insurance greek life for the terminally mid 🏛️💀

fuck your club, fuck your secrets, fuck your legacy

—

yo, honestly.
every time i check
the receipts
i get a little more
pissed the fuck off. 🔥🧨💥

here’s the thing
about you little
mid-level
wannabe power players:
aka: 🐀📈🧢 🧃

y’all thought 💡—
i was gunna disappear. 🫥
yo—
cuz most wives would have?
that was the plan, right?
god damn. so—
draft me, 😐✨
rob me, 😐✨
laugh about it 😐✨
in your dead little ass
cubicle-boy golf club?
💀
lol.
nah.
i don’t fucking think so.

so let’s really break down the delusion:

what do you get
when you cross
the world’s saddest frat,
a linkedin support group,
and the off-brand
wolf of wall street fucking cosplay?
🏛️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️
these fuckers.
💀💀💀

…
cool, dude.

💀🥇

every guy here?
never pulled a girl
sober in his life. ✨

bro,
the funny thing?
i was never gunna—
shut the fuck up.
lol—
y’all smirking about how
“some wives are so crazy?”
🔪🥲
nah.
y’all really fucked
with the wrong bitch.
🤡🤡🤡
because—
lol. fuck that.
let’s get forensic bitches.

because honestly?
this shit is pathetic.
and fucking disgusting.
and you need
✨ consequences
for your
fucking actions ✨
and i’m a little
fucking angry.
🙃✨

because—for real?
i’m gunna hold
every single one of you
fuckers
accountable
for your huge fucking
fiduciary failures.
🙃💵🔪

—

babe—
what you really built?
a knockoff frat
🏛️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧢
for mediocre-ass people
with inherited money 💰🍼
and weaponized fucking boredom.
all those late-night
strategy sessions—
was that before or after
you split the venmo
for gaslighting a pregnant woman?
it’s a club for
🏆 the never-hot,
🏆 the never-cool,
🏆 the never-interesting,
🏆 the suck-ups,
the never fucking had
one single fucking original thought crew
the ones who peaked at
“sheriff and fucking loser”
not even evil-genius-villains.
just terminally fucking basic.

bro—✨👨‍⚖️

the men?
fuck. like—
pathetic.
🐀📈🧢
the kind of sad
that clings to punk,
like they didn’t grow up
with two parents
and a fucking nanny.
boujie-ass vacations and shit.
my guy—
your only real flex
is running a client-list
with your dad’s name on it.
🧃💼🛴
living proof—
you can buy a linkedin premium
but not a personality.
every “shark” in this office
is a guppy with a vape
and a family lawyer on speed-dial.
jesus fucking christ.
i’m already annoyed. 🧨

the women?
lol.
the most basic bitches ever.
you’re what happens
when pick-me energy goes unchecked
and un-fucking-moisturized.
💅🥴💔
no threat,
no mystery,
just a revolving door
of side characters
trying to get cast as “the cool girl”
in a club no one wants to join.
bad bitch energy?
🤡
lol girl,
it’s giving,
talked shit on her own bestie
to get a boy to like her.
👠👹
ew.
complicit,
jealous,
basic—
always down bad
for the sloppiest men in the room. 🫡
if the glass ceiling ever breaks in here
it’s just gonna fall on you,
like damn—
and you’ll thank the guy who dropped it.
like—wow, thanks babe.

and the culture? 🐍
peak mid.
every happy hour,
a networking event
for the emotionally bankrupt.
every group selfie,
a cry for fucking help.
you brag about “running denver”
but you can’t even run
your own fucking firm.
imagine thinking you’re dangerous
because you upsell whole life
to a fucking teacher’s aide.
bro, no one in the real world—
thinks this shit is cool.
trust me.

what did you actually accomplish?
you engineered a little
trauma circle jerk—
a low-level dating app
for the insurance-mid-tier
desperate type
💋💸🤝
fucking attempted
to bulldoze over
a pregnant woman
who 💅 outmaneuvered you
in every metric but family money.
you truly,
truly— 😈
fucked with the wrong one,
and now you’re gonna eat
your own groupthink bullshit.

i want you to know—
🫵 every dollar,
🫵 every “awkward” coverup,
🫵 every ugly DM,
i’m counting it up.
i want you to see me
do the math,
because every fucking penny
is coming out of
🫵 your trust funds,
🫵 out of your portfolios.
🫵 out of your fucking equity.
💸🏦📉
and i hope you feel it
every time you check your balance
and remember
you can’t expense fucking shame
or liability.

✍️ here’s the part
you should really remember:

babe!
those big brags?
✨💸
the cash,
the petty material crap,
the legacy shit,
the fake status delusion—
you used,
to feel
🙃 above me.
babe, perfect.✨
i’m coming for all of it. 💋

and no babe—
not because i’m a bitch—
nah, not at all.
because after what you did?
you need
a fucking ✨ reality check.
lesson incoming.
penalty fucking due.
i almost died 🖕
LIKE—
TRULY.
because your little mid-ass
insurance wolfpack
needed to feel
fucking relevant.

🖕🖕🖕

let’s cut the fucking shit.

💥 fuck your family.
💥 fuck your frat.
💥 fuck your financial firm.

babe, i’m here for my cut.

i was dead inside before you started.
now i’m just pissed. 😈🙃
and i hope you wake up
every day
with my name
in your fucking nightmares.
👻💅

because—
hey.
y’all?

you sweating?
lol. 🙃
cuz girl.

i’m coming
FOR FUCKING
ALL OF IT.

💋

🏛️💥

✨i’ll testify against myself 💋

🗂️ exhibit a: the part where you think you're gonna find something i haven't already fucking said
💀☕🪦🧃📂👁️

bro ok here—
y’all are petty.
here it is 💋
since some of y’all been
refreshing my site
🎪🤡📸
literally obsessed
scrolling every. fucking. page. 💀
(scared, huh?) 🤡🤡
deadass like you're
billing hours to the devil.
yo. 😵‍💫
let me make it easy.

✨i’ll just testify against myself✨

hi. 💋
yes.
welcome to the trauma files™
i'm your host
the allegedly
unhinged single mom
with a baddie dog,
a fucking chip on my shoulder—
and a full-ass history of
“shit no one should see:
volumes: 1-3485”

you want the
slanderous shit?
girl okay.

