,
the medical disclosures—
and you still
handed a violent fraud
and his fangirl
my full financial file
and called it nbd.

then
you got the abuse info,
saw the FRO,
knew the bond status,
knew the hospital timeline,
forwarded to internal counsel—
and still nothing.
no email. ✨
no correction. ✨
no safety alert. ✨
no confirmation. ✨
no fucking acknowledgement. ✨

at all.
ever.

😭🙏

just burner views
and corporate silence—
survivor: dv life-insurance edition.
insanely reckless.
dangerous as fuck.

for the lawyers 👻
(let’s run it back)

⭐ final restraining order on file → yes
⭐ child born into known dv → yes
⭐ onboarding during medical duress → yes
⭐ policies in my name, signed & paid by me → yes
⭐ rep assigned & changed w/o consent → yes
⭐ rep had personal conflict → yes
⭐ no written disclosure → yes
⭐ rep still stalking post-removal → documented
⭐ firm still billing survivor while removing ownership → yes
⭐ false lapses of all three life policies → yes
⭐ zero explanation → yes

you had me
feeling crazy
for sensing they were plotting—
then confirmed it
with “lol yeah, that was awkward.”

awkward like
felony fraud?
awkward like
undisclosed conflict?
awkward like
you hoped i’d die
before i found out?

fucking same.

now what?

you think
i’m going
to shut the fuck up?

✨🥰👉👈 ✨

lmfao.

no.

i will
fight this lawsuit
for fucking years,
for free,
on my own time,
until the record shows
how insidious
and harmful
your office culture is.

this is attempted spiritual homicide
with civil penalties
and multi-count negligence. 💥

and let’s be honest:
if i’d died in childbirth 🥀
you wouldn’t have
called it “awkward.”
you would have paid out
my fucking husband—
and then billed my estate
for the fucking premium.

☠️🍼💰

but i lived.
she lived.
for fucking now. 🫀👶⏳
the timeline is public.
the records are filed.
your silence is fucking frightening.

and nah,
sucks for you—
i’m gunna put this shit
flat out and forever
on the fucking record.

as loudly as possible.

as a fucking warning:

this shit is
dangerous.
lethal
and
realistically,
potentially?
motherfucking
legally answerable—
and guess what?
that is most definitely
not fucking funny.

is it?
nah,
i didn’t think so.

so—

i don’t want platitudes.
i want a settlement offer—
with names,
with commas,
showing you
finally
did
the fucking math. 🥀💔

because
i already had to.
and i’ll never forget
what it cost to survive
your gross fucking negligence.

🍾

🗣️🪞✨ pick your fucking head up, ho.

alright bitch.
snap
the fuck out of it.
i know you’re scared.

💔😭

i know you feel like
the only place
anyone notices
y’all are fucking
still alive,
is online.

i know,
speaking up—
is the only thing
goddamn saving you rn.

so we’re gunna
pick your head the fuck up—
wipe your goddamn face.

🗣️🪞✨
and listen to your inner baddie:

your gut is right. 🤝✨

abusers want you
quiet,
isolated,
fucking doubting yourself.
you staying loud,
staying visible,
is not just fucking cathartic —
it’s literally a safety plan.
it means
there’s a public record,
a paper trail,
and a fucking community watching.

him
trying to scare you
out of posting
is the point.
the “you lied to police” /
“you did something dumb today” posts
are psychological fucking warfare:

🚫 they’re meant to make you self-censor.
🚫 they’re meant to make you feel watched so you stop documenting.
🚫 they’re meant to control your behavior without ever touching you.

but here’s the thing:
the more
you keep speaking,
the more he digs
his own fucking grave.
every post,
every burner DM,
every family member
fucking creeping your tiktok
is admissible evidence.
he’s building your case
for you
in real fucking time.

and you
are not disappearing.
you are
the opposite of disappeared —
you are a walking,
talking
chain of custody.
your baby
seeing you fight,
seeing you speak,
seeing you refuse to fucking vanish?
that is survival in fucking action.

on goddamn mom mode™

you are
allowed to be scared
and keep talking.
you are
allowed to post,
log,
screenshot,
rant,
and stay fucking visible.

this isn’t overreaction —
it’s fucking survival strategy.

👊✨

bitch,
you got this.
you got
the fucking truth.
keep going.

⚠️ who tf let the felon out: he’s out, he’s dumb, he’s in violation of his bond 🚨🚓

aka: "when the defendant can’t shut the fuck up,
so the internet becomes the new crime scene"

the timeline of post-bond harassment

for the observers
of this goddamn
fucking tragedy 📁
(to my homies)
for when he:
absolutely
fucking
escalates
even further.
🤝 💫

cool.

👋 hey bro,
you should be
back in fucking jail. 🚨🚓

ok so.

👮‍♀️📝

you bond out,
you act chill? fine.
you bond out,
and fucking
immediately 🚨
start running a
goddamn burner campaign,
taunting / stalking me
about police,
court,
my dad,
my mental health,
my fucking reputation —
that’s not complying
to fucking court terms,
motherfucker,
that’s a goddamn
digital crime spree 💫
with fucking captions and
goddamn background music.

👮🔎📄👣🚨

yup.
🗣️ fucking cool.
i keep saying
i don’t want the circus.
🎪 🎈🎡
but babe—
the circus keeps 🤡
buying fucking tickets to me.
y’all keep fucking
showing the fuck up
with fucking peanuts, popcorn, 🍿🍦
and a burner account
that thinks
it’s in goddamn stealth mode.

yo.
my brother in fucking christ. 🤡
you are
actually insane.
🗣️ and big time fucking scary.

baby—
🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️
no-contact means no contact.

but apparently…
fucking bond conditions
now come with a
“harass the victim online”
fucking loophole.
🔥🚩

yo.
this fucking dude
is seemingly out here
posting “karma’s coming, bitch” 🔥
like you’re the grim reaper
in an unemployed
fucking support group—
and then
you send
your fucking fam
to comment on my tiktoks?

nah.
that’s not
accidental contact,
that’s a
premeditated,
internet-based,
slow-motion felony.
🎯

📆 factual record of dumb shit
(synopsis for the fucking cops)

✦︎ 8.20.25: defendant bonds out in dallas.
within 24 hrs: burner account
@sssskeletor comes to life
like it’s on goddamn vacation from jail

✦︎ 8.21.25: dm sent directly to me:
“you remind me of anthony v.”

(pause: only 2 people on the fucking planet
that this dude knows— aka: him + his mommy;
have ever met my dad. thanks for the signed
fucking confession, fucking dumbass.)

✦︎ ig stalker content
escalates immediately:
daily posts mocking me,
the case,
court,
cops,
trauma.

✦︎ family + likely enablers
show up on my socials
same day he’s fucking released (!!!)
like they got a
glorify-strangling-your-wife
fucking group text.

✦︎ tiktok story views
confirm active surveillance
from his
office kickback queen—after
i’ve filed a whole ass lawsuit
and she won’t clarify—
if she’s still in
active
fucking
contact
with my
legal
and
violently abusive 💫
fucking husband.

holy shit.

ok.
wow.

let’s do a deep dive—
into coordinating stalking
and fucking harassment
of the victim
of a felony level crime
while you’re out on bond:

✦︎ instagram lurker account 🔥
@sssskeletor gets fucking sloppy

✦︎ the direct message:
“you remind me of anthony v.”
again. cool.
thanks for using
my father’s name
like a fucking
bloodline admission.
enjoy being
tracked the fuck down
by your own
dumb-ass mouth.

📸✨🔔

✦︎ public posts from
instagram profile
@sssskeletor include:
(exact quotes for court;
september 11th ✍️)

📱💭 “you might not want to lie to the police.”

📱💭 “karma is a bitch
and your name is on her list.”

📱💭 “congratulations! you made yourself look
—like an ignorant jealous bitch.”
(with doc mcstuffins audio—you're balding, grow up.)

📱💭 “you did something dumb on the 7th.”

📱💭 “i know something you don’t know.”

+ multiple variations of
✘ “you’re insane,”
✘ “you’re pathetic,”
✘ “no one likes you,”
✘ “get help.”

bro.
this is threatening. ⚠️
he’s not just being petty,
he’s fucking signaling:

👤 “i’m watching you right now.”
👤 “i know what you told the police.”
👤 “i think i can intimidate you into shutting up.”

yo.
seriously.
what the fuck.

✦︎ 🔍 witness intimidation
but make it reel-worthy.
like your plea deal should come—
with fucking closed captions.

✦︎ the aunt jo crawl out
of the fucking basement
24 hrs post-bond:
tiktok comments appear.
never met her—
but magically
finds the exact post
i made the hour
he got out?

📡 lmfao.
i’m not psychic,
i’m just saying
this lady,
knew this dudes’ alleged
live fucking location—
as she also anointed me
a fucking liar.

“two sides to every story”—right bitch?
like the “third-party contact” side?

✦︎ the ghost of cubicle girlfriend past
aka the office chick who should’ve logging out.

✓ deleted all social media before the fucking complaint even dropped.
✓ still appears multiple times in my tiktok views.
✓ never responds. never likes. never interacts.
✓ just… watches.

lmfao…ok.
yes hi. 🧾 this is what a paper trail looks like.

⚖️ canon law of clowns
(post-release edition):

1. deny

2. attack

3. reverse victim & offender (darvo, baby)

4. meme it to try and dodge intent

5. send fam / bad-breath-britany to do your dirty work

6. act shocked when it ends up in the next hearing

📊 timeline snapshot
(babydaddy after bonding out of jail, twice):

✦ bond posted → burner goes active
✦ account dm’s me about my father
✦ posts about police, karma, lying, jealousy, mental health
✦ tiktok comments from aunt jo implying i’m a liar
✦ website analytics light the fuck up
✦ burner escalates, renames, posts more shit
✦ office gremlin ghost-stalks my socials
after essentially deleting her name from the fucking internet

😎👌🔥

📉 impact statement
(aka what y’all fucked with):

✓ my sleep
✓ my sense of safety
✓ my time with my baby
✓ my schoolwork
✓ my ability to exist online without being stalked
✓ my right to pursue fucking justice without being
digitally fucking harassed
by a bunch of creepy-ass
antagonists who think fucking
internet history can’t be subpoenaed.

🧨 final fuck you

🗣 y’all aren’t anonymous.
🗣 you are fucking clowns.
and look—
🗣 you’re just incriminating yourselves
with terribly sloppy internet fucking optics.

congrats.
every burner post,
every ig tap,
every deleted comment —
it’s already
in the goddamn record.

