petty, highly disrespectful, conspiracy girl vibes 🧘♀️🪨✨🐀✨
✨…🔮...✨
yeah nah fuck the poetic shit.
let’s call it what it is.
🗝✨🐀✨
bro.
half these
dumb
bitches
knew.
🧘♀️🪨✨🤫
they knew my husband
was out here snorting
half the fucking zip code
and raw-dogging
anything
with self-esteem issues and a fucking pulse.
and they fucking loved it.
because watching me
get dragged through hell
made them feel
a little prettier,
more relevant for once
in their fucking lives???
👉🏻🧠👈🏻
yooooo—
wait
what the fuck????
'cause once the shock wears off
and the shame stops
fucking glitching
your nervous system,
you start motherfucking
connecting the goddamn dots
so fast it’s like—
🤫😶🌫😈
“wait. hold the fuck on.
how many people KNEW my husband
was a coked-out, cheating, broke-ass loser
and just.
said.
nothing??”
✨🧘✨
…NOTHING?
☁️😶✨💡
shit.
based on the records—
this wasn’t a secret.
it was community fucking theater.
everyone had a goddamn role—
the coke fairy,
the “just friends” coworkers,
the fake-woke girlboss party girl?!?!
screaming self-care
while sneaking his number
to connect the next fucking bump????
noooooo.
bro.
🗣️ this shit
🗣️...🗣️ ain’t for the weak.
this shit is psychotic.✨
babe,
he wasn’t hiding it.
he was a sloppy,
jaw-grinding fucking mess
with powder on his nose
and a story that changed
every five fucking minutes.
and these clowns
were like “omg he’s so tortured”
bitch
he is not tortured,
he’s
fucking
tweaked.
🕯️🤍✨
they all wanted to see
the bad bitch wife crack.
wanted to watch
me get absolutely fucked—
because shit,
sorry i’m the one who
actually had
fucking goals, savings, teeth.
BESIDES FUCKING PARTYING
STD TESTS
AND GODDAMN DRUGS.
so
they giggled and whispered
and helped him spiral??
like it was some
fucking charity project
for insecure whores?????
🤡🎭💭
and me?
bitch,
paying bills,
thinking i was saving a man.
nah.
i was sponsoring a cokehead circus.
funding their weekend content.
😶...
then the
crash came—
trailer park,
burner phone,
full mugshot energy—
and suddenly nobody
“knew anything.”
yeah fucking right.
every
single
one
of
you
saw it
and did fucking nothing
because you liked the fucking view.
🌙🤫...
shit,
you might have even
hooked up too,
sent some shitty texts,
because listen,
i see it all now.
i’ve ran the dates
over
and over
and it sucks
to realize
you married a fucking
addict
and everyone
took a fucking piss on you
while he lit you the fuck on fire.
like a—
straight fuck you bitch,
stop being
so fucking real
and fucking authentic.
we fucking hate it.
…i got it.
🧠💭👤✨
i ain’t even
mad anymore,
i’m fucking impressed.
that much
group delusion
should qualify
for a fucking tax break.
and what’s better
than a front row seat
to watch
the quirky,
cool,
remarkably-fucking-driven
ethically sound girl,
who naturally gets attention,
for not being a piece of shit,
fucking get gutted
by the crackhead
she married?
bet.
fucking love that shit.
⚙️💭 because here’s the math
…
🧠 textbook “my bestie most def fucked my husband on a coke bender” checklist:
✔️ they had “one night” with vibes + (me?!) and flirtation
✔️ he got her number at the exact moment of relapse
✔️ he stimulant spiraled fucking hard right after
✔️ she ghosted you like you cheated on her
✔️ he stopped sleeping and started fucking scheming
✔️ she went mute during your relocation spiral
✔️ not a single “u ok?” as you literally raised his child alone
✔️ you kept wondering why her absence felt so fucking guilty
omg.
girl.
'cause it was.
🥀
it didn’t come
with a confession.
it came with—
coke lock-jaw,
burner phones,
and your husband hiding in a fucking trailer
while your “homies”
posed fucking innocence
with their goddamn
notifications turned off
and phone face down.
(shit)
and now—
they’re goddamn mute?
lol.
nah.
feels like…guilty.
yo,
i remember who
vanished
when it fucking mattered.
so here’s
the fucking closure,
straight from my fucking chest:
you all played yourselves.
you backed the loser.
you bet
against the bitch
who doesn’t lie, cheat—
or fucking steal,
(never had to) and shit—
who keeps the goddamn lights on.
let me just say,
i know what happened.
i know who sucked,
snorted,
and covered it the fuck up.
and i’m still here—
alive,
louder,
funnier,
un-fucking-bothered—
while every one of you’s stuck
replaying the same crusty night
you thought made you special.
but now makes you
feel like a fucking loser.
rot in the group chat.