🔥 let’s open the fucking vault, babe:

▸ i have a learning disability. 🧃🧠
▸ i grew up in fucking chaos.
like, actual—CPS-where the fuck you at?
level shit. 🥀
▸ i didn’t do drugs.
not because i’m on
some 🙏🏻 mother mary 🙏🏻 shit—
just because i think 😈 men 😈
are fucking predators. 🧌🧌
and they prey on the weak,
and vulnerable. 🦄🌈🕊️
▸ i did get raped in college.
by a homie. 🐲
and guess what?
i still got a fucking vendetta.
▸ i used to have anxiety attacks
on the reg.
shaking and shit.
nervous system overload.
but now i’m way better. ✨
▸ i chain smoke 🚬😮‍💨
so i don’t form other habits.
▸ i bartended
while running two businesses
and trying to go to fucking law school.
👏😐📉
▸ i miscarried the child 🪦
of someone i actually loved.
he died that day too.
i’ll never get over it.
🦄🌈🕊️
▸ then i married
a fucking troll. 🐲

💅 and i still got up
and went to fucking work.

what else…
▸ i got kicked outta law school once.
i’m a slow reader, bro. 💀
and i don’t like to ask for help.
😢🎻
▸ got back in. big yay. (seriously ilysm) ⚖️🦄🌈🕊️💖✨
▸ now i am fucking
busting my 🥵 fucking 🥵 balls 🥵
like my life fucking depends on it.
because it literally fucking does.
▸ i don’t drink.
i don’t…like…go out.
▸ i don’t hit or abuse my kid. 💀👑
▸ i write. so i don’t end up
in fucking jail. 🏛️
from the rage, bro.
from the betrayal.
▸ i curse a lot. lol
i’m from jersey, asshole.

so yeah,
what’s up?
you’re digging for dirt?
open fucking book.

🗂️ exhibit b: hypothetical defenses from people who are wrong for a living
*with annotated fuckery response 🎠🎡🎪🎲🃏🎉

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s unstable, your honor.”
👼 OBJECTION: calls for speculation.
⚖️ RESPONSE: unstable?
babe—i’m functioning under fuckery.
i’m unstable like a
female-run startup:
underfunded,
exhausted,
and still
⭐ outperforming your whole fucking squad. ⭐
babe—i dissociate,
then i outline my legal memo.
cry at 1,
construct the elements of a tort at 2.
baby—
schedule that shit.

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s just trying to get attention with this trauma diary.”
👼 OBJECTION: irrelevant.
⚖️ RESPONSE: yeah. attention from state agencies.
attention from regulators.

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s angry. she’s emotional.” 🐸🐸
👼 OBJECTION: your honor, this is some sexist shit.
⚖️ RESPONSE: no shit i’m emotional.
i’m out here trying to survive
an audacious level of abuse,
betrayal,
and student debt
with a baby.
but go off. 🔥🔥
tell me more about
how crying while filing federal forms
makes me unfit.
lol sure.

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s just bitter because she got left.”
👼 OBJECTION: irrelevant and hysterical.
⚖️ RESPONSE: i filed the complaint.
changed the locks.
requested sole custody.
survived the consequences.

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s trying to ruin reputations.”
👼 OBJECTION: truth is a defense to defamation, babe.
⚖️ RESPONSE: babe—
my whole theory is just screenshots.
i barely have a fucking narrative,
besides—
wtf is this shit????!!

🐲 DEFENSE: “she’s dangerous.”
👼 OBJECTION: again, calls for projection.
⚖️ RESPONSE: nah, never,
only when i have to
fight for my fucking life.

FINAL NOTE TO OPPOSING COUNSEL:
💀💀💀
you want to find some shit?
bitch, go ahead. ⚡
i’ve already archived
my biggest losses
my worst choices
and the darkest shit i’ve survived.
you want to cut my breakdowns
out of context?
go ahead.
you already look like—
huge
fucking
dickheads.
💀💀💀

✨ keep going ✨

lol.
you don’t scare me.
🤡🍿🍦🎪🎈
like
nooooo—
they’re gunna send
👹 threatening paperwork.
to intimidate me.

🔪✨

bet—
i’ll post that shit.
because you got money—
i got people that think i’m funny. 😈
and babe?—
i’ve dodged fists.
y’all have ✨ mean legal threats ✨
with zero lawful teeth.
because—
let’s be fucking real.
you are the fucking villain.

👹👹👹👹

and lol
seriously,
we allllllll fucking know—
(that’s why you’re acting weird)
i’m the only one
with a real claim. ✨

🌈🕊️👸💖✨

and shit—
it’s a
biggie—
babe.

💋

ANTI-SLAPP? MORE LIKE ⋆✴︎ANTI-SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP LAW⋆✴︎⋆

✶

imagine this:
you’re a completely under-resourced,
broke af single mom,
3 AM on your laptop,
BEGGING a billion-dollar
financial firm
to just
loop me the fuck in
on a fucking disclosed
✨ conflict of interest—
involving my money
and safety—
and you know, something
y’all should have already fucking done
wasting my fucking time.
looking up codes,
scanning documents,
because,
babe ✨ the math ain’t mathing ✨
so what do they do?
when i start asking questions?

they gaslight you. 🤡
the ignore you. 🤫

then 💡
while you’re
pleading for fucking help,
you spot some hometown
major insurance-defense firm
crawling every trauma-blog post
you’ve ever written. 👀🏃‍♂️💀

hi y’all!!!
😐👋

babe,
how fucked are they?
yo—
💀 i don’t have a law degree.
girl,
💀 i don’t even have a lawyer.
i’m just typing shit—
truly legally
pissed-off emails at 3 AM.
because y’all are clearing
fucking me. ✨💀💀💀

and i want…
✨help✨

like—is this really what we’re doing 🐲
to vulnerable clients? 🦄🌈🕊️

lol.

but babe—
lemme break it down in coloradobro legal receipts:

• c.r.s. § 13-20-1101–1105 =
  your favorite anti-slapp shield
  when i post about your shitshow ✨

• restatement (third) of agency §§ 8.01–8.03 =
  you had a fiduciary duty, you shit the bed ✨

• c.r.s. § 6-1-105(1)(e),(u) =
  unlawful misrepresentations in insurance admin,
  checkmate bitch ✨

little man—
let me repeat,
i am not the villain here.
i’m the fucking victim.
😢🎻
😢🎻

i know,
wah
wah
wah
sad violin. 🎻

but babe—
are you fucking serious?

you’re a multi-billion dollar firm. 💀
gaslighting a client? 💀
because you,
fucked up? 💀🪦

how does this play with the jury? 🤔

babe—
🚩🚩
optics are TERRIBLE.

so go ahead—
threaten me with more
customer service holds.
with law firms that
cost more than
a semester of my tuition. 💸💸
like, damn homie,
you could have just
sent that cash to us?
lol.
since we’re all like—
impoverished and shit,
but go off.
file your “cease and desist.”
but babe?
should i go pro se?