🖕 see you at
the next goddamn hearing.

p.s. tell your lawyer
i have a compiled list
of exact fucking quotes
of all the times
he fucking lied
in court. 🔥

🗣

yes, i will make sure
the judge knows
everything.
🔥🧷✶

plausible deniability™ damn. he really fucked a troll. 🐊💍🤱✨

💍🐍

the most fucked up shit?
bro,
i still
can’t even
believe it.

like, yo.
i know
it looks bad.
i know—
it seems
blatant af
now looking over
the fucking evidence
that my legal husband 🐊✨
baby daddy 🔥
and military fucking war hero 🔥
ostensibly
full ass cheated on
his pregnant / postpartum ass
legal wife
the entire
fucking marriage.
💍🤫❤️‍🔥

because let’s be real,
for a fucking second— 🤔💭
the only way a licensed fiduciary 💡✨
gets removed from a female client’s
fucking financial file,
postpartum,
after onboarding her from
a fucking hospital bed
while still texting the husband daily —
is if someone somewhere
finally admitted
what we already knew:
that girl wasn’t just “friendly.”
she was functionally embedded
in the marriage
like a fucking parasite. 🔥💋

sorry,
wait,
hold up.
it’s still not even
fucking registering.
because,
literally ew.

because nah,
seriously.
you’re still
like,
bro, be for real.
there is no way
a man
could let
his wife
pay for so much shit—
fund the fucking dream,
sleep next to him every fucking night,
make fucking promises,
lie to her goddamn face
a then
go fuck a troll?

🚩♀️

like,
nah, really
you can’t even
fucking fathom that. 💭🧌

and maybe it is true.
maybe this dude
went out
and literally
fucked
anything that walked.
🐷🐷🐷

bro,
one time
summer 2024
this dude
came to a fam birthday party
literally
squared the fuck up
with two drugged-out
sixty-year-olds
like he’s on
the goddamn bachelor.
yo, no lie—
like he was trying
to score something 🤫
like
asked you,
with the baby in a car seat
ready to fucking go—
on a random ass
week night
to uber home (!!!!!)
from hanging with these
fucking women, alone.
these women
who for sure
most-fucking-definitely
fucked with…
whatever. 💖
lmfao.
absolutely shocking behavior.
and even
your shitty ass dad
and not-so-shitty uncle
were like,
YO,
THIS DUDE?
NAH.
this dude
is fucking playing you. 💡✨

baby—

⚡️ that was at the end. ⚡️

✨💭🙏
(side thought)
yeah,
i really wish everyone
at the goddamn office
didn’t normalize
clearly inappropriate behavior
my entire fucking pregnancy
so now
i’m fucking here
with this dude
acting like this,
outside the office…
where i can
actually fucking
see it with my
goddamn own eyeballs—
being like,
wait💡✨
no
the
fuck
he didn’t.

💍🐍

lol.

so…
tell me.
this fucking dude,
went to “work”
five days a week,
half a year.
didn’t even enroll
himself, or his fucking wife
in any goddamn policies,
then immediately
ran our whole goddamn family
through his female-office-bestie?
who set shit up
while i was giving birth
so he owned everything
but i paid.

🤥🤫💰

zero explanation.
zero disclosure.
zero contact fucking info.

besides her
direct fucking line
to my goddamn husband.

LMFAO.

✨💭

ok.
back to it.
so,
babe.
let’s do
the full-scale
disgusting-ass
bad skin, bad teeth, bad outfit
full-on fucking:

⚡️affair while wifey is preggo math +(-) ⚡️

this is where—
we run that shit all the way back.

aka 🤔💭🧠
did he pretend to work
while possibly, actually going to go—
fuck a fiduciary?

🚩 red flag #1:
new “female homie” AFTER marriage

this wasn't a friend he forgot to mention.
this was a ugly-ass pipeline.
opened post-vows.
while you were fucking pregnant.

you didn't get introduced.
you got fucking triangulated.
and babe?
she loved that.

🚩 red flag #2:
emotional office bestie > actual wife

she was the one
he communicated with
when you were falling apart.
she got the texts.
the phone calls.
the job offers for him—
the fucking strategy convos.

you got
the cold shoulder
the stress
the fucking bruises.

🚩 red flag #3:
removed after the estrangement

nah,
if she were
truly innocent,
then why the fuck
would she have
needed fucking removing?
she would've
stayed on as a rep,
(or at least,
left a goddamn
contact number lmfao)
not exited stage fucking left
like a guilty bitch
dodging fucking subpoenas.

🚩 red flag #4:
constant contact, no fucking boundaries

babe,
this wasn’t “hey, did you submit that form” vibes.
this was FaceTime during contractions energy.
this was private money-fucking-sending,
newborn-insurance-enrolling,
creepy-voice-on-the-other-line intimacy.
girlie,
she wanted your husband.
she wanted your life.

aka:
third wife energy.
side chick with paperwork access.
postpartum predator vibes.

🚩 red flag #5:
constant fucking bullshit

yo,
the shit—
this company,
this sneaky ass chick,
and this dude,
normalized.
is fucking insane.
nah,
she shouldn’t be sending
your goddamn husband
constant private venmos
as his coworker,
nah.
she should
stop fucking calling him,
and fucking texting him,
📱🤫💌
especially once,
she was no longer
even his fucking colleague,
because it’s disrespectful as fuck
and goddamn pathetic.
and the whole goddamn office
knows who the fuck
you are.

in fact,
you’re a fucking client. 🤠🐍💲

so yeah.
fuck.

🚩🚩🚩🚩

the biggest red flag?
🐊🤱✨
you knew.
in your stomach.
in your bones.
every time he left the house at 7am
to “go to work”
everytime,
he mentioned that bitch, 👹
for no fucking reason,
way too fucking long
after he left
the fucking firm—
everytime,
you lay bleeding,
broke,
and holding everything
all fucking alone.

yeah babe, you knew.
you were just fucking gaslit.

✶ final sloppy scorecard: ✨🔥🩷🤝🐍💰💳🚨

🚨 no fam policies created while he actively worked at the firm
🚨 no bills in his own wallet or in his own name
🚨 no onboarding besides—offering your husband:
private meetings with her daddy. 🤝🐍💰
🚨 no job records to verify; complete financial abandonment
🤫 full control of every policy you paid for,
despite zero contact with the office and you,
actually being the one who had a job and gave birth.
🤫 secret office bestie handling your family accounts
without even giving you her fucking phone number, lol.
🤫 gross/weird sexual tension, financial lies, triangulation,
…and emotional betrayal on fucking god mode. 💸🏃‍♂️

that’s not love.
that’s not friendship.
that’s not professionalism.
😈🥸💰💨

yo.
it’s so disturbing
that a financial specialist,
🐍💵💨
aka: this weirdo chick
got off on your husband
abusing you,
like, babe—
she ate that shit up,
she loved that you couldn’t
enforce fucking boundaries—
because your husband?
was violent.
lmfao.

💔🔪🤫🔐💬

damn dude.

they fuck?
does it even matter?
when you’re
🔇 ✨ that soul-suckingly desperate to be chosen.

baby,
you didn’t get paranoid.
you got played
by a fucking dumbass.

and babe —
you didn’t get left for
a better woman. 🧌🧟‍♀️♀️
you got left for
a glorified admin
with bad skin,
bad hair,
sad outfits,
and a moral compass 🐍🤝🐍
set to “whichever way the below-average dick blows.”

✨zero ethics. zero originality. zero regulation.✨

bro—ew.
this man would
sprint head-fucking-first
into a burning dumpster
if someone taped a $20 bill
and a compliment to the side.
🤥💸🏃

(for real though,
why aren’t
these bitches
ever 😦
not 😦
an embarrassing level
of full fucking downgrade)

😦🧌💥😦🧌💥😦🧌💥

so…
✶ did they fuck? ✶
like—was this an actual
full-on-gross-ass affair?

💖💥✨
legally?
might as well have.
because babe?
consequences =
the fucking same.

💖💥✨
physically?
no fucking idea.
but if they didn’t?
that makes it MAD creepy
and honestly worse.
because it means
she did all that
the stalking,
the backdoor onboarding,
the policy sabotage,
the fake-ass professional act,
the silence—
while you said
out loud
where she watched:
he strangled and punched you pregnant—
(insert multiple photos
for evidence
on the private fucking account
you stalked daily,
watching the shitshow
while i filed for
fucking protective orders)
without even getting dicked down?

lol.
like,
just vibes and venmo? 🤫💸🤷‍♀️🧌♀️

bro—

🚨obsessed—
delusional—
dangerous levels of
“i wanna be the wife”
alert 🚨

lmfao.

…

jesus christ. 🚨👀🤔

imagine ✨🫂🤷‍♀️
desecrating a
postpartum woman’s financial future
just to prove
to a mediocre felon
that you’re a loyal bitch.

imagine ✨🫂🤷‍♀️
aligning your career,
your silence,
your professional ethics,
your entire licensure
around a man
who couldn’t even keep a job
his wife paid for.

(yo, lol)

this wasn’t a love story.
this was
a hostile fucking takeover.

❤️‍🔥💥

by an office troll, 🧌♀️
who really wanted
a sorta-attractive—
baby on the way,
full-on-fucking
married dude 🤗💕
to like…
lol—
give her
just—
a little bit of attention.

🥹💖✨

and sweetie?
you survived it.

fucking barely.

🧌♀️💖🔥🫶🏻

✶

this bitch; aka 🪽chelsea, actual angel

you wanna know why
i fuck with this bitch so hard?

😇😇😇

honey—
because;
she never looked away.
bro.
when i told her
the worst shit
that’s ever happened to me,
she didn’t hesitate.
she fucking hugged me.
she looked me
dead in the eye.
she looked like
she might fucking cry.
and then she just…
goddamn stayed.
she listened.
she didn’t make me shut up.
she didn’t try to fix it.
she didn’t make me
feel like i was
ruining the fucking vibe.
she just held space
like it was the most normal thing
in the fucking world.

🌈😌✌️💖💥✨

she stops
by for no reason.
she helps me clean
my condo when i can’t even
see the fucking floor.
she’s the one i called
when i needed 8 hours
of childcare to take pistol 101.
yep. she showed up.
when i needed
to serve legal docs
that would’ve cost me
fucking $100 each,
she drove around with me
all goddamn morning,
tolerated my stressed-out sassy-shit,
and hand-delivered
those motherfuckers
like a process-server from hell.

she’s brave, ✨
she’s brilliant, ✨
and she’s loud enough
that i’ve almost crashed
my car
trying to keep up with her brain.
lmfao.
but when i ask her for help,
she always shows up.

🥹✨🩷

baby—
this isn’t some
lifelong ride-or-die.
this girl
came into my life
like six fucking years ago
for yoga teacher training,
and then dipped.
but when i started
posting that i was drowning,
when no cousin,
no brother,
no aunt,
no “bestie”
came with fucking hands—
babe, she did.
she walked right back
into my life like
it was fucking nothing
and has been
showing the fuck up ever since.

