compliance theater presents: my funeral 🥀

i kept calling it ptsd.
war. 🎖️
combat.
the ghost in his eyes.
i kept saying “we’re a family,”
like a fucking zombie under a spell.
because i was
pregnant.
broke.
building a fucking life out
of duct tape
and love
and lies.

bro,
i was moving
the fuck on,
trying to heal.
hoping one day,
he’d rehabilitate.

then—
out of fucking
nowhere,
some random
policy bullshit.

FUCKING bam,
all of a sudden
the question marks
started fucking dangling
like fucking live wires.
this shitty ass firm snickering
“awkward—lol, they were close”
🥂🤡
with no fucking paperwork.
while we’re mid-fucking escape,
and this bitch
is still actively
watching me?
the financial rep
who turned into
a fucking ghost?
the minute i asked
a real fucking question?
policies in his name
while i was in the middle
of a goddamn fucking
murder plot.
my baby was
taking her
first fucking breath
while they slid commissions
across a fucking cubicle desk.

i said it once.
now i’ll say it
so loud it cracks
the fucking glass:

evasion isn’t neutral.
evasion is gasoline.
evasion is fucking dangerous.

you withhold info
from a mark
under murderous-level DV?
you’re not “waiting for fucking legal.”
you’re winding
the fucking spring.
you’re upping the
motherfucking lethality factor
by fucking design.

read the chain.
it’s simple.
it’s ugly.
it’s mathmatical:

i’m pregnant →
he gets worshipped at the firm →
he learns he can roam with no clock +
no salary trail.
i pay all the bills →
they pitch “bonuses later” →
he extracts more from me because “it’s coming, babe.”
co-worker gets “close” →
violence spikes →
she then becomes fiduciary →
rep onboards me while i’m in a hospital gown.
no call to say congrats on the birth →
just signature requests →
just “pay but policy isn’t yours”
while i’m bleeding through fucking pads.
i ask for clarity →
they giggle about a fucking conflict
but disclose fucking nothing.
i post receipts →
she stalks me with her full face →
they still say nothing.
warrant hits →
she’s still watching →
i say “is there a conflict, i’m scared—
this is fucking serious”
they watch my site from corporate IPs →
still nothing.
i file suit → still nothing.
now he’s in cuffs →
i’m packing a go-bag
with a fucking baby
AGAIN.

that’s not “oops.”
that’s systematic behavior.
that’s fucking abusive,
that’s fucking egregious misconduct.

you know what happens
to a survivor when the story
flips from “he’s sick, but we’re a family”
to “oh shit, he was replacing me”?
the safety equation

fucking explodes.

because if it wasn’t
random rage?
if it was a transition plan,
if it was a replacement plan,
then of course he needed us erased.
of course the strangling escalated.
of course the money drained.
of course the policy hustle happened
while i was timing fucking contractions.
of course she “loved my baby”
from behind his locked iPhone—
auditioning for
replacement-mom?
without paying a dime
of fucking child support.

and when
i finally ask
for the most basic,
legally-owed thing—
because
i’m in a fucking
emergency,
alone,
with a fucking baby…
bro, just
clarity—
nah,
you don’t clarify.
you avoid.
you stalk my trauma.
you refresh my website
like it’s fucking netflix.

say it plain:

when you deny
a survivor
who’s still fucking
surviving—
clear legally-fucking
entitled info
about a conflict
you told me fucking exists,
you push her into haze.
haze breeds risk.
risk invites funerals.

my “paranoia”
is just me solving
your fucking equation
faster than you
thought i would.

you want the roadmap? here:

context →
i’m eight, nine months pregnant.
he’s fucking violent.
i’m paying every bill.
you’re pinning medals on him
with fucking buzzwords and sales porn.
you knew or should’ve fucking known.
duty attached.

inflection →
co-worker crosses the line.
then crosses the paperwork.
then crosses state lines in silence.
you green-lit proximity,
then authority,
then fucking access.
foreseeability isn’t a debate;
it’s the first exhibit.

misconduct →
policies all fucked up.
beneficiary musical fucking chairs.
commissions over human fucking life.
that’s breach of fiduciary duty +
negligent supervision +
UDAP/consumer fraud +
unjust enrichment.
and if inducements were lies?
fraud in the inducement,
baby.
print it on letterhead.

cover →
“conflict” as a fucking joke,
never documented.
no recusal letter.
no disclosure.
no fucking audit trail.
ghosting.
📄👻
stalking.
corporate IPs
🕵️‍♀️📍
on my fucking trauma blog.
that’s willful blindness.
that’s spoliation bait.
no paper?
hello adverse inference.
rule 37 will smile
the fuck back.

consequence →
our safety margins collapses.
he was fucking mobile;
i’m visible;
a goddamn baby in my arms.
your silence
tightened the fucking noose.
but-for your stonewalling,
risk drops.
proximate cause walks
in wearing fucking combat boots.

denouement →
you still won’t say recuse.
you still won’t say conflict.
you still won’t say we fucked up.
cool.
i think a jury can.

⚖️🙂

now run the math
you tried to hide:

duty →
you took my money +
my data +
my trust.
fiduciary/agent duties attach.
breach →
you let a “close” co-worker
become my rep mid-DV,
mid-labor,
while signaling nothing.
causation →
silence +
access +
financial tampering =
escalated lethality +
economic harm.
foreseeable as a fucking sunrise.
damages →
hospital wristband,
policy premiums,
lost support,
gutted fucking business,
relocation,
therapy,
the goddamn cost of surviving.

more fucking teeth? fine:

• negligent hiring/retention
  (you platformed the closeness; you kept it there)

• failure to disclose material conflicts
  (per se unfair/deceptive)

• aiding & abetting tortious conduct
  (you knew/should’ve known and still greased the motherfucking wheels)

• iied via reckless disregard
  (you watched a mother under
  lethal fucking DV
  ask for clarity
  and you refreshed my site instead)

• civil conspiracy if the paper trail
  shows coordinated bullshit
  (emails. CRMs. call logs. IP logs.
  beneficiary changes. go pull them.)

and spare me the fucking—
“we were investigating” bullshit
investigation without notice
is evasion when a client’s
in fucking danger.
your “we’ll get back to you” was a weapon.
your non-answers were accelerants.
your commissions were motive.

bro,
fuck all y’all
for pretending
this is administrative.
this is kinetic.
this is body-level.

i’m not catastrophizing;
i’m fucking tallying.
hospital wristband?
tallied.
policies while i’m in recovery?
tallied.
rep disappears when i ask for receipts?
tallied.
corporate reads my site
but can’t send a single conflict letter?
tallied.
warrant pings
exactly where she plays
prestige princess?
tallied.
my door broken
more times than i can count?
fucking goddamn tallied.

you didn’t just mishandle a file.
you architected a reality
where my survival
depended on
blind fucking corners.

i begged for clarity
because clarity is safety.
you offered silence
because silence is control.
control is leverage.
leverage is profit.
profit is the only language
you spoke
while i learned to sleep
with my hand in a fist.

so here’s your translation,
in case the rage obscures it:

your withholding = escalated fucking danger.
your “we’ll get back to you” =
increased odds we
don’t live to read the fucking email.
your representative’s stalking =
confirmation you knew
exactly where i was
while you pretended
you didn’t know anything at all.

i’m still your client.
i’m still breathing.
i’m still fucking here.

and i’m done
pretending
this was a misunderstanding.
it was a mechanism.

you built it.
he used it.
i survived it.
💀✨

now i’m naming it.

now i’m coming for it.

get the fuck ready.

🍿🍿🍿

i was built for this shit.