🔥🔥 think of the headline:

👼 single mom, dv victim, trusting client.
pro se
(⚖️🦄🌈🕊️💖✨)

v.

🐲 giant insurance conglomerate.
w. legal trolls.
(⚖️🧌🤑💸🎪🃏)

(L O L) ⚔️

…

babe,
let’s go!!!
🎉

but can’t i like—
special-motion-dismiss
your fucking lame ass
under c.r.s. § 13-20-1102 ??
while you pay my fees (§ 1104)
???

lol. damn.
sucks when they can read statutes.
am i right?

my dudes—
remember?

this is you:

off-channel comms +
insider affair +
pregnant-dv warrant =
your new compliance crisis 🎉

babe,
you really
fucked with
the one woman
who had nothing to lose
and everything to gain
(and access to multiple law libraries)
by saying
YO WTF (?!)
out loud.

BABE—
i’m ready. 💅

are y’all?

because, clearly:

$16.5 M fine wasn’t enough?
here’s round two:
legal and public
come-to-jesus-moment

peace out,
you played yourselves boys. 😘

✶

COLORADO ANTI-SLAPP SHIELD

• ⚖️ C.R.S. § 13-20-1101: my blog & socials = protected “public expression.”

• ⚖️ § 13-20-1102: file special motion to dismiss if sued—bam, gone.

• ⚖️ § 13-20-1103: automatic stay of discovery = no bullshit demands.

• ⚖️ § 13-20-1104: fee-shifting = they pay legal fees. LOL.

• ⚖️ § 13-20-1105: they must prove i lied with reckless disregard—HAHA, good luck.

compliance horror stories, vol. 3: ✶ bro, from texting? → $16.5M 🤯💸

aka: “wait… for what???” 💸

classification: ☠️ regulatory humiliation · corporate fratboy energy · fucking divine justice
offender code: ✶ firm-who-shall-not-be-named

damn, kings
frat-boy-level-lack-of-supervision,
am i right? 💸🤑💰

noooOooOoOooo
stop.
shut the actual fuck up.

babe.
these full-ass
fucking fiduciaries— 🤑🎪
got caught… 💬 texting
for sixteen million dollars.
(!!!)

💀👑

like—what??
yo?
like 3 seconds ago??
seriously?
hold up.
wait.

it’s too fucking stupid.

like—
not me deep in my
lil ✨life is a crime scene✨ era
and finding out…

2024…
some legacy financial firm
with corny white-boy headshots
and really shitty taste in men…

got absolutely
body slammed 💪
by the SEC for—
wait for it…
💅 texting on the wrong phone.

like... that was the crime.

🧾 “recordkeeping failures”
💬 “off-channel communications”
🙈 “failed supervision”
📵 “employees using personal phones
to talk about money shit
they were supposed to be tracking”

yo.
are you
fucking serious?

🤯🤯
🤯🤯
🤯🤯

so like,
babe—
is this your thing?

just like—give no fucks?

even after that fine?
babe—the…highest?
$16.5 MILLION.
with an m.
for... not saving texts.
and shit?

LMFAO. 💀

and not just any firm.
no no no.
not just one.
three matching frat bro subsidiaries
in matching little fuckboi blue blazers.
🏌️🏌️🏌️
fucking around.
like triplets of incompetence.

💀🪦

bro—so,
they admitted it.
they paid that shit.
and then they swore they’d like…
totally try harder next time.
L O L

🤝🕊️💀

(i’m SCREAMING)

baby…
they weren’t just messy af.
they were group chat guilty.
like
🧠 “yeah let’s do wealth management”
💅 “but make it ✨undocumented✨”

meanwhile.
me?
🚩 flagging emails
🚩 begging compliance to stop fucking around
🚩 sending literal venmo screenshots
like… yo… you see this?

LMFAO.
how did you let this happen…
again
immediately (?!)

like—
bro, the timeline?

SAME TIME
YOU’RE IN COURT LIKE
“lol—yo, we are truly so sorry 🥺👉👈
we swear… never again.”

bro—you just had to babysit
your own fucking
fully-developed-adults.
🤡🤑🎪

but naaaahh.

PINGPINGPING $$$
my rep? =
⚡ venmo’s
⚡ facetimes
⚡ personal texts

seriously, wtf is this?

✨ corporate accountability
never looked so stupid.

so…?
lol undisclosed
“hey” 💰⚡ → $16.5M

ok.

🗣📢
🗣📢
🗣📢

👇
yo—
SEC,
come get ‘em—
babe.
this financial frat
🥇 learned absolutely fucking nothing.

compliance horror stories, vol. 2: ✶ google, “what is detrimental reliance?” 🤝🕊️

✶

yo,
💸💸💸
the absolute
most savage,
brutal,
and ironic part—
is that, lol
i came in peace.