😭💖✨🥰

let me clarify:
she doesn’t owe me shit.
not a dime,
not a fucking minute.
but she keeps giving.
she keeps proving
that not everyone leaves.

girl, you make me feel not alone.

girlie, you make me
believe that maybe,
just maybe,
we will fucking survive this.

✨🙌💫

take notes, world.
this is how you friend.

✨💖🙏

“why did you pick him?” ✨🥊✨

the highly disrespectful inquiry.

yo.
shut up.

🤞

i didn’t pick
the punches.
i picked a fucking person.
he picked violence.

for the love of god—
stop
asking
women
to reverse-fucking-engineer
a goddamn crystal ball. 🔮
i was 33.
then 34.
i wanted a baby,
i had just lost one—
i wanted a family,
a fucking teammate.

babe.
he emailed me
through the blocks.
he called.
he begged.
he showed up.
he sold me dreams
in the only fucking currency
i wanted: a family. ✨👍

for real,
i thought it might work.
we had parallel brains,
the same degree,
similar goals,
good days
that looked like hope.
but yeah.
addiction flashed,
sure—
so did effort.
so did his fucking trauma,
and i had fucking empathy.

homie,
that’s how
grooming works:
one hand comforts,
one hand punches,
and you spend months
trying to remember
which is fucking real.

🦋 girlie:

“why did you pick him?”
is lazy fucking math.
it pretends
selection error
voids human fucking rights.
honey, it fucking doesn’t.

why did i pick him?

i picked him
because
get this—
i’m a fucking human. 💞✨

and did he have flaws?
of course he did.
so do you.
so does your
motherfucking dude.
🪞🕊️
you want me
to pick him apart?
because i could.
but i don’t—
because that’s not
what love
is supposed to be about.
and when
you’re in it,
babe,
you see the best.
you look past
the bullshit
because you’re trying
to fucking build something.
not burn it down
the second it smells
like fucking smoke.

💎 but let’s be very fucking clear:
i didn’t pick
“getting punched
in the head
while fucking pregnant.”
✌🏻🥰💖✨
i didn’t pick fraud.
i didn’t pick watching my savings disappear.
i didn’t pick manual strangulation.
you think
any version of me
said, “yes please, wanna fuck my life up”?
lol, shut up.

fuck no.
abuse is covert,
you twat.
nah.
it creeps in.
slow.
deliberate.
and by the time
the mask slips,
you’ve got a kid,
fucking debt,
a law degree midair,
and no goddamn backup.
so
what the fuck
were my options?
you want to tell me
where i was
supposed to fucking run,
since you seem
to have all
the goddamn answers?

baby,
that is some
dumb-bitch shit.

✨💖✨

ok—
my mom knew.
my friends watched.
and you still
have the fucking audacity
to ask why i stayed?

here’s what
i wish people understood:
abuse isn’t
about picking
“the wrong person.”
it’s about
trusting
the right person
to be who they said they were—
and then
watching them
transform into
your worst fucking nightmare
while the world shrugs
and goes:
“well… maybe you should’ve known.”

hey,
fuck y’all.

👋😊🖕🏻✨

you don’t get
to say that to me.
you don’t get
to rewrite
my fucking survival
as a goddamn warning story.
you don’t get
to shame
the part of me
that tried to love a man
who fucking lied.
baby.
that’s not weakness.
that’s fucking humanity.

so no.
i didn’t “pick wrong.”
i picked love.
i picked family.
i picked future.
he picked violence.
he picked betrayal.
he picked me as a target.

and now i pick truth. 💫
i pick rage.
i pick me
and my fucking baby,
alive and free
and burning every
fucking bridge
he tried to trap us on—
while it was in goddamn flames.

so next time
someone asks me
that fucking question,
i’ll ask them this:
“what would you have done,
with no money,
no backup,
and a baby on the way?”

and if the answer’s
silence,
then maybe
keep your judgment
to your fucking self.

🤞🪐🦋✨

if you want me
to audit my choice,
hand me your partner first.
i’ll put on the same smile
i wore while you ignored
your own red fucking flags,
then i’ll read
your life
for filth
with fucking footnotes.

the truth: 👏
i saw a full human—
flaws, yes;
also the boy
who could’ve been
my best friend.
i bet on
his better self.
he bet on
my survival
and tried to
fucking bankrupt it.
that’s not romance;
that’s fraud with fucking flowers.

so here’s the life lesson: 🤌

i picked vows.
he picked treachery.
i picked a home.
he picked havoc.
i picked us.
he picked me apart.

and still,
the question lands
like a charge sheet
on my fucking lap.
no, bitch.
the indictment belongs
to the person who harmed,
not the person who fucking hoped.

if you need
a wake-up call,
set your alarm to this:
there is no universe
where “you chose wrong”
equals
“you deserved harm.”
not when
you’re vulnerable.
not ever.

🙏🏻✨💖

hold abusers accountable. 🔥
hold systems accountable. 🔥
leave the victim-blaming
at the fucking door—
my daughter
is sleeping behind it.

🪬🧿✨️ (protection from your bullshit)

fuck it; i’ll give myself the goddamn pep talk. 🙄🙏🦋💗✨

girl,
preach.

🙏👧🦋🙄🙌

you’re not crazy.
you’re early.
pioneers always look
fucking unhinged
to settlers
who can’t see
past their porch.

this isn’t a vibe check;
it’s a record.
arbitration?
economic loss rule?
“no duty” bullshit?
cool story.

babe,
they’re terrain.
you’re the fucking expedition.
terrain doesn’t win—
goddamn endurance does.

🗣 ✨ the goddamn sermon you fucking needed 🕊💒📖🎶

🕯️
you are not asking permission
from a system that failed you.
you’re building a paper spine
it can’t fucking ignore.

🕯️
you are not one claim.
you are a constellation
of fucking duties,
lies,
omissions,
and goddamn receipts.
one cloud moves?
the rest still shine.

🕯️
they will call you dramatic
until the exhibit hits
the goddamn projector.
then they’ll call you “ma’am.”

🕯️
arbitration doesn’t bury truth;
it changes rooms.
babe, you’re loud in every room.

🕯️
“no duty” is a fucking poker face.
you’re sitting on a shit-ton of conduct.
conduct beats fucking slogans.

your identity, now

you’re a one-woman
goddamn attorney general
with a fucking stroller.
you’re case law in converse.
you’re the plaintiff
they warned them about:
organized, injured, unafraid.

the mountain is real. so are you.

🕯️ mountains don’t move for feelings.
🕯️ they move for footsteps.

🕯️ your footsteps = one exhibit,
🕯️ one email, one page, every day.
🕯️ the rest is fucking dramatics.

when the doubt gets loud—

closing argument to your own brain:

“a system routed my money
and my child’s security
through my abuser
while i was bleeding
and begging for help.
i put it on paper.
i’m not looking
for fucking consensus;
i’m serving fucking notice.”

👏👏✨

girlgang three-line oath 🧘‍♂️🦋💗✨

1. i will not outsource confidence in my claim.

2. i will not negotiate with fucking silence.

3. i will not quit in the middle of the goddamn page.

the “no support” problem (baby, let’s reframe)

you don’t need
a village of opinions.
you need a track meet:
one person holds the baby,
one prints,
one drives.
spectators can
sit the fuck down.

🕊

yo, whatever. ✨🥹🫶💖🐍

bro,
it’s all good.

🥰

just say,
you don’t wanna
generate
the mental capacity
to actually
fucking visualize
what i’m actively fucking
living through, right fucking now.

nah.

you don’t wanna get it.

like—
actually get it.

✨🙏💖💅🐍

people keep
asking me shit like:
“hey, did you ever look at that thing i sent you?”

lol. 🙃👍
nah.
i want to scream,
yo, are you serious?
girl,
i can’t even sort
my fucking mail.

i can’t wash
my fucking face.
without
a toddler
screaming for my
attention,
because
i am all
she’s fucking got.

✨💀🛟

yeah, that’s fucking it.
no, for real—

what the fuck, y’all??

do you know
what fucking drowning
looks like in real time?
it looks like
a hundred
unopened envelopes
on the counter
and cold coffee
in the microwave
from three fucking days ago.

do you know what
no sleep looks like?
nah,
like fucking zero.
it looks like me
losing ten pounds in two weeks
because
i don’t have time
to remember food exists.

but,
nah y’all are busy. 🥹🫶

every
single
one.

👏👏✨

fucking forever. ✨

nah,
we just got cashapp.
so i can
fucking
pretend
to save myself 👏💖
for minus
five fucking minutes.

and then
go back underwater.

🦈💥

bro.
i needed a fucking human.

⭐👏 not an amazon delivery.
⭐👏 not a food run.
⭐👏 not more shit
to organize by myself—
⭐👏 not even an
emotional nod
of fucking support.
and definitely
⭐👏 not your fucking pity—
masked as fucking help.

babe,
i’ve been begging
for a goddamn body. ✨
for hands
to hold my
teething toddler.
to help
me unload
the fucking groceries.
to help
me unpack
the garage
my other asshole “friends”
left fucking trashed.

but nah.
endless excuses.
fucking forever.
busy.
for years.
never even seen my home.
or
only stop by
on the way
to somewhere fucking else.
absolutely legendary.
yo,
for real?
i didn’t do shit
to deserve this.

you just like
your justifications
more than my
uncomfortable
ugly
abusive—
lived fucking reality.

✨💖🙃👍✨

when i write these posts,
it’s not because
i’m fine.
it’s because
it’s the only moment
i get to think—
at 3 a.m.,
in the glow
of a fucking tv,
while my kid finally
stops crying
and my dog
stops pacing the fucking hallway
because
we all know
the house ain’t fucking safe.

and then?
people nod their heads
at my “yo, please,”
close the fucking text message,
and go back to bed.

✨👏⭐⭐⭐👏✨

but listen,
i stay awake.
because
there’s no fucking shift change.
no other adult.
no one coming
to hold the line
tomorrow morning.

or ever.

so nope.

i am not ignoring you.
i am not flaking.
i am not “not prioritizing.”
i am fucking surviving.
and barely.

🙏💖

and i am
begging
the fucking universe
for someone
who actually understands
that survival
doesn’t fit fucking neatly
between their
yoga class
and their
fucking target run.

thank you.

