oops. all facts tho— xox

babe,
the absolute
wildest part
about telling the truth?

…it stays the fucking same.

honey.
it doesn’t matter
how many people
pray i’m fucking lying
so they
don’t have to admit
they’re the side bitch
in someone else’s fucking horror story.

but yeah babe—
maybe it’s messy.
maybe you
don’t get why
i still—
tolerated a man
who
choked me out
while i was pregnant.
but honey—
that’s the thing about abuse:
you don’t always see it
fucking clearly—
while it’s happening,
especially
when
you were trained
to call goddamn chaos
“love.”

and yeah—
i really just remembered,
we were gonna have another baby.
and yes—
we had plans.
lol.
and yes—
right before he spiraled,
fucking relapsed—
shit actually felt…
hopeful.

but babe,
i got into law school instead.
and hey,
he said he was clean.
and yeah,
i really wanted to believe him.

because
of course,
i absolutely
fucking cared.

fucking duh.

i loved watching him
with his…actual daughter.

and
he wasn’t
always
fucking high.
shit.
he was running.
pushing her ass around.

…

(not
looking like
a spun out,
bloated,
punk rock,
fucking drop-out)

—

because
yeah.
that’s the fucked-up part—
you can love someone
and still get
fucking played,
betrayed,
and fucked over.
both things can be true.
and both fucking are.

but i feel
fucking bad
for my daughter.
i wish he never met her.
because to meet her?
and fucking leave her?????

yo.
straight fucking disgusting.
what a
fucking twat
of a human.

…
the messages from
strangers
who had dad’s just leave???
yeah,
they fucking hate those losers.

because yeah,
they’re definitely pieces of shit.

and—

yeah babe.
that’s the core wound,
isn’t it?

because i didn’t
clock the fucking betrayal
because it
never
even
fucking
occurred to me
that someone could
move like that.
like…
seriously,
i was over here
on fucking loyalty mode???
building a fucking family,
risking my body,
covering for his bullshit??
raising his kid,
defending his name
after he hit me???
and meanwhile—
he was out here living like betrayal
is a fucking reflex???
shit,
it’s not just
what he did—
but how easy it was for him
to be a fucking liar.

…

of course
it broke my fucking brain.
because i wouldn’t have done it.
i couldn’t have done it.

nah.

i was too busy
trying to fucking save him—

but shit,
he just needed
a female downgrade,
some molly,
a little blow,
a shot,
below-average looking conspirators,
and
neon fucking body paint.

aka
—not a fucking baby.
definitely not a fucking family.

nah.
a fucking glow stick.

…

but yeah
i know you hate to hear it—
but i ended it.
with that protection order.
because yeah,
babe—he wanted to come home.
and yes.
he was abusive.
sweetie—
i definitely signed the divorce papers.
but…he didn’t want me to.
he wouldn’t sign them.
he left them there.
in the camper—
signed.

and fuck it.
i said,
well shit—
we are a family.
fucking wrong.

so let’s be clear:
he would’ve
filled them out,
…sent that shit…
to my known
fucking address
like…a year ago—
if
all
these desperate
little yayo goblins
weren’t such
embarrassing,
tragic,
awkward replacement options.

but the truth is,
babygirl,
he didn’t leave for you.

nah.

he left because
addiction makes cowards out of men
who were never strong enough
to choose recovery.
over easy lies,
ugly women,
and fast highs.

yikes,
y’all didn’t win.
you volunteered to lose with him.
and now you’re stuck
defending a man
who can’t even defend himself in court.

sweetie,
he sat next to me
at the social security office
on his fucking birthday
so i could take his last name.
he used to whisper about our future.
and whatever the dream?

i’d always say yes.
move?
sure.
the city?
ok.
because the point was…
our fucking family.

duh bitch.

but listen
yeah.
he was an addict.
clearly
still is.
shit—
that’s the
only fucking thing—
the internet can agree on.
because truly bro,
these
bitches
were
straight-up
slutty drug plugs
to a
married,
combat vet
with a fucking brain injury—
L
M
F
A
O

(slow clap)

…
so
fucking
tragic,
they were like—
married???
with a baby???
fucking sign me up.

also.
lol.
here’s some blow.

and then?
babe,
he traded all of it
for the coke,
court orders,
chaos,
and low-tier women
who thought
proximity
to destruction
and addiction
made them special.

(and
who
definitely
wear
their ugly-ass
shoes
inside
on the fucking carpet.

ew.
fucking filthy behavior.
lmfao.)

but here’s the part
that never changes:
i told the truth.
i lived it.
i survived it.
and the only reason
you're still pretending
i didn't
is because if
i did…
you have to admit
you’re not a victim.
you’re a fucking volunteer.

and yes babe,
it’s as pathetic as it looks.

(shit, all of y’all)