some of y’all have never been punched in the head while pregnant and it shows. 💔💀

just say it.
you don’t get it.

you don’t get
what it’s really like—
watching someone
you care about
try to fucking kill you.

nah.
you really can’t even
fucking conceptualize it.

unless you fucking lived it.

because that shit
doesn’t make
any logical
fucking sense—
even at the time,
so you rationalize.

you keep your
fucking head down,
and pray
it’ll be over soon.

that maybe
he’ll get better.

so yeah assholes.
keep reading my
bad bitch diary

to legally fight me—
for almost fucking
dying while pregnant
while y’all watched
and fucking giggled.

this is the one
that fucking guts me—
because i wanted
to believe
so fucking badly
he was just fucked up.
just “lost.”
just broken by war
or his dad’s death
or fucking life
or whatever story
made it less fucking
disturbingly brutal. ✨

but no.
the only equation
that actually balances
this fucking shitshow?
the ugliest fucking one.
so here’s the part
i didn’t want to admit.
the most ominous theory—
the dirtiest,
most humiliating fucking possibility:
and it’s exclusively what compels
all that shit
to make any fucking sense—
the missing data point
that
connects
all the fucking dots.

🗡️💔💀

babe, let’s walk it.

✶

the “job” 👻🕴️

five days a week.
eight hours a day.
commute: 55–70 minutes each way, in traffic.
~half a year.

total income?
two. fucking. grand.

bro.
you don’t put in 300+
hours a month
to make less
than minimum fucking wage
and have seemingly
zero fucking clients
to show for that shit.
you don’t work
that much
and not even run
your own wife
through the goddamn
fucking system
until after you quit—
through her.
while i was financially
convulsing
fucking drowning—
waiting for those
fucking commissions,
he kept fucking promising,
pregnant,
cleaning houses,
sick,
paying for licensing,
exams,
thousands for conferences,
gas,
food,
five grand down on a fucking car,
credit cards maxed,
fucking punched in the
goddamn fucking head.
holding it
the fuck down.
yo.
the totaled vehicle?
the IRS refund gone?
the fucking money disappearing
in random ass
cash-fucking-withdrawals?
and what the fuck
did i get back?
babe. nothing.
nada.
not even my child’s
fucking life policy—
just complete fucking
systematic abandonment
in goddamn return.

so babe—
that doesn’t look like a “career.”
that looks like
a fucking extortion conspiracy.
plain and fucking simple.

✶

the money black hole 💳💸🕳️

meanwhile:
credit cards maxed.
cash disappearing.
IRS refund eaten.
him claiming $5k “income”
for the year
when reps are
“averaging” 60–70k.

lol.
in the summer?—
bitch put
”club tabs” on my card.
he’s out,
he’s not yet violent,
he’s already shady af.
but by november?
$800 in cash advances?
babe—
too filthy
to even indicate
the fucking charge?
and he’s strangling me?
where the fuck
do you think
that money went?
sweetie, it didn’t
just fucking vanish.
it was funding something
he couldn’t put on
my fucking debit card.

✶

the behavior arc 😡💥🩸
this is how it escalated:
at first, irritated.
then angry.
then hostile.
then fucking dangerous.

why?
because his double life
was caving the fuck in.
and i was noticing
shit didn’t add up.
money vanishing.
hours not making sense.
“career” going nowhere.
locations turned off.
and he knew.
he knew
he was doing
the kind of grimey shit
that he couldn’t
talk his way out of
anymore.
so instead of confessing,
he tried to fucking
obliterate me.

yo.

that’s not stress.
that’s not “lost soldier” shit.
that’s straight fucking
predator behavior.

✶

lol. the female 🥴📱💌💰
here’s the part
i can’t even wrap
my goddamn head around—
because whether she
ever touched him
or not
doesn’t even fucking matter.
she already crossed
the fucking line.
every fucking time.
private texts? check.
private emotions? check.
private money? check.
private future plans? fucking check.

“come meet my daddy!” 🚨💀

shit.
honestly, i’m shook.
because yo—

that’s a fucking affair.
that’s betrayal.
that’s complicity.

i’ve just been
fighting for my life
for so fucking long,
just white-knuckling
through the abuse,
the bills,
the fucking gaslighting,
the goddamn bruises.
i never stopped
long enough
to stare
at the whole fucking picture.

and now that i do?
fuck. ew.
it’s all there.

✶

and let’s not fucking forget:
the insideous shit.
because yo—
she watched me post
my swollen ass face,
my lip all fucking split,
my head bruised the fuck up—
from while i was pregnant.
and still?
this bitch stayed tapped
the fuck in it.
yo, she suited the fuck up—
she dialed the fucking number,
she chose attention over
human fucking life.
and the office let it ride.

✶

the silence now 🪦💔≈
not after
months of begging.
saying yo—
i’m in crisis,
with that baby
you watched me grow,
so please—
just fill me
the fuck in?
nah.
nope.
nothing.
no correction.
no clarification.
just fucking silence.

and silence = fucking confirmation.

because trust me,
this flaming garbage pile
is despite me
never, ever, ever—
wanting to believe that shit.

because
what sane woman
wants her worst fucking nightmare
to be the only explanation that fits?

yo, homie
quick reality check—
my dude
is the father 🤫
of my only child.

that shit doesn’t just
disappear. ✨

this is not
the fucking plot
i ever dreamed.

not for one
fucking second.

i don’t want this shit.
i want anything
fucking good.
anything
fucking normal.
anything
fucking safe.

damn bro.
like truly—
how could someone
move so fucking shitty?

so yeah.
this is why i’m sick.
because the only explanation
that fits is the one where:
he was never really working.
he was living a double life.
he was emptying my bank accounts,
he was violent as fuck
because he knew
it was indefensible.
and everyone around him
fucking knew,
and they laughed anyway.

for real.
this isn’t just “cheating.”
this is financial destruction.
this is psychological warfare.
this is fucking annihilation.

✨ this is exactly
how women die. ✨

because seriously?

wiki says “an affair
can be solely sexual,
solely physical
or solely emotional–
or a combination of these.”

so let’s be honest,
that’s a fucking affair 💋
that’s betrayal.
that’s company-wide
fucking complicity
while i almost
lost my fucking life
and my baby—
almost never fucking
made it.

and the part
that makes me
want to vomit?
yoooooo.
it all fits too clean.
it explains everything
i couldn’t ever fucking explain.
the missing money.
the energy shifts.
the sudden rage.
the creepy-obsessed colleague.
the career black fucking hole.
the quit timed like
a fucking cover-up.
the way i ended up
broke,
a single mom,
mocked,
and fucking erased.

bro.
i wasn’t just unlucky.
i wasn’t just married
to someone “struggling.”
i was targeted.
played.
intentionally exterminated.
while they fucking laughed.

and the most frightening
fucking part?
i only see it clearly now—
after i’ve sat
in silence with it
long enough.

and that’s why
it’s so terrifying.
because i wanted
to believe
he was broken.
but the truth?
he’s a predator.
and predators don’t stop.
they get dragged
into fucking court.

🩸💀📂