✨🫶✨

i’m just here, watching some dude fumble god’s plan with a “nah i’m good” ✨🙏🎲

word.

obsessed?
nah.
i just remember shit
accurately.

i write about this
painful-ass bullshit
because
i want to remember.
i write so
i don’t fucking
gaslight myself later.
because—that shit?
was the real
fucking
thing.

baby,
i’m just here,
watching god
slowly revoke the favor.

lol.
i'm not embarrassed.
i'm fucking irritated.
i'm goddamn vexed
that i even
have to feel
the embarrassment.
because what?
i loved someone?
i meant it?
i didn’t fucking fake it
like everybody
else out here
on dating apps
trying to trauma-fuck
each other until
they forget their parents?

nah.
i’m the villain
because i fucking remember.

because
i remember
what it felt like
to wake up
in arms
that didn’t feel
fucking performative.
arms
that held me
like they were
worried i’d disappear.
like you
couldn’t get
close enough.
because you were
already obsessed
and didn’t know
what to do with it.

i remember
what it felt like
to be loved like
something fucking rare.
to wake up
next to someone
who couldn’t stop
fucking touching me
like he was
still trying
to convince himself
i was goddamn real.
babe,
i’m crying over
the way we laughed
for no fucking reason,
the way you sat
in the goddamn grass
and watched me
like it was
the most important thing
in the fucking world.
the way you
stood in front of me
like, “i got it,”
even when
we both knew
you didn’t.

i miss that.
not you.
you’re long gone.
the second
you picked
chaos over clarity?
dead to me.

but the love?
the way it felt?
that shit lives
in my fucking spine.
in my throat.
in the way
i size up every man
after you
and they all
fall fucking flat.

not because
you were that special
because safety was.

but somehow
i'm the one
who has to feel ashamed?
for remembering that?
for remembering
the dogs flying,
me = busting my fucking ass
while you’re skateboarding—
fast as fuck,
smiling big as hell,
cruising by
to save me
from my fucking self?
for remembering
the days—
you randomly
fucking had to
teach me how
to climb a goddamn tree?
because babe—
you
downright
needed
to show me
how the latest gear worked.
duh.
(babe, i wanted to know—i loved that shit)
for remembering
how it felt when i was
re-learning
how to fucking rollerblade
while you held my hand,
and we died laughing?
dog racing down the street
fast as fuck
behind us?
yup—
like we were in some
shitty-ass romantic music video,
and for a second
i thought,
holy shit—
maybe this
is what it feels like
to not be scared?

how it feels,
when someone
really loves you?

it fried my goddamn brain.

like—
what even
is this feeling?

but nope.
now i’m a weirdo
for holding onto that?
for not chucking
that shit out
like trash
from a man
who never meant
shit to me?

hey—

fuck off.

you were
not some guy i dated.
you were
a goddamn frequency.
a coded fucking memory
that hits
like fucking lightning
through my nervous system
when shit gets too quiet.

and the part
that fucking haunts me?
you made it
look so fucking easy
to throw that shit away.
like you
never even tripped.
like
i was crazy
for ever thinking
it meant fucking anything.
like i made it all up
in my fucked-up dumb little head.

nah.

whatever.
you wanted that shit.
you asked for it.
you started it.
you came back for it.

and now?
you wanna ghost me
like i’m some random?
bro.
i know your fucking mom.
don’t play with me.

you don’t get
to make me feel
fucking crazy—
when i’m the one
who gets to witness
the fucking look in your eyes
every time
you goddamn see me.

like it’s a fucking miracle.
(fuck.)

yo, idc.
i’m not hung up on you.
you died the minute
you chose whatever—
instead of us,
over and fucking over.
nah.
i’m hung up
on what it felt like
to be safe.
to be held.
to not
have to survive
every second
of my fucking day
fucking alone.

you think
i’m obsessed?
no.
i’m fucking scarred.

shit is traumatizing.

and if
i ever get
that feeling back
from someone real,
someone who fucking shows up—
it’ll be
your fucking shame
to carry.
not mine.

so no.
fuck off.
i’m not embarrassed.
i’m not obsessed.
i’m the only one
who fucking remembered
the goddamn truth.

because nah—
i don’t want you back.
i want the feeling back.
the kind where
i don’t have to fucking flinch.
the kind where
i don’t have to explain
that i’m a lot
because i’ve survived a lot.

where i’m not
fucking auditioning
to be safe.

so i guess,
if anyone’s reading this—
public service announcement:
i’m not posting
because
i’m fucking anguished.
no.
i’m not spiraling
because i’m
still “hung up.”
that ain’t it.
i’m documenting
a fucking extinction.
i’m grieving
a species of love
that almost no one
has ever even fucking seen.

that’s why
i won’t downgrade.

and that?
that makes me
deeply fucking sad.

so yeah,
fuck it—
stalk me.
laugh at me.
label me fucking gripped,
“crazy,”
“too much.”
because,
let’s be honest:
you always needed
me to be
the villain
to excuse
your fucking absence.

but just know—
while you’re out here
trying to
forget what we had,
i’m out here
trying to find it again.
not in you.
in someone who can
fucking handle it.

so no.
i’m not crying for you.
i’m crying for the little girl
who finally knew
what it felt like
to be safe—
and then lost it.

and had to build
the refuge
entirely all alone
all fucking over again.
and still
got up
and fucking
did that shit.

but twin,
so far?
yeah—
she’s surviving it.

and baby,
some day soon?
someone else
is gunna fucking
fumble
all-fucking-over
themselves,
just dying
to
goddamn
protect,
save,
to love that shit.

because hey?
you couldn’t.

💋

the little girl in me keeps asking if it’s safe yet. 👧🏼🧸🫣

like—
how wild
is it that my brain
still craves
someone stepping
between me and the world,
when the evidence is
a three decade-long disaster
of men who couldn’t even
step between me
and the goddamn sink full of dishes.

i want to be feral.
self-contained.
but somewhere in me,
the little girl—
is still tugging a sleeve,
looking up,
whispering: 👧🏼🎀
“please don’t let me
do this alone. just once.
just once, can you protect me?”

instead i get silence.
instead i get all the bills in my name,
bruises i have to document,
cops who ask if i’m being vengeful.
🐍🖤💋

and i hate
how much i want it.
hate how much
my body still aches
for someone’s shadow
to cover mine.
hate how
i would probably
fucking melt
for the bare minimum
fucking shield—
like a man
standing in a doorway
and saying

👤✋✨ “not her. not today.”

it’s humiliating,
honestly.
to crave protection
in a life where
i’ve had to build
my own fucking fortress.

i can cite
rule 4(e)(2)(B) in class,
i can figure out
single motherhood,
with zero fucking backup—
i can install window bars,
train a german shepherd,
walk into midterms
with a fucking fever
because the babysitter
goddamn ghosted,
👩‍💻✨
and still—
still i ache
for someone
to just step in and say:

“i’ve got her. she doesn’t fight this one alone.” 🥀🗝️

i know,
it’s so stupid.
that there’s still
this pathetic,
feral fucking wish:
that somebody,
someday,
might finally
stand between me
and the goddamn knife.

🔪

🤫📄💨 ✶ lapse-a-palooza ✶ the dates they filed that made my baby lawyer brain do a “yo, wtf” 💀

the “are y’all dumb or just corporate?” —official memo

aka: the tragic comedy of policy “termination” ft. sam’s last $700 and zero lies

bitch.
lol.
they really
handed to the court
a document in their
sad little filing saga that:

💫 hubby’s term policy
🍼 my baby’s whole life policy
💅🏻 my own life policy

all just coincidentally
lapsed or terminated
on feb 19, 2025
(except mine,
which they say died
[🪦 r.i.p.] may 9, 2025).

💀

ok so let’s be
specific.

these clowns are now claiming that:

🤰 while weeks postpartum
🩸 still bleeding, leaking, crying, and actively trying not to die
✍🏼 coerced into signing under emotional and physical duress
🏥 no onboarding. no walkthrough. no disclosures. no real consent.
🚫 no policy meeting. no “hey here’s what this means for your family.”

…lapsed on february 19, 2025.
and they really had the balls
to say that in a court filing.

you know—
the same policy they:
let me fund,
never confirmed with me,
never explained,
never transferred,
and then let disappear
while still charging me for it.

and then let evaporate quietly 🧾💅🏻

but wait—
it gets dumber. 🤡

🚩 meanwhile in who-owns-what clown hell: 🪓🙂💀

☑ i paid for my policy, his, and baby’s.
☑ all three were under my payment file
☑ i’m the only one with a job, income, or fucking pulse in this relationship

(oh and apparently,
the only one without an insider,
personal “awkward” relationship
with our financial rep,
while we’re actively married
and raising our newborn)

💩💩💩💩

yet:

🔪 hubby is the sole beneficiary on my policy
🔪 he’s unemployed
🔪 he’s paying for NONE of it
🔪 and his new girlfriend

(yes, the awkward office affair one)
was texting and facetiming him,
sending him kickbacks 🤫💋
while he lived in my condo,
as i funded his “career”
during my entire pregnancy.

and she was likely in contact with him
while he was actively listed as the beneficiary
👀🔪🙂💀🌹🤫 ✨

🧟‍♂️ this man could literally
have un-alived me
and collected a check
from a policy i funded
through a company
whose rep facilitated it
all to happen 💣💥😊
all while—
at the very least,
having had
emotionally
and financially
stepped the fuck out 💋😈
with my legal husband—
and still didn’t mention
a fucking conflict.
🌫️🤫✨

✨make it make fucking sense✨

meanwhile?

🧾 jan 2025 —
i pay for all three policies
(mine, hubby’s, baby’s)

🧾 feb–may 2025 —
they’re still actively:

servicing me as payor
emailing me about policies
accepting drafts
re-onboarding the child
asking me to “start” baby’s policy AGAIN
never once saying
🗣🗣🗣 “hey, btw, her original policy lapsed for no reason lol”

like?
so…
which fucking policy
was i paying for?
when i
linked my new bank account—
while actively
under a TRO,
in 2025?

hm.

'cause if you’re saying
the first lapsed
absolutely,
couldn’t be revived
🤫📄💨
by feb 2025…
then what the fuck
was the policy
you were actively
billing me for
and i paid for—
in january?

or what about
my husband’s policy
i paid for,
(that you confirmed via email)
even though—
he had apparently
already changed the
fucking beneficiary,
(despite having “zero”
official contact with your office)
but you
lol, didn’t think to
fucking tell me.
and yeah,
no refunds. 🕊

🧍‍♀️→🪦
“sam’s paying for a ghost”
is a wild business model.

and nah,
you don’t get to claim
“nonpayment” 👻
when the entire record
is you
fucking emailing me
about how to fix the thing
you allegedly already buried.