🫱😐🕊️

really.
i wanted to build something.

i didn’t roll in
with some class-action attitude.
i was just a dumbass
who actually believed
in your “family” vibes,
your leadership pep talks,
and all that
legacy-building propaganda. 📈🪄

like, imagine this:
i fully liquidate my entire life—
school savings,
rainy day fund,
actual car (paid off, thanks)—
🚗💀🤡
co-signed another i couldn’t afford,
based on the dream—
because your team
swore up and down that
this was a
✨ safe financial decision.
and honestly?
i bought it. 🤡
i let my then-partner
chase his finance bro fantasies
with your “guidance,”
while i cleaned houses pregnant
and told myself,
“this is what building
generational stability looks like, babe.”
lmao.
i gave him my fucking car
so he could drive to your office
to “network” and “grow his book.”
(it’s fine, he totaled it. i only cried, like, once.)

i disclosed every personal
and financial detail—
my income,
my liabilities,
my health details,
my abuse history,
my actual mental state—
because your people
said that’s what family does.
i sat through the meetings,
shook hands,
smiled at the wives,
and straight-up trusted every word.

and bro.
seriously.
let’s not forget—
i literally turned my own life
into free fucking advertising for you.
i opened up my phone,
scrolled through
every contact,
handed him
hundreds of names—
family,
friends,
randoms—
so he could pitch
your values and loyalty
and sell those policies.
i vouched for y’all.
i posted about it,
talked about it,
tried to get the people i love
to trust your institution
the way i did.

i told my own community,
“they’re different.
this is safe.
they look out for you.”
🌈🕊️💖✨

shit: biggest lie i’ve ever told. 💀🪦

after all that?
after literally
going full on
fucking walking billboard,
sacrificing my dignity
for the cause,
bro—
i get erased.
paying for shit,
but removed as beneficiary?
taken off as owner?
when i’m the…
only parent?
and then fucking gaslit?
👏👏👏👏

bro.
wtf.

🤯

this is
like…a
billion
dollar
firm
(?!?!?)

💸🧟‍♀️
🤯🤯

🚨 why are you fucking with an active dv survivor????? 🚨

no, but really—
a single mom
with like $12
and only
a will to survive?
🧃🤯💳📉💀

when my own people
asked what happened?
when i couldn’t explain
why i’d been erased 🫥🤝
off my daughter’s policy,
the one my partner abandoned—
never paid a dime of support—
🚩🚩
(besides 1x ever,
when i mentioned my…
financial rep….
??!??!?!?!???
no really.)
🚩🚩
when i got zero notice,
i had nothing but silence,
a fuck ton of embarrassment—
and a hell of a lot of regret.

but wait—
could it get worse?

when the money ran dry
and my husband was actively
draining my credit cards
while i was literally
putting together
dollar-store-christmas-gifts
🧑‍🎄🧑‍🎄🧑‍🎄
for your squad,
i still didn’t question it.
i just kept showing up.
i kept trusting you.
is that…like…
detrimental reliance,
like…
something like that
right? 😐😐

truly—
broke,
single mom—
help me figure it out. 🧃🧃
you know,
just in case
anyone’s looking
to cite a tort.
(!!)

then the true
👑 “lol fuck you”—
the rep i thought was safe,
🚩🚩
my own financial girlie—
who,
let’s be honest,
was way too cozy
with my legal-other-half,
gets assigned to me,
🙃🙃🙃🙃
days before i give birth.
and do i flip out?
nah.
i let her in my home,
i let her hold my baby,
🙃
i try to fucking transfer
my last scrap
of an IRA to her.
🙃
(!!!!!!!!!)
like,
that’s how much
i trusted your “culture.” lol.

even as i’m broke, 🚩
literally fucking battered, 🚩
on food stamps, 🚩
escaping cross-country, 🚩
because my life’s
gone full house fire—
🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩
even then,
i still don’t lose it on y’all.

i kept it professional.
i kept it friendly.
i still trusted you.

🫠💀💀

i literally
reach out for help.
i tell you the truth:
i can’t access
my own kid’s policy,
we’re not safe,
he’s a fucking disaster,
and we’re both at high risk.

and suddenly?
your answer
is to label me “hostile.”
not, “damn, what actually happened here?”
not, “how can we protect you”
not, “maybe we should audit how much we let the boys’ club run wild.”
💀💀💀

nah.
just hostile.
so now
i’m left in ruins,
my whole fucking future
torched because i believed—
not just in the policies,
but in the people,
the whole institution. 💫

that’s the biggest bit of bullshit.
the only “wealth” i built
was in trauma
and betrayal during
an outright fucking emergency.
🙏

thanks for the memories.
congrats,
you played me.
now it’s just—
what?
💸 case law legacy shit?
💸 customer service holds?

i’ll let you know,
when i get a
single fucking second
to surface for air—
until then,
i’ll be over here
googling “what is
promissory estoppel?”
and doing math
on how to pay my electric bill.

💔

🤝🕊️

compliance horror stories, vol. 1: documented, dated, dumb as hell

(ok but like… was that your job? or were you just vibing?)

💡 disclaimer:
nothing here is intended as a statement of fact—
this is my interpretation of documents and circumstances.

✶

nah,
i’m not accusing anyone 🙃
just reviewing some events

let’s say—hypothetically—
if someone calling themselves
a financial professional
was allegedly sending cash
to your domestically violent co-parent
she’s your advisor—
but she’s
facetiming,
texting,
lol vibing 💀
✨ constantly ✨
with your shittier-legal-half
babe like—
during the onboarding process
for your newborn’s
life insurance policy—
while you were pregnant,
recently postpartum,
actively getting your ass beat,
and paying every fucking bill—
👏😐

she’s like
DING— 💸
ding. 💸
ding. 💸
babe,
i sent some cash!
not to you though
lol
to your man!
”professionally”
like a kick-back?
like a bestie energy.
🙃👍

you might be like:
“hey bestie, what the fuck is this?”

but like—
silly
i couldn’t ask
babe
never once
saw his phone.
girl—lol
he was kicking the
living shit out of me.
sweetie, i was
closer to slaughter—
every time i got closer to a secret.
🤫👀

must have been peaceful,
undisturbed.
bitch, tranquil?
right? like—
she’s never gunna know.
🤫🤭
ok. bet.

