✶ this is financial abuse.

let’s run it back.
keep it factual.

before him?
800+ credit score.
paid-off car,
$100 car insurance,
no student loans,
a stacked savings account.
and zero drama.
i was chillin. thriving. soft-launch stable.

then enters broke boy, stage left.
no car.
no income.
just delusions of adequacy

this broke boy with big broke-boy talk:

“i can transfer my GI Bill.”
“three years left.”
“i’ll get you both health insurance. i got you.”

spoiler: he did not “got me.”

but bro.
i believed him.
because i was pregnant, underfed, overworked,
and still dumb enough to think “we” meant both of us.

so i said bet.

i gave him my paid-off vehicle.
we financed another—guess whose name it’s under?
he promised he’d cover it.
because at that point,
he’d contributed exactly $0.00 to anything that mattered.

then he drained my savings.
ran up my credit.
started using my debit like a trust fund.
cashed a $7K refund check and “invested” it
into the abyss of his non-existent career.

this man turned my financial future into a bonfire and lit the match with my last fucking nerve.

then, once i was fully underwater?

“wait… i might not actually be able to transfer the GI bill.”
“you should just take out loans.”

might need to “fill out a form or something.”

oh. word.

you took the car.
ran up my bills.
drained my savings.
fucked my credit.
left me pissed off and financially fucked.
and now you’re outsourcing your failures to me?

bro.

he promised healthcare for me and my kid.
i ended up postpartum, uninsured,
fighting the fkn Marketplace
with a newborn on my lap and a prayer.

but peak deserving of full dick removal surgery?
you wanna know why he bounced?
he dipped the second i said
“nah, i’m not liquidating my IRA
to bail you out of coke-debt van payments
from delulu binge-mistakes with your ex.”

that was his exit cue.
ghosted.
booked that flight.
left every bill still auto-drafting out of my name.
his loans. his phone bill. his mistakes.
all of it.
still draining me.

left me with a $600/month
in car payments for a vehicle i didn’t need
insurance spiked through the fucking roof
'cause babe?
he wrecked that paid-off ride
three months after he got it.
then ghosted like a broke magician
that fucked up the trick.

then this mf’er
refused to report any fucking income—
despite getting a baby income bump
from that god bless america check,
cool babe.

this bitch
owed literal pocket lint in child support
and still said “nah.”
like the whole time—
naaaaah.

venmo’d him for food money once—
he said,
go fuck yourself.

meanwhile?
i’m the one people side-eye.
the single mom “who should’ve planned better.”
who can’t “just budget differently.”
who’s “struggling for no reason.”

nah, babe.
i planned.
he lied.
i worked.
he leeched.

this wasn’t bad luck.
this was financial abuse.
it wasn’t an accident.
it was a violent blueprint.

i said “yes” one too many times
to a man who saw my stability
as his personal fkn bank roll.

this wasn’t a love story.
it was a heist.

this is financial abuse.
and if you're not scared yet—
you haven't seen the receipts.

✶

he didn’t just leave.
he left me holding the entire financial bag.

✶

call it: “how to go broke believing in potential.”

📝 legal disclaimer:
all statements herein may or may not be
based on true events, personal experience, and documented financial records.
any resemblance to your favorite emotionally stunted, financially abusive man is purely intentional.
names may be omitted, but the IRS knows exactly who tf you are.
you owe me money, babe. 💋