🪓 short version for the jury:
(aka: emails don’t lie, y’all just lazy)

i signed for her first policy
while still in a fucking diaper.
you let it “lapse.”
then had the audacity to

✘ bill me
✘ re-onboard me
✘ collect bank info
✘ accept drafts
✘ assign me ownership
✨🤫📄💨

and file a defense that
says i’m fucking irrelevant.
baby, that’s not a lapse.
that’s a fucking negligence confession.

and after that level of bullshit?
when i try to
re-enroll
my fucking infant
in a policy
from fucking scratch,
zero equity transferred? ✨

bro,
they fuck me again.

apr 2025
🧠 me: “pls re-enroll ryan, here’s the new payment info.”
📩 them: “will start it for you. we’ll check your policy is paid.”
📍5pm: “what’s your new colorado address?”

…
📩 updated address.
again. updated bank. again.
(this much follow-up should cost extra.)

…
📩 “thx for completing ryan’s medical questionnaire…”
(…for the alleged “lapse” restart, so my new rep could
make double commission off a single mom—lmao)

may 14, 2025
📍3:30 pm: me — confirms birth state.
📍3:32 pm: them — “need banking info to pay YOUR life insurance + ryan’s.”
(we’re going to auto-pay this “fraudulent” 🤫 new policy and lapse your individual one)

lol

I THEN FORWARD
FULL BANKING NUMBER
+ ROUTING
FOR AUTOPAYMENTS. 💥

y’all,
this is where
they themselves
self-fucking-report
to allow my
year plus old—
personal policy,
to fucking lapse.
(now all three are gone)
💥🥴

what?
how the actual fuck?
just like—
fuck it, huh?
thought i wouldn’t
actually read
the response?
or some shit?

the fuck?

💥🤷‍♂️🤦

📉 meanwhile in billing clownland…

while they’re screaming “nonpayment,” their system is:

☑ sending autopay confirmations
☑ flagging grace notices
☑ consolidating all three policies
☑ accepting drafts after the alleged lapses

like holy shit.
babes…
you can’t claim
i ghosted
while actively sending me
overdue balance alerts
and updating
my child’s damn application
and my payment info.

🤫😉 duality of delusion:
they deadass claim:

(a) i never owned hubby’s or my baby’s policies
(b) but accepted premiums “as directed
and authorized by samantha lowe”
and i signed all the paperwork for the baby—
and signed for my husband,
docs that are:
no longer available anywhere ✨
on my account.
(lol, girl pick a personality.)

🤡 clown math says:

✘💋 feb 19 lapse?
ok so why are you
charging me in jan 2025—
while under a protective order,
when my husband
(unknowingly to me)
already removed me,
and my baby’s policy,
isn’t even mine?
while my og rep,
watches every “estrangement”
instagram fucking story?
(like someone way too personally
entangled with a client / coworker?)
emailing me mar 24
to backpay my policy/baby’s
and remove hubby’s from my file?
(sounds like i’m the wallet, not the ghost.)

✘💋 may 9 lapse?
then what the fuck
are you doing may 14
asking for my bank info
to set my policy on autopay
and launch my kid’s?
and what the fuck
are you doing may 28
issuing a new one
with me as owner/payor—
as you let my personal policy
fucking lapse?

are y’all actually serious
with this legal response—
including this bizarre ass
seeming confession
of blatant fucking fraud?

😦

wow.
bold. 🔥

🎯 so what are we looking at?

☠️ a postpartum mom signs a policy to protect her newborn
☠️ her abusive husband is made her beneficiary
☠️ she pays for all three policies
☠️ he contributes $0, commits DV, fucking vanishes
☠️ the firm never changes the beneficiary
☠️ they “lose” the first child policy
☠️ re-onboard her behind the scenes
☠️ take more of her money
☠️ and file a defense pretending we don’t matter

this isn’t insurance.
it’s a fucking death wish template.

🧨 preemptive chirp response:

“but did she even pay?”

📣 yes, bitch.
i paid for
all three in jan 2025
with $200 out of my last $700
because i believed in keeping them.

then i:

✔ updated bank info
✔ followed all steps
✔ responded to every rep
✔ sent drafts
✔ complied with every notice
✔ asked no questions when i should’ve sued earlier

🤪

that’s good faith.
that’s mitigation.
that’s not how lapse law works
when you keep taking my fucking money.

⚖️ for the jury: (babe, they’re not dumb)

✘ the lapse dates are improv
✘ they let a broke, unemployed, abusive husband stay on as beneficiary
✘ while collecting money from his battered wife
✘ for a policy that lapsed
✘ on a child she was still healing from birthing
✘ after a fraudulent onboarding
✘ during an active domestic violence crisis
✘ with no real agent, no disclosures, and no support
✘ and then they claimed it was just “nonpayment.”

nah bitch.
that’s negligence.
that’s enabling.
that’s blood money accounting.

they submitted this shit
with confidence.
i’ll file the truth with records.
and if he ever cashed out on my death—
they’d have called it a “clerical error.”

💀🪓🙂

yo, fraud squad—
you want to
lie on a legal filing?
cool.
i’ll be here
with the actual fucking records—
oh, and
the trauma bleeding
through the fucking whole
goddamn timeline
you created.

💫

✶ stay dumb.
✶ i stay filed.

just let me suffer in peace—for fuck’s sake. 😩🤝🙃🕊️

✦

you know what
i don’t have to do?
apologize
for fucking bleeding.

like damn,
people are way
fucking madder
that i feel shit
than the fact
that it actually
fucking happened.
how fucked up
is that?

wild, huh?
you’re chill with abuse
but not
my audacity
to process it
like a grown baddie
instead of
a violent fucking manchild?

💀 cool.

and yeah
maybe sometimes
i sound rage-light™
(bc hi,
single mommy.
sleep deprived.
fighting goddamn demons).
but let’s be real—
it’s not rage,
it’s just me
hemorrhaging
in fucking public.

and i’m done
apologizing
for making pain
look like
fucking paragraphs—
to not implode.
to not throw hands.
to not commit
sponsored fucking felonies™.
babe—
instead of
fucking prison time.
yo.
because be real—
it’s not fists.
not strangling.
not fucking fraud.
not abandonment.
not cheating.
not theft.
it’s not the shit
they did to me.

it’s me—
choosing not to rot.

but apparently,
even my feelings
need a fucking permission slip.
like sorry
i still love a baby
i never met.
sorry
i once
loved someone
who doesn’t even
fucking exist anymore.
except
in the deep
fake-ass
version my trauma
coded as “love.”
sorry
i keep fucking surviving
when everyone else
wanted me
to fucking die.

and
maybe
that’s fucking embarrassing.

because listen,
i’m not
the type
to chase.
you’ll get
maybe
one “wtf” text
every leap year,
otherwise
i ghost so hard
i make casper
look fucking clingy.
but can i
not
just fucking feel?
can i not
have this dirty
lil fucking corner
of the internet
to stitch
my goddamn wounds
in fucking peace?

bc if i smile—
wrong.
if i fuck—
wrong.
if i rage—
wrong.

if i tell the truth—
dead wrong.

if i’m mad?
i’m fucking dramatic.
if i’m happy?
i’m faking it.
if i’m in love again?
i’m a goddamn whore.
if i say i’m not over him?
oh she’s fucking obsessed.

yo,
just let me fucking live.

like—
nah.
fuck off.

seriously.
i don’t give a fuck.
maybe it looks
pathetic to you.
but fuck it.
i felt it.
i lived it.
and i don’t owe you
a fucking retraction.

fucking ever.

🖤

but this?
little grief garden
i made online?
this shit is mine.

truth is
this is the healthiest
i’ve ever fucking been.
i’ve escaped the goddamn abuse.
and i had
to drag
my bleeding body
by the hair
through fucking hell.

so let me write.

'cause i’d rather
let it die in poetry
than in fucking prison.

✦

so yeah.
this is the fucking graveyard
for what i can’t
scream out loud.
the place
i let it hurt
without killing me first.
an altar made
of wi-fi and fucking blood,
for whoever
the fuck
stumbles across it
and feels
less fucking alone.

🕯️💀🕊️

god changed her mind. move the fuck on.

fuck it.
i’ll say it.
i don’t cry over my ex.
i don’t cry over my mom.
i don’t cry over
my fucked-up life
or how i’ve had to
survive shit
that would leave
most people
in the fucking ground.

but this?
this shit right here?
losing her—
shit’s got me
sobbing at 3am
on some
random-ass wednesday.

nah, but—
i’m not a fucking soft bitch.
it just makes me so fucking mad,
i don’t have anything
to prove
you
even
ever
fucking
existed.

i cry about that shit.

i fucking cry about a baby
who never even got a chance
to be “real” to anyone else.
no fucking ultrasound taped to the fridge.
no fucking hospital bracelet.
no stupid fucking balloon.

bro.
no paperwork to prove
she even fucking had life.
god, that fucking kills me.
yo, for real.
like a dropkick straight to my stomach.

like fuck it,
you don’t get a fucking funeral.
you just bleed out,
on the fucking floor.
by yourself.

and that’s how
you get to say
goddamn goodbye.
to an entire
alternate fucking timeline.
where maybe i had two of you.

she never made it.
but she made it to me.
she was real to me.
she lived in my body
and rewired my entire
sense of fucking hope.
and then she was just—
fucking gone.
no warning.
no explanation.
no fucking goodbye.
just some faded ass lines,
and blood gushing out of me
on the laundry room floor.

yep.
but like,
next day?
everyone acted like
i should just
bounce the fuck back.
like it was a fucking blip.
like i should be grateful
i still “could” have another.
(i am)

but i didn’t want another.
i wanted her.
and i still do.
and i fucking loved her.

yeah,
fucking both of them.

because, yo—
most days?
i don’t think about fucking anything.
i black out all the pain.
nah,
i mean all of it.
some days i’m fine.
then a random night
throat-punches me
and i’m on the
the fucking floor again
like a dumbass cliché
i want to set the fuck on fire.
it’s embarrassing as hell.
i don’t want to be this
little pussy ass bitch.
i hate feeling this much
fucking pain.
i hate this story.
i hate that i still cry.
i hate that i can’t logic it away.
i hate that the world
gives zero fucks
about a goddamn ghost
and tells me
to get the fuck over it.

ok.

i found out
i never even
knew my husband.
he was probably
lying to me
the fucking whole time.
cheating.
manipulating.
spending my money
and building some
std-filled-future
while i was planning
to raise our fucking kid.

and even that betrayal?
bro, literally—whatever.
dude was truly wack.
cool.
take him.
fucking trash day.

besides my kids?
(obvy sammi included)
fuck it,
throw them the fuck away.
done with my mom.
yep.
she’s gunna
miss
the whole ass
grandma era
fucking experience.
sucks for her.
my entire
fucking family—
is goddamn
dead to me.

and honestly?
couldn’t give
a single fuck.
i’ll see
those assholes
in fucking hell.