🏆

that’s why
💡
the closer y’all
alledegly got—
the fucking closer
i got to a fucking bodybag.

allegedly!!!!!! ✨
🤫🔪

now let’s say—again,
purely hypothetically—
that same rep
quietly removed herself
from your policy file
the moment you went
no-contact
with the man
she’d been allegedly ✨
ping
ping
PINGING.

heh.
hmmmmmmmmm.

but babe?
allegedly ✨
no formal transfer.
no internal disclosure.
no “hey girl, lol.
i’m recusing myself
from this
blatant conflict of interest”
🤷‍♀️💀

but yo—
they’re still
stalking your stories
from their main profile? 🔥
bold babe.

like even mid—
dv crisis??
when i locked that shit down,
whole ass account.
full ghost mode.
for safety?
but you 👀👀👀
+
awkward relationship
with my abuser?
lurking my private disclosures?
👀👀
without disclosing
the conflict of interest?
damn babe.
shit’s rough.

like—lawfully rough.

bro.
that’s not compliance.
that’s:
potentially…
💡
a fucking breach
meets
terrible life choices. 💳👻

🧾 the receipts (allegedly, according to what exists)

👏 i was told to fill out and fund everything
👏 postpartum, broke, then under a restraining order
👏 advisor was venmo’ing the boo off the books
👏 they called each other “sheriff” and “deputy” 🤠💌
👏 removed despite—surprise! i’m the custodial parent
👏 months later, i’m straight-up locked out
👏 when i finally got someone on zoom:
“oh, she recused herself. it got awkward.”
awkward like…
financially intertwined with
my ✨abusive spouse✨
while…potentially…
facilitating a policy
under false pretenses?

🌈🕊️👸💖✨
(shit—princess,
that seems like a
✨fucking disaster.✨)

– meanwhile, 💡
are you still up in my views?
without even outing yourself
as the financial fucking op?

BABE—
breach?
breach?
breach.
👏

(maybe)

🤔 what it “feels” like:

potentially…
✨ conflict of interest x100
✨ breach of duty plus nepotism vibes
✨ failure to act in client’s best interest
✨ retaliatory access removal
✨ possible coordinated fraud if we’re being spicy 🔥✨

allegedly. allegedly. allegedly.
right? 💀

yo—
you (potentially?)
knew what you were doing
you just chose vibes over ethics.
(you…probably…fucking deserve this.)
🫶📈✨

because babe?
it’s not for policy reasons.
but for personal proximity.
absolute trash-levels of disloyalty.
and maybe…a little crush.
who knows. 💀✨

lol.

congrats.
babe—you unlocked:
peak liability. 💳📉👻
(allegedly?)

🥀 what y’all forgot:

lol girl—
what i do know?
i’m organized af.
i have y’all’s supervisors cc’ed.
logged every fucking email.
kept monstrous-looking screenshots.
recorded whole-ass timelines.
saved those “breachy-af” venmos.
babe—like 50 pages.
(!!!)
shit.
and conceivably…
a fed. complaint #??
💀💀💀

fuck, right?
💀💀💀
💀💀💀
💀💀💀

yooooo—i know how it feels.

but hey,
honey—
you’re the star! ✨

sweetie—
you didn’t give a shit,
when i got fucked.
so when this dumpster fire
absolutely hits the fucking fan, ✨✨
and you thought,
no—she’ll never!
i want to be able to
point right here and say—
“lol. told you. babe. i really would.”

hey,
remember—
i tried to be cool.

you miscalculated my kindness
for weakness, girlie.
✨✨

bad move.
really bad move.

💬 legally unnecessary disclaimer:

if you feel personally attacked by this post,
i recommend three steps:

1. screenshot it for your legal team 🖨️

2. legal team reviews;
   visually giving “extremely distressed.” 💀

3. shit your pants hun, because—
   damn, y’all fucked up 🫠

✨✨ (allegedly)

✶

p.s.

btw;
what did those codes say…
🚨🚔🚨🚔🚨??

hmmmmm…
like
not tx…
not ga…
not co….
not. nj…

not fucking alabama..

??!

babe!
you see it?!

damn,.
(maybe?)
hope not,
i mean yikes dude—
terrible optics.

like—
🚨 aggravated strangulation of a pregnant woman—optics.

shit!
💀💀

good thing—
you would never, right?

but if you did—
did you disclose that?

🧚‍♀️ fairy tales for people who innately trust cops 🌈🕊️🫶

✶

i just genuinely
wanna know
what kind of
delusional fairytale bullshit 🧚‍♀️
y’all think
i’ve been living through.

like—
do i look like someone
who thinks the system works?
do i give “hopeful?”
do i radiate
“naïve survivor energy?”
🌈🕊️🫶💖
babe.
i’ve been knowing
the game was rigged
since before
i had fucking adult teeth.

i didn’t miss the memo.
i was proofed in it.
shit—
they handed it to me
in crayon. 🧃🧸

you think
i don’t get that
no one gives a fuck what i feel?
what i say?
lol girl—
i learned early.
✨ no one cares ✨
unless you can prove it.
and even then,
they’ll squint at the proof
and still tell you
“hmm. idk. sounds personal.”

bro.
it was one of my
earliest memories—
dialing 911 🚔
because someone had to.
📣🧍‍♀️📞📞📞📞
they came.
they left.
they came.
they left.
neighbors called.
bro,
friends’ parents literally
dialed 911
while i was on the phone.
and still—nothing.
📞🚨🚔💨
yo.
one time?
i told them
he said he’d kill me. 🔪✨
they told me to
“listen to my father.” 💀
i shit you not.
like that was the threat.
💀💀

the only time
they ultimately did anything
was when he
put his hands on a cop.
lol.
not the women and children.
nah.
us, they lol’ed.
him?
he bruised
a fucking badge. 💀🪦
then they suddenly
discovered arrest warrants.