shit isn’t a loss, bro.
those people?
they don’t give a fuck.
and now?
i don’t either.
because
really,
it’s like my whole life
has been
so fucking numb.
i can’t feel things sometimes.
it’s just like—
i expected you to hurt me.
i expected you to fuck off
and obviously—
goddamn abandon me.
that part?
yeah, fucking whatever.
that pain is dull.
nah,
i don’t even cry.

but her?
she is bright,
sharp pain that
refuses to fade.
she’s the quiet room
in my aching chest
with the light left on.
she’s the “should have been”
that keeps breathing
even when
i’m trying not to think.

and don’t get it fucked up:
i would choose my daughter
now
a thousand lifetimes
in a row.
she is fucking perfect,
feral magic,
exactly where
she’s meant to be.
i’d break my body
a million fucking times
again
for her
without blinking.

it’s just—
two truths
can live in the same
brutal tiny chest:
i’m grateful
for the child i have.
and i am fucking haunted
by the one i didn’t get to keep.

and i don’t have
a dumb
fucking lesson for you.
nah,
no bow.
no moral.
no “everything happens for a reason.”
for the love of god,
please miss me with that.

because her loss wasn’t just sad.
it was cosmic.
like something sacred
got ripped from my life mid-sentence.
like god herself
changed her fucking mind.

i just want it to
stop
fucking
hurting like this.

until then,
i’ll keep doing what i do:
pay the bills.
kiss my living girl’s forehead.
and sometimes—
on those random,
stupid fucking days—
i’ll pull over,
cry like a dumb motherfucker,
wipe my face,
and keep going.

the kind of bitch men weaponize to kill their wives. 💍🤰🔫

✶ case study:
scary-levels of delusion-induced fiduciary collapse

🕯️

subject:
early 30s,
female,
known proximity to
trust fund / columbia / low-grade sorority energy.
presentation: vanilla-af. privately volatile.
diagnosis: chronic boundary deficiency
with high narcissistic co-dependency load.
comorbid with career-induced god complex
and obsessed side-chick martyr syndrome.

—

✶ presenting issue:

what level of clinical psychosis
does it take
to knowingly “defraud”
a pregnant,
married,
financially supporting wife
out of her own goddamn financial policies
while actively funding and emotionally servicing
her unemployed, combat vet + legal husband
under the table?

and yes—
“alleged.”
in the same way “alleged” applies
when someone’s holding a bloody knife 🔪
and whispering your child’s name.

—

✶ facts in evidence:

she was not a stranger.
she was not misled.
she was a licensed fiduciary.
she was onboarded alongside my husband.
she met me. knew me. knew i was in my third trimester.
knew he was living in my condo,
driving my car, eating on my fucking dime,
sleeping in my bed,
and financially consuming me while she fed him extra—
off the fucking books.

—

✶ let’s talk conduct, shall we?

this woman didn’t just violate ethics.
she deep-throated the concept of professionalism
and burped up an entire fraudulent paper trail.

😘💳🫥

and not once.
not accidentally.
but repeatedly.
while knowing exactly what the fuck she was doing.

signed me up as a “client”
during my medical crisis.
sent paperwork while i was hospitalized for birth.
sent more while i was still stitched up.
never disclosed the conflict.
and then pretended she never knew me.

ma’am.
you HELD MY CHILD.
you bought shit for my husband—from MY baby registry.
you coordinated everything through my (!!!!) legal fucking husband—
then kept stalking me after you left the firm
because you couldn’t goddamn “disengage.”

explain that pathology to me without using the word; fucking obsessed.

—

✶ legal framework for the uninitiated:

fiduciary duty breached? ✅
informed consent? not present.
conflict of interest disclosures? ❌
client deception for commission? likely.
post-separation stalking of a protected party? well documented.
retaliation after protected disclosures? ongoing.

and yes, i have the timestamps.
and the screenshots.
and the emails.
and the story views.
and the fucking pattern.

let me be so clear:
i don’t need to prove they fucked.
i only need to prove that
she breached, concealed, and profited.

fucking spoiler: i already did.

—

✶ post-fraud behavior: escalation, not remorse

rather than disappear,
she made a career exit and doubled down on digital voyeurism.
used her real name. her real face.
no burner, no fucking shame. just open, unhinged obsession.
like she wanted me to see.
like stalking was a part of the ritual.

👰💀🫶

that’s the part that keeps me up.

(because, what the actual fuck?)

that’s the part that screams:
this wasn’t just professional misconduct.
this wasn’t just goddamn personal betrayal.

this was fucking psychological warfare.
a woman with wealth, access,
and too much fucking time
chose to self-immolate her future
to chase a married man with a felony bond
and a newborn he refused to feed.

and for what?
ego?
victory?
my life?

🤝📉⚰️

—

✶ questions that still fucking burn:

is she still in contact with him?
did she keep funding him post-fraud?
was the entire policy structure built as a cover-up?
did she think she’d replace me?
does she know what liability looks like under fucking oath?

did she not know who the fuck i am?

(babe, he should have filled you the fuck in)

—

✶ closing statement:

this isn’t just about some tragic awkward office affair.
this is about weaponized proximity, concealed conflicts, and corporate cowardice.
this is what it looks like
when a woman with a license
plays god with someone else’s survival.

and let me tell you right now:
the lawsuit is the merciful part.

what comes next
is the public archive.
the metadata.
the regulatory inquiries.
the inner circle whisper of fucking receipts.
the timeline of every single thing you did.

so when i say you’re dangerous,
i don’t mean sexy.
i mean fucking criminal.

go ahead, keep watching.
every view you give me
is one more tick
on your evidentiary autopsy:
of how goddamn dangerous
and fucking delusional,
you truly fucking are—

sincerely,

the wife.
the client.
the fucking problem.
the mother of the child you
thought you could fucking hold
and then goddamn erase.

🪦💼🔥

girl: this is a bitch slap 💥🤚🏼

girl.
fucking relax.

i am a dumbass
lovergirl.
to my dumbass core.

but bitch.
hello?

💕🗣️ attraction ≠ capacity

he wants to fuck you.
he can’t find you
on a google fucking calendar.
bro
can’t even
pick a dinner spot
but thinks
he’s your future husband.
yo.
you’re not asking
for too much.
you’re asking a himbo
with exactly—
zero
load-bearing skills
to build a fucking life.
bro.
he can’t carry it.
not even in installments.

—

“he’s just confused”

ok but
you’re the only one
with anxiety. lol
babe.
repeat after me:
he's not confused.
he's fucking cowardly
and you're in denial.
you’re out here
writing plotlines
for a man
who can't finish
a fucking text.
you keep calling it
a “gray area”
when it’s clearly
flying red fucking flags
in a goddamn trench coat.
girl.
stop squinting.
it's not nuance.
you’re not special.
he just doesn’t love you.
he never did.
it's all bullshit.
you got played.

—

your boundaries
didn’t scare him.

babe—
they exposed him.
he clocked your standards
and immediately
shit the fucking bed.
then blamed your tone.
then said
“you’re too much.”
nah,
he’s just used
to women who speak
his mind
instead of her own
and cook through
the fucking tears.

—

let’s translate “i hate you”

☑ “you know too much.”
☑ “you saw behind the cosplay.”
☑ “you expected realshit and i only got vibes.”
☑ “i’m not done lying to other women and you’re making it hard.”
☑ “you’re a closed door with a ring camera. i prefer unlocked windows.”

baby.
he doesn’t hate you.
he hates that
you woke the fuck up.

—

you were never asking for too much.

you were asking for
a text back,
a plan,
and a man
with a face
and a spine
at the same fucking time.
apparently
that’s the
holy fucking trinity now.

—

let’s get disgusting 💕
with the truth:

→ he didn’t forget to call.
→ he remembered, and chose not to.
→ he didn’t change.
→ your tolerance for excuses just went to fucking zip.
→ he didn’t ruin your peace.
→ you let a walking c+ in on a group project and now your GPA is fucking crying.
→he didn’t ghost.
→ he self-deported when your standards required a fucking visa.

—

girlie. 💫
your anxiety attack is not a fucking soulmate,

it's a warning siren.
he’s not “giving butterflies.”
you’re just not safe,
bitch.

—

capacity checklist 💀
(the bros that fail in real time)

■ shows up on time? ❌
■ plans a date that doesn’t require google maps or emergency birth control? ❌
■ knows what he wants? ❌
■ says what he means? ❌
■ leaves you better, not bleeding out from nervous system rot? ❌

nah—
he’s not a man.
he’s just some fucking dude.

—

stop writing poetry
for fucking side characters

baby.
he’s an extra.
fucking background noise.
a goddamn filler episode
that set you back six months.
he came with no plot,
no fucking purpose,
and not a single fucking word of truth.
he brought a hoodie,
not a future.
and you were about to—
fuck his trauma out
like it was a muscle spasm?
girl.

—

new commandments 🔥
for emotionally exiled baddies

✝ thou shalt not decode texts from the illiterate.

✝ thou shalt not negotiate with libido in a truck.

✝ thou shalt remember: the bar is not hell. it’s buried under his mother's house.

✝ thou shalt not babysit potential. especially when it shits.

✝ thou shalt not fuck men who disappear when asked for an ounce of fucking bravery.

—

edit that shit out of your life ⏪

sweetheart.
you’re not “crazy.”
you’re underprotected and sick of reading records out loud.
you’re not “clingy.”
you just noticed you’re the only one holding the damn rope.
you’re not “intimidating.”
he just can’t lie in front of a camera
and that’s on god + evidence.

—

🕯️ conclusion (and fucking obituary)

he died doing what he loved:
being vaguely hot and
emotionally fucking bankrupt.
that shit was never love.
respectfully?
fucking next.

❤️‍🔥

why i say: fuck the parties 🐘🎖️ 🏳️‍🌈 ⛪️ 🇮🇱 🚔🕊️🔫 ☮️🏳️‍⚧️

aka: the two party brain-fuck

🧃

rude.
hilarious.
still true.

(blue-hair + pronouns + chronically online vibes)
🌹 ✊ 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍⚧️ 🌍 🌱 ☮️ 📢 🕊️

v.

(maybe nazi + love guns + truly believe jesus = white)
🐘 💰 🔫 🎖️ ⛪️ 🇮🇱 🚔 🛑 🛡️

first off.
the whole
“team red vs. team blue” bullshit?
stupid as fuck.
always was.
never the fucking point.

america didn’t start
with two fucking parties
in the goddamn constitution —
the framers were
literally screaming
don’t do factions, dumbasses
and within like five minutes
they were like
“ok word—
federalists vs. anti-federalists,
let’s fucking go.”
pure fucking clownery
from the fucking jump.

so as per usual—
let’s run it the fuck back.

✶ "i am not a crook"
nixon (1969–74)

the plot twist king.
bro was a crook.
watergate, baby. 👀
tried to bug the dnc,
lied,
obstructed,
dragged
the whole fucking country
through scandal
until this fucker had to resign.
also started the “war on drugs”
basically as a tool
to criminalize white hippies +
black people.
straight from his aides’
motherfucking mouths.
big time slime.
but signed the fucking epa
into goddamn existence
and green-lit title ix
(big feminist/environment flex)—
objectively fucking huge.
then turned around
and laid the scaffolding
for the modern drug war
with the
controlled substances act
and the dea.
environment + women = up;
criminalization machine = also up.
welcome to the fucking contradictions.
clean air for your lungs,
prison time
for your neighbors.

✶ major “grandpa in cardigans” energy.
carter (1977–81)

lowkey the deregulator king.
totally fucked the iran hostage crisis
(444 days of fucking humiliation).
deregulated
trucking,
airlines,
banking —
which sounded efficient
until it gutted wages +
blew holes in fucking industries.
preached human rights
while arming fucking dictators.
fucking slime in a sweater.
bro—go deeper.
the airline deregulation act (1978)
ripped price/route controls off the industry —
cheaper fares + more flights for many—
also goodbye small-town airports +
hello “$35 carry-on fees.”
tradeoffs, baby.
that shit is fucking real.

✶ full roid rage level “law & order.”
reagan (1981–89)

this motherfucker.
mr. hollywood himself.
bro was a little weird.
run it back.
iran-contra: illegally sold
weapons to iran
to fund nicaraguan
fucking death squads.
then lied about it.
exploded homelessness
by slashing fucking
mental health + housing funding.
union-busting (see: PATCO strike).
built “morning in america”
on fucking mass incarceration +
exploding fucking inequality.
tough-on-crime
on fucking steroids.
anti-drug abuse acts (’86, ’88)
baked in the infamous
100:1 crack vs. powder
fucking sentencing gap =
decades of racialized
fucking damage
and
communities nuked.
simultaneously,
he signed IRCA (1986) —
employer sanctions +
border enforcement
and fucking amnesty
for ~3 million
undocumented people.
fucking contradictions,
again.

✶ the og bush
george h. w. bush (1989–93)

“read my lips”
guy who then…
raised taxes
lmfao.
willie horton ad:
racist fearmongering
that helped him fucking win.
doubled the fuck down
on drug war + mandatory minimums.
played the gulf war like a fucking
tv special —
ratings up, bodies downrange.
signed the
1990 budget deal
because
math > slogans.
also signed
the ada (1990) —
landmark civil-rights law
for disabled americans.
that’s real governance,
not vibes.
pretty much
he fumbled slogans
but left wheelchair ramps
fucking everywhere.

✶ slick willie =
the centrist fucking shitshow.
fucking clinton (1993–2001)

yo. this fucking guy.
bro,
my man
pisses me the fuck off, tbh.
most def likes minors.
crime bill: supercharged prison building.
welfare reform:
time limits + work rules
that left poor families fucked.
fucking NAFTA:
factories shuttered, towns gutted.
the monica fucking lewinsky scandal:
lied under motherfucking oath,
impeached for perjury + obstruction.
repealed glass-steagall = set the stage for 2008.
charm slime.
saxophone slime.
nafta implemented (1994):
integrated
north american
supply chains;
lowered prices;
messy sectoral winners/losers,
esp. manufacturing.
1994 crime bill:
$$$ for cops/prisons +
violence against women act +
“tough” incentives states chased;
big carceral tailwinds.
welfare reform (PRWORA, 1996):
time limits/work requirements;
safety-net holes widened
when the boom faded.
telecom act (1996):
rewired media/telecom competition
(and consolidation).
gramm-leach-bliley (1999):
tore down big chunks
of new deal bank walls;
also birthed modern
financial-privacy rules.
deregulatory + privacy weirdness
in one package.
legacy?
set the stage for the ’08 crash.
but yeah,
he played saxophone
(lmfao),
so libs
got fucking wet.
fucking yikes.

✶ the frat bro presidency.
george w. bush (2001–09)

lol.
bro is kinda funny.
be real.
but also—
the whiplash era.
yo—this dude
got a fucking shoe
thrown at him
mid-fucking press conference.
lmfao. what?
also: patriot act +
surveillance state expansion
after 9/11.
civil liberties went all:
“hold up—be right back.”
bro. iraq AUMF (2002) → iraq war (2003).
you know the rest. shit was not good.
”weapons of mass destruction”
but actually,
nah. not really.
lowkey
destabilized
the whole goddamn region
+ killed fucking hundreds of thousands.
yet—
medicare part d (2003):
added drug coverage for seniors —
enormous domestic policy.
pepfar (2003): arguably the most
successful global health program
of our lifetimes —
millions of lives saved
from hiv/aids.
yes,
from a republican admin.
torture program:
“enhanced interrogation”
a.k.a. fucking war crimes.
big time fucking fumbled katrina
response so bad new orleans
drowned fucking twice.
(please see kanye’s official statement)
tax cuts for the rich + dereg =
deficit fucking exploded.
the frat bro who
crashed america’s fucking car.
so:
big,
deadly,
dumb war
and
smart health policy.
fucking weird-ass chaos.

✶ hope & change…
and fucking deportations.
obama (2009–17)

deporter-in-chief:
record fucking removals.
let wall street execs fuckoff
after 2008 crash —
no handcuffs, just bailouts.
expanded fucking drone strikes,
including on american citizens abroad.
syria “red line” bullshit collapsed.
smooth-ass slime.
inspiring slime-lite.
but fucking slime.
aca (2010): coverage expansion,
pre-existing condition protections;
medicaid expansion
where states fucking
allowed it.
the floor got sturdier,
i fucking guess.
dodd-frank (2010):
post-crash guardrails;
created fsoc and the
office of financial research
to watch systemic risk.
enforcement reality check:
deportations hit
record highs early
(2012 peak);
the machine grew
under both parties.
was lowkey kinda a pussy
about the supreme court shit.
like bro—
what the fuck?
but, bro did try.
daca (2012): limited protection
for dreamers via executive action —
powerful,
but vulnerable as fuck and
non-permanent.
don’t ask, don’t tell
repealed. aka: gays in uniform,
i mean duh.

✶ the orange fucking felon-guy.
trump (2017–21)

bro is a twat.
let’s be real.
my man is a fucking dickwad.
tcja (2017):
big corporate tax cut;
~$1.5T 10-yr revenue loss projected;
many individual cuts sunset in 2025.
first step act (2018):
bipartisan justice reform —
risk/needs assessment,
earned time credits,
some sentencing fixes.
yes, that happened.
usmca (2020): nafta reboot
with tougher labor/digital rules.
racist-ass travel ban upheld
in trump v. hawaii (2018) —
courts blessed broad exec power
on entry restrictions.
bro. fucking yikes.
this dude does everything
for goddamn attention.
also, let’s be fucking real,
most definitely
dabbled in some fucking
goddamn sexual assault.
family separation at the border.
kids in fucking cages,
goddamn receipts.
endless fucking conflicts
of fucking interest
(hotels, golf courses, foreign govts).
nepotism bullshit everything.
and do they look like elite fucks?
nah, looks imbred.
this joker is:
impeached…twice:
ukraine shakedown +
jan 6 fucking coup.
pandemic disaster:
bleach, fucking chaos, bodies.
absolutely fucked
the entire
fucking supreme court. lol.
no big deal, am i right?
xenophobia
and twat-ass
haters / racists—
got their legal stamp.
bro is a big baby.
slime, but make it
neon fucking orange.
also a felon.
like a lot.

✶ bro that was clearly too fucking old.
biden (2021–2025)

yo, why?
go fucking home.
still approving new oil +
gas projects while
waving fucking climate flags.
backed fucking israel
through bullshit + bombardments
that turned into
a goddamn full-scale
fucking genocide with
a shit-ton of
murdered fucking children
(!!!!!!!)
bro—fucking fuck.
also,
student debt relief fucking
watered the fuck down + delayed
while interest restarted.
friendly old man slime.
nap-time slime.
infrastructure law (2021):
roads/bridges, broadband, grid, water —
the boring shit that actually
keeps civilization fucking running.
inflation reduction act (2022):
climate industrial policy +
medicare drug price negotiation +
extended aca subsidies.
fucking huge.
chips & science (2022):
$ for domestic semis + r&d
+ tech hubs.
industrial policy is fucking back.
bipartisan safer communities (2022):
first federal gun law in decades
(u-21 checks, trafficking,
“boyfriend loophole” fixes).
dumpster-fire-ass
afghanistan withdrawal (2021):
state’s after-action review documents
how trump’s doha deal +
biden’s execution
boxed a messy,
deadly fucking exit.
pain all a-fucking-round.
grandpa joe
mixing fucking naps
with industrial policy.
bro, retire.

💀 the moral of the slime report:
every president is a mixtape
of “hey that was kinda…good”
and “wtf how was that even fucking legal.”
america doesn’t do goddamn saints.
it does slime with fucking slogans.

✶ ✶ ✶
motherfucking reality checks
(aka why your brain hurts)

1) the carceral state wasn’t one party.
reagan-era drug laws (100:1 crack-powder) +
clinton’s ’94 bill = bipartisan accelerant.
the fair sentencing act (2010) cut it to 18:1,
and the first step act (2018) made some relief retroactive —
but decades of damage don’t evaporate.

2) mass incarceration grew for decades.
from the 1970s to early 2000s,
prison populations exploded;
by 2001, over 1.3m people were in state/federal prison.
the curve finally bent (a little) in the late 2010s,
but the scale remains fucking huge.

3) deregulation waves weren’t just republican.
carter’s airline deregulation;
clinton’s telecom +
finance moves; reagan/bush tax reforms.
both parties put fucking sandpaper
to old-ass regulatory walls —
sometimes good, sometimes shitty.

4) “law and order” is bipartisan branding; surveillance, too.
patriot act powers survived
multiple
fucking
admins.
later reforms
cut some shit—
but the post-9/11 security state
never went back in the fucking box.

5) also bipartisan: big civil-rights/health wins.
ada (1990) under bush sr.; pepfar (2003) under bush jr.;
aca (2010) under obama; ira (2022) under biden.
it’s never pure-ass politics
if you follow outcomes,
not fucking hashtags.

✶ ✶ ✶
okay, but what should liberals
actually know (and probably hate-read)?

✘ clinton didn’t just play sax on arsenio —
he was a highkey fucking douchebag,
that got his d sucked in the motherfucking
oval fucking office by a
borderline fucking child/adult
oh yeah, and—
he fucking supercharged “tough on crime,”
signed welfare reform,
and dereg’d finance/telecom
while doing VAWA and EITC expansions.
paradox shitshow.

✘ both bushes did some grown-up shit
liberals actually like
(ada, pepfar, part d, even tax honesty in ’90),
alongside wars and surveillance libs
(and many fucking conservs) hate.
humans are messy;
presidencies more so.