🚔👏🙄

same shit,
different day.
i reported my rape.
they couldn’t
find his number,
LOL
so i had to fucking
phone-a-friend
like i was on some
fucked up episode of
who wants to be a millionaire:
sexual trauma edition.
called him.
put him on speaker.
made me read the script.
admitted he knew i was too drunk.
admitted it felt wrong.
admitted seemingly enough. ✨
but lol no.
they looked at me and went:
“damn. tragic. anyway—
can’t press charges.”
😐👮‍♂️👋
shit—
awkward, you just
called him up,
like—
after a decade.
can’t help though.
✨ lol sorry. ✨

and when i tried
to get someone
dangerous out of my life?
same thing.
walked into the pd like
a dumbass bitch 💫
with actual evidence in hand.
they were like
“sure sure, we’ll file this.”
jk: they didn’t.
called two days later—
no record.
legendary performance. ✨

👏 boys 👏 in 👏 blue 👏

bro—
i even tried
telling a court-appointed
💫 therapist
about the violence
when i was a literal fucking child.
he said i was lying. 🔥✨
to my face.
while my dad symbolically
stood behind him with a joint
and smug little predator smirk.
and that’s the part
that haunts me—
not the abuse.
the adults who knew,
and still looked at me
✨ like i was the problem. ✨

so no.
i’m not naïve.
i’m not a dumb bitch.
i’m just done pretending
shit didn’t happen,
because y’all don’t wanna hear it.
i’m done acting
like y’all are all shocked
when women bleed
and no one helps.
👏😐📉

and i’m especially done humoring people
who cringe when i talk about it
because they still think
“justice” is a real fucking word.

justice is a brand. ⚖️
accountability is a vibe.

🥺👉👈

yo—honestly,
i’ve just accepted
that truth doesn’t matter here.
not unless you’re white.
not unless you’re resourced.
not unless you’re male.
not unless you’re
the one doing the damage.

🚔👍🤷‍♀️🫶🌈

and it’s honestly funny
how uncomfortable people get
when i say this part out loud.
like they really thought
i was too delusional to notice
the way the system works.
💫

nah.
i noticed.

i just stopped pretending it would ever work for me.

but sure,
keep calling me crazy.
talking to me—
like i don’t know this shit.

babe,
i am this shit.

🏰🧚‍♀️👸✨

✶ burn book disclosure ✨✨

✶ clarification for the loudly critical and loudly confused.

hi,
welcome to my trauma archive.

yes, trauma archive—
it's not a subpoena,
deposition,
or defamation suit
waiting to happen.
it’s a narrative record,
heavy on vibes
and light on identifying details.
most of what you'll find here?
it's feelings.
emotions.
deeply coded reflections.

almost entirely:
NO real names,
NO dates,
NO identifying specifics.

but when you do find specifics?
trust this:
they've already been recorded in
courtrooms,
police reports,
hospital records,
witness statements,
submitted evidence,
restraining orders,
and public records.

sweetie—it's
✨ nothing new,
✨ nothing reckless,
and certainly
✨ nothing defamatory.

babe, i didn’t survive all this just to lose the legal plot now.

damn—
you could have just asked
to see my entire
”record of shit i’ve survived”
binder i built while taking blows—
if you needed the legal receipts.

✶ mental health & reality check ✶

let's set some facts straight:

• mental health: sound.
  like, only rational adult in the room, sound.

• kid: thriving, clean, happy, safe.
  thank you for fake-worrying.

• home: immaculate. kid-proofed.
  again safe. zero dangerous men.

• law school attendance: never missed a single class.
  grades stable. using available resources.
  on track for that degree. ✨

if reading about the wreckage left
by abuse makes you think,
"hmm, she sounds unstable."
congratulations, 🧠🥇
you've discovered the entire point:

✨ abuse is inherently destabilizing. ✨

physical abuse,
financial devastation,
and temporary homelessness
created by being abandoned
✨ by your own family—
it's literally designed
to break people down.
if that doesn’t make
immediate sense to you,
kindly see the
"cycle of abuse" section
thoughtfully included and tabbed
elsewhere on this site.
it's like a cheat sheet, ✍️
for those of you still
missing the entire fucking plot.

✶ legal clarity ✶

(quick refresher for the fake-concerned)

• every fact explicitly stated
  is documented
  in sworn testimony,
  court filings,
  decades of reported abuse,
  videos & photos,
  **aka literally judge-confirmed-submitted-evidence.
  unpaid court-ordered child support,
  my own dated and credible records,
  multiple reliable witnesses,
  or police reports.

  
  **so again,
  why are you panicked, babe?
  because it’s definitely not about “my kid”

• all other content: protected by the first amendment.
  yes, even the emotionally charged bits.

• anti-SLAPP laws are ✨real and relevant✨
  i encourage you to google them
  before wasting your energy or mine.

💀💀💀

babe?
“think like a lawyer!”

girlie—
this entire website has been
forwarded to the establishment
✨BY ME ✨
review = verified (✓)

this is my record in a
desperate attempt to evade
being completely erased.
maybe ask a question.
maybe use context clues.

y’all—

this isn’t reckless oversharing.
it’s strategic transparency—
something survivors rely on
when society,
families,
and institutions
inevitably fail us.

✶ a gentle note for misguided critics ✶

before you approach
with “please shut up” vibes
and hypothetical courtroom scenarios,
maybe first:

• read the disclaimers (seriously).

• check the legal references provided.

• ask questions (like, a single one?).
  like damn dude. 🤯

because the uncomfortable truth is this:

the only thing destabilizing survivors
more than the abuse itself
is the silence that everyone demands afterward.

speaking openly (!!!!!)
is what saved me and my child—
not your secondhand embarrassment,
hypothetical scenarios,
or bullshit warnings.

if you still think documenting my truth
makes me unstable,
perhaps you’ve
missed the actual story being told here.

so kindly relax,
read again,
and connect the dots
before offering unsolicited fear tactics.

and if the diary hurts your feelings?
made you need to say shit
like—
“maybe disappear…silently?”
yo—but imagine living the source material.

you don’t get to mistake
a woman narrating her own survival
as unstable just because
she isn’t saying it in a tone you like.
because guess what?
if you’d ever been through it,
you’d know:
strategic rage is the cleanest version
of sanity left when you're
the last adult standing.

no one here is spiraling. 💡
this is clarity.
this is the ugly, violent, abusive truth.
this is what stability actually
looks like when you walk through
a deviously designed disaster.

and i still would never choose—
violence.
hate.
lies.
or manipulation.

i just choose truth.