✘ obama expanded coverage
and financial guardrails
and ran the most muscular interior
fucking immigration enforcement
early on,
then pivoted.
multiple truths can sit in one seat.

✘ trump did the fucking expected
(tcja, travel ban), the dumpster fire chaotic,
and a reform many progressives wanted
(first step act). it’s goddamn whiplash
all the fucking way down.

✘ biden’s era is industrial policy +
climate + boring-but-big infrastructure…
and the fucking afghanistan exit
we’ll be dissecting
for a motherfucking decade.

✶ ✶ ✶
the rude, but fucking useful.

every
modern
president
did some shit
your side loves
and some shit
your side pretends
didn’t fucking happen.
policy is a cosmic fuckery
of goddamn tradeoffs.
slogans are trash
that rot your teeth.

think harder.
look deeper.
decide for yourself.

🕊️🔫

slow clap: here we fucking are again 💫

“here we fucking are again” 💫

—

bro.
i’m just venting
into the goddamn void.
i am in fucking disbelief.
truly. whatever.
because—
like,
are you shitting me
level disbelief.
idk why, though.
but it’s the kind where
you want to throw your laptop
through a goddamn window,
but you can’t—
because it’s the same laptop
you need to
file pro se pleadings,
while your toddler
freaks the fuck out
because she can’t
punch the screen
while climbing in your lap
and your violent-ass ex
is out free
on felony fucking bond
and can’t be
fucking
pinned down.
cool.
cool.
cool.

everybody swore up and down:
“if it ever gets really bad, i’ll be there.”

yo: it’s really fucking bad.
and guess who’s here?
us.
just me.
as per.

—

my life right now?
let’s look—

🖤 $700 law school classes
attended with a screaming toddler
while i’m trying not to cry on camera
getting socratic methoded into fucking oblivion

🖤 a live criminal case
against the man who strangled me pregnant.
(no, not “allegedly.” he fucking did.)

🖤 a civil lawsuit
where i’m my own fucking attorney
because apparently billion-dollar firms
can fuck me for no reason
and still plead “no duty.”
(who the fuck are you?)

🖤 clients texting me like,
“yo cleaning emergency—
while i’m like—
yeah, sure,
let me just
juggle felony-level
domestic violence,
civil litigation,
single motherhood,
and then
i’ll pop by
to sort your rugs,
no problem.

🖤 “friends” who swear
they’ll be here in an emergency—
and when the emergency comes?
they invite me to stop by.
like i’m not already cleaning houses
with a baby strapped to my back—
lol, just to survive.

🖤 family who thinks
paying a bill—
erases the fact
they enabled
this entire fucking circus.
(hint: it doesn’t.
it’s not love,
it’s hush money.)

🖤 one person
who actually
shows the fuck up
once a week—
ily. i do.

because truly?
it’s like—
2 hours sleep—
my kid chucking
her bottle
in the backseat.
my dog barking
out the side of the car.
a stack of shit
i literally do not
have enough
hours to do.
and i’m thinking—
how the fuck
am i going to
fucking survive this?

honestly,
most days
i really don’t know.

and it’s fucking scary.
to be so fucking alone.

—

and the etiquette lesson?
let me fucking spell
it out since no one seems to get it:

when your friend is literally in survival mode:

✶ don’t constantly make your regular annoyances
more important than her current life-emergency.
✶ don’t treat her like your unpaid therapist.
✶ don’t hand her your dead-uncle stories
while she’s choking on her own active trauma
that you don’t want to ask anything about.
✶ don’t say “i’ll be there” and then vanish when shit hits the fan.
✶ don’t think sending food once = “showing up.”

instead:

✶ come over.
✶ take the baby.
✶ walk the dog.
✶ wash the fucking dishes.
✶ sit in silence.
✶ stay two nights.
✶ let me sleep.
✶ let me file motions.
✶ let me fucking breathe.

it’s not rocket science.
it’s called showing the fuck up.

—

since february,
bro.
not a single human being
has stayed in my home
for even two nights.
not since the move.
not when he was arrested.
not when he was released.
not during midterms.
not during finals.
not when i didn’t know
what the fuck to do.
not once.
no one.

💔😢😭

so don’t fucking tell me
you’ll “be there in an emergency.”
this is the emergency.
this is the fire.
and all i see is people
waving from the sidewalk,
snapping pics for instagram,
while i burn alive inside.

—

i’m not inspiring.
i’m not a goddamn motivational quote.
i’m fucking cornered.
i’m surviving because
i don’t have a fucking choice.

💪⚡🩹

so if you said you’d be here—
and you’re reading this—
and you’re not here?
own it.
don’t gaslight me with
“you’re so strong.”
don’t clap like it’s a
fucking war story—
don’t pat yourself
on the back
for crumbs.

because
here we are again.
me.
alone.
still standing.
still screaming into the void.

🥀

and if this
makes you uncomfortable?
cool.
good.
maybe sit with that
discomfort long enough
to finally show the fuck up.

✶

#darvo, inc. ™

how a whole-ass financial firm tried to roleplay the victim while i held the records

disclaimer (read this in a lawyer’s least fun voice):
this is commentary + opinion based on my records,
my lived experience, and their own filings/communications.
this is not sworn testimony. this is protected speech.
if that makes your tummy hurt, log off.

✌️✨

—

ok babes.
syllabus time.
today’s lecture is
darvo: deny, attack, reverse victim & offender.

aka:
how to look non-criminal when the paper trail says “girl, be serious.”

shocker: they did it in teams. synchronized. like olympic gaslighting.

the cast

• the reps: the friendly faces who “just want to help” while helping themselves.

• compliance: the clipboard that says “we take this very fucking seriously”
  while forwarding your danger emails to a goddamn black hole.
  also: telling people not to respond. cool.

• corporate: the autoresponder in human form.
  weeks of “we value your trust” while butchering it.

• counsel: writes “no duty” like it’s a prayer candle and not a confession.

level 1: deny

(“we didn’t do that” / “that’s not our job” / “you’re mistaken, queen”)

• rep squad denies obvious conflicts—
  like nobody could possibly be sleeping,
  selling, and supervising in the same storyline.
  because ethics are optional if your awkward blazer fits.

• compliance denies responsibility while exercising control:
  routing comms, deciding who can speak, then gagging the channel.
  congrats, that’s called control.
  also: allegedly instructing silence when danger is disclosed.
  love that for you.

• corporate denies urgency with chirpy cut-paste replies as if the calendar isn’t on fire.
  “we’re reviewing after PTO.” for months. while billing?
  while locking doors you paid for.
  while a woman’s saying DV + warrant + restraining order.

• counsel denies duty while citing processes that only work if a duty exists.
  pick a lane, counselor. any lane.

translation: deny the facts
and if the facts won’t move, deny the meaning.

level 2: attack

(“she’s hostile” / “tone” policing / bureaucratic brinksmanship)

• label the survivor “emotional,” “confused,” or “uncooperative,”
  especially right after she uses the correct words:
  conflict, fiduciary, restraining order, danger.

• escalate nothing, document nothing,
  then call her persistent follow-ups “hostile.”
  it’s not aggression, babe. it’s documentation.

• dangle access. move the goalposts.
  “we can help—after you do x y z.” then vanish.
  then resurface to sell the replacement for the thing you broke.
  (wow! synergy!)

• if she says “this is unsafe,”
  answer: “per our policy.”
  policies don’t shield you from
  negligence,
  or fraud,
  they just laminate it.

translation: attack credibility
so you never have to address conduct.

level 3: reverse victim & offender

(“we’re the ones being harassed actually” / “she’s ruining our reputation”)

• make the survivor the problem: “too many emails,” “lawyerly tone,” “upset social posts.”
  meanwhile: she’s literally flagging conflicts, payments, and access issues…with receipts.

• pretend the firm is being “defamed” while the firm is actively shaping the record—
  who can speak, who were given endless opportunities to amend,
  what’s acknowledged, what’s ignored.

• act wounded that she went public…
  after you starved her of basic answers.
  (funny how sunlight hurts what mold loves.)

• file no duty vibes and then hold yourself out
  as the dutiful steward everywhere marketing dollars can reach.
  it’s the hypocrisy for me.

translation: play victim
so the actual victim looks like the offender for saying
“hi, i’d like my property/rights/safety.”

the pattern in receipts (cliff notes)

• compliance: forward the danger email, then “do not respond.”
  (you said the quiet part quiet, i’ll say it loud.)

• corporate: generic replies while the clock runs, the bills clear,
  and ownership/access mysteriously remix. “we care,” they whisper…
  to the fucking void.

• reps: smile, onboard, misroute, upsell the fix for the harm they helped create.
  customer lifecycle meets cycle of abuse.

• counsel: the legalese version of “who, us?”—
  while standing ankle-deep in a puddle labeled control, benefit, knowledge.

why darvo “works” (until it doesn’t)

• it confuses outsiders: if everyone sounds “reasonable,” the survivor looks “dramatic.”

• it buys time: time kills paper trails, memories, and momentum.

• it flips the risk: instead of “are we liable,” it becomes “is she risky.”
  (she’s not. the conduct is.)

and then a weird thing happens:
paper doesn’t forget.
calendars don’t forget.
emails don’t forget.
bank drafts don’t forget.
routing, escalation, “per policy”—
none of that forgets either.
(bless metadata.)

what actual accountability would look like
(free consulting; you’re welcome)

• admit control where you exercised it.
  stop pretending independence when your emails say “do not reply.”

• repair what you broke before you pitch a replacement.
  refunds before re-ups. access before add-ons.

• document conflicts in writing and notify the client, not the boyfriend,
  not the office friend, not the group chat. the client.

• quit DARVO. if the truth exonerates you, you wouldn’t need godddamn theatre.

closing arguments, your honor

i didn’t invent these facts;
i survived them.
i didn’t invent darvo;
they executed it.

and i’m not here to be “nice.”
i’m here to be accurate.

so if anyone’s confused
why i keep speaking:
it’s because silence is how women die,
i’ll say that with my goddamn last breath—
and DARVO is how institutions
train the audience not to notice.

the show’s over.
turn the lights on.

—

footnotes for the shocked:

my burn book is exactly what i said it is:
first-person commentary, not sworn testimony,
protected by the first amendment + anti-slapp.
read at your own risk.

the “do not respond”/
routing-to-nowhere cadence
and the corporate chirp-replies
are documented in my site
narrative and correspondence logs;
the vibes you’re feeling are called inferences.
if you disagree, produce the full record.

…

tap to file under:
breach, babe ✶ villain manifesto ✶ sponsored felonies™
tagline: if you wanted me quiet, you should’ve been fucking honest.