🖤

with stable clarity,

— sam lowe ✶

🚩 🚩 🚩

and for real:
if the entire system
directly designed
to call me a liar
believed me 🤯—
regarded me as a:
credible,
stable,
truthful,
verifiable
witness—
to my own abuse…
what does that
say about you?
💡

just admit:
when you look—
you see ”perpetual victim”

and that’s a
deeply personal
brutal empathy deficiency,
lazy, surface-level analysis,
context-free thinking,
statistical illiteracy,
and class-blind arrogance
problem.
💡

the great fuck-this escape 🖕😐 (part two)

⚠️ trigger warning: this post contains graphic realities of domestic violence, psychological abuse, and covert sexual boundary violations.

if you’re here for soft edits and sanitized survival stories,
skip babe.

this is shitty.
this is gross.
this is what it actually looks like to crawl out.

read with care, or don’t. 🪓

✶

first off—
fucking sorry 🤢
i even have to say
this shit out loud.
it's psychologically
weird as fuck, 🤢
trust me,
i get it.
but if i don’t
say this shit,
it’ll literally
eat me alive
from the inside out,
rotting me slowly
until i’m just as gross
as the shit i survived.

so here it goes…

again, my bad. 🥀😑

alright,
yo.
getting my ass kicked
by my husband?
zero out of ten.
do not recommend. 👎🏻
not fucking optimal.
but at least with physical shit
it’s like tangible—
bruises,
scratches,
black eye,
whatever.
there’s like,
an internal clocking of it—
ya know?
the podcasts,
true crime docs,
the whole fucking thing.

but psychological abuse?
weird-ass covert sexual abuse?
pure fucking chaos.
pure hellscape. 👹
it’s gross.
and fucking confusing.
just permanent,
incoherent fucking
absolute mindfuckery.

so back to
my home-away-from-home
escape route:
𐕣 𖤐 𐕣
the childhood
house of torture.
destination: the east coast.
guess who’s waiting there?
my literal personal
childhood abuse goblin. 🥲🥀

lol yay.
whatever.

so babe—
i try rationalizing—
dude’s old as shit now.
seems slightly less awful,
recently-ish.
maybe he mellowed the fuck out?
(i had no other options,
to be fucking real.
i had to try.)

nah, girl.
fucking WRONG. 𐕣
because immediately
the weirdness began.

no doors were ever closed.
i mean fucking ever.
bedroom doors?
wide fucking open.
doorknob-to-wall open.
wanna grab clothes?
wanna use the bathroom?
full visual of this
grown-ass man lying in bed—
maybe clothed?
maybe covered?
no fucking warning,
no fucking boundary,
no fucking chill.
just immediate,
full-frontal fucking trauma.

this dude,
waited til my partner was asleep—
and i’d hear him
🤢🤢🤢🤢
loud as fuck,
literal feet from
my daughter and i…
just…
doing
whatever?
fucking…
going for it.
💫

childhood memories—
FUCKING ✨triggered✨
babe.

lol.

FUCK.
(!#!#&!&#YI!I#II@)
yes, i pushed back.
because—
wtf?????

///

speaking of toilets—
💩💩💩
he literally never
closed that door either. 💀
and not just upstairs.
nope,
tiny half-bathroom,
smack dab center of the fucking kitchen. 🤯
this man would literally
full-ass use the bathroom—
(!!!!!!!) 🤯
door ajar,
hand on wall,
sweats down,
full dick exposure—
(bro—
intentionally,
loudly,
making all the sounds)
while me and his
infant fucking granddaughter
(!!!)
sat right there.
just daily,
casual,
repulsiveness. 💀🚽

and when i finally
get fucking brave enough
to start to say something—
because,
hi,
new yet old trauma unlocked, 💫
and i'm not
a helpless fucking kid anymore—
i’m like:
“bro,
can you fucking not?
we literally
see your dick.
not cute,
real weird,
not okay,
fucking stop?”
but he doesn’t stop—
he made excuses,
said doors
“DIDN’T WORK”
said it’s his house
and then—
he escalates. 👺

constant covert boundary pushing:
it wasn't just
💫 accidental weirdness—
it was calculated,
incremental fuckery.
this man
strategically
blurred
every sexual perimeter,
carefully weaponizing
my confusion,
shame,
and fucking helplessness—
shoving me into some fucked-up
weird-ass
domestic caretaker
female fill-in role 🤮🤮🤮🤮
pushing until
the line between
abusive-sexual-exposure
and normalcy
became
non-fucking-existent.

so
anyway—
moving along
i’m so fucking confused 🤮
fucking trapped.
husband finally dips
(thank god?)
nah—
shit gets insane
suddenly bro…
this dude is in full
pseudo-abused-wife mode. 👰🏻‍♀️🫵🏻🤯
i’m cleaning everything—
floors,
bathrooms,
washing sheets,
towels,
clothing—
just him = three loads a fucking day
like i’m the
live-in maid
he never even wanted
but always got to abuse. 💫

bro—
i shit you not.
i saw my mom’s life
flash before my eyes.

🙏 🙏 🙏
[like for the love of god.
bring back the dude
with the fucking
repeated head punches,
stealing money,
and probably
most definitely cheating,
10/10 rather that
insideous ass shit.]
🙏 🙏 🙏

the machine breaks—💀💀
(this is gunna be bad y’all)
let’s run the math:
absolutely his fault,
his whole-ass bedding,
six pillowcases,
queen-sized tarp as sheets
= 2x a week
gym,
work,
play,
fuckaroundshit,
bro daily.
+ his fucking ancient appliances—
but guess
who’s gunna take that rage?
(and pay part of the bill on my
newly-abandoned-single-mom income)
me, obviously. 💅🥀

babe—
constant.
emotional.
terrorism.
exam tomorrow?
finals week?
major life crisis?
he senses weakness,
piles on laundry,
cleaning,
fakes sick,
what-the-fuck-ever—
just fucking chaos.
six-hour hostage situation.

and every inconvenience
is a goddamn coordinated
psychological attack—
drawer breaks?
bro, he’s raging.
obviously.
telling me to gtfo. ✨
dryer busts?
my fault.
he raged
for a WEEK.
rain tomorrow?
definitely fucking sam’s fault. 🌪🤷‍♀️

midday from his “job”—
slamming shit,
yelling shit,
emotionally terrorizing me & baby,
purposefully waking her from naps.
so i’d tiptoe around,
dog locked in garage,
baby petrified—
yo,
straight terrorized
into submission.
every.
fucking.
day.

shit.
this dude
straight up
tried to cancel
my daughter’s
first birthday.
🎉🎂✨🍰🥳
like the day before.
all paid by me.
people all flying in and shit.
same with christmas.
because this fucking
absolute goblin,
could not handle
not being central. ✨
motherfucker would—
fake sick.
fake an emergency.
fake—what-the-fuck-ever.

true narcissist playbook.
control via ✨crisis manufacturing✨

he feels irrelevant →
he creates chaos →
he punishes you for having joy.

like a true grownup.
true fucking
birthday blackout gremlin.
👹👹👹
babe.
shit made me so
fucking mad.
trying to keep it
the fuck together
for my fucking kid—
husband just
fucking bounced,
left me holding
fucking everything.
and now?
my daughter’s first…
fucking everything.
ruined.

🙃🙃🙃🙃
fucking end me.
𝟲𝟲𝟲𖤐

bro—
when my husband left,
the imaginary boundaries
went poof—🪄✨
i confronted him.
over and over—
"hey bro,
doors gotta close, man.
it’s weird, please."

**he’s fully exposed
himself to us…
(!!!)
mid-day…
door open…
multiple times.
but i’m the chaos.
trying to do anything
to…
fucking
not.

there’s literally no escaping it.

his response?
shock.
fake confusion.
mockery.
then immediate escalation:
threats,
rage,
eviction notices.

me and a fucking baby
in the car at night—
driving around aimlessly,
no protection,
just pure fuckery.

[zero help
from the babydaddy—
dude won’t even pay
the court-ordered support.
i’m on my own.]

shit escalates so violently,
my divorced mom—
who barely speaks to him—
has to
fucking sleep over
(!!!)
just so we’ll have a fucking buffer,
from him stalking us through the house,
demanding we leave,
zero degrees outside,
pure fucking nightmare. ❄️

so mom chimes in
with her own
warm brand of love:

“i mean honestly, sam?
never invited you—
he did.
very uncool of him
to just
throw you out. 🥀
i totally, completely know—
he’s sexually abusing you—
and you’re begging for help.
🥺🥺🥺
like uhg,
✨ full disclosure. ✨
tried to tell me for…
years…
but………
i pretend to be busy,
i can’t really hear you,
i don’t really have room,
and i was
✨so happy💫
when y’all
left,
last time 💀💀
he got weird.
🥺💔
so,
i’ll just throw up
a jerking-off
hand-motion
🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯
as i make a “that’s weird” face,
and dismiss you.
sweetie,
you’ll find me—
mowing the fucking lawn.
✊🏻🥺…

me internally like:
[jesusfuckingchrist
youstupidfuckingbitch]

but if you
do stay,
don’t touch shit—
not the washer,
not dishes,
nothing.
oh lol
and
maybe we’ll clear out a corner,
the shed?
i mean…
i know
you’re essentially living
in your car🚗🤘🏻
with a baby—
but…
eventually.” 💫✨

thanks mom.
damn.
💔✊🏻✨

yo,
i’m deadass.
when i finally
broke down,
tried to
tell the whole family—
again 💫
for the fucking millionth time.
[💀💀💀]
mom,
stepdad,
brother,
at one point
my husband
etc.
all of them—
everyone knew.
everyone fucking knew,
they did nothing.
or used it against me.
dudeeeeee.
🤮🤮🤮🤮
even like:
"yeah girl—me too."
BITCH
WHAT
😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫
!!!!!!!

i’ve been over here—
begging for clarity,
help—anything,
confused for over
two fucking decades.
brushed off,
minimized,
and yet????
y’all are the reason
this shit continues.

all of you 💔

**same as my partner
when he dismissed my distress,
and only used it—
to weaponize it against me.
not to save us,
not to help us,
but to punish us—
for having
no other viable options.
🤮

and guess what?
not.
with.
my.
KID.

FUCKING EVER.

and then (!!!)—
these motherfuckers
flipped.
👹👹👹
start saying shit like:
me leaving is a choice,
i’m being “dramatic”
(!!!!!!!)
bro—
at this point
i straight up
asked my mom
if she’s ever seen her dad…
……
……
……
……
but me?
multiple times
in a few months?!
he…
refuses…
to…
stop…
?!?!?!?!??
still
will not
close
a single
door?
just becomes
more…
violent.
L O L
💀🔫
💀🔫
💀🔫
yo.
full on fucking
gaslighting olympics,
F U C K
(internally i know i’m cooked)
now they’re all
blaming me,
painting me aggressive,
stressful,
chaotic,
making me
the fucking crazy one
(as per usual)
for finally fucking exposing
the sick-ass-demented
fucking demons
they pretended
they couldn’t see.
f
u
c
k
!@#((
🥀

shit.
family motto
holds steady since birth:
“wow, sucks for you.
sounds like your fault.”
🤡🖕

honestly,
fuck every single one of them
for making me
say this shit out loud.
for making me
carry it alone.
for not protecting my daughter.
or me—ever
for making trauma
and shame
the only family heirloom
i'll ever fucking inherit. 💫

again—
zero stars.
wouldn’t fucking recommend.

time to ditch the family.
my kid will never know this shit.
never feel it in her
nervous system.

but—
escape part three?
bro,
shit only gets worse. 🖕🥀

the great fuck-this escape 🖕🙂 (part one)

✶

part 1

yeah i loved him—
or tried to
at least at first.
fucking gross, right?
so stupid.

🥀🤡

lol.
but here’s how i knew shit
was getting bad though—
not from my family (shocker!),
but from true crime binge sessions.
bitches on streaming services
literally screaming:
"if your man strangles you—
pregnant, not pregnant, doesn't matter—
he’s literally trying to kill you."

did that stop me?
fuck no.
because complex trauma
is insane like that.
heh.

🤦‍♀️💀

but then the spit—
y’aaaaaallllllllllll.
🫡🔫
spit in my fucking face,
like,
repeatedly,
like i was fucking nothing,
brooooooo.
in my mouth,
eyes,
my fucking dignity,
once while pinning me
to the fucking floor.
bro.
like—
fuck dude.
truly imagine it:
his pregnant wife
covered in his own fucking spit.

and then,
(!!!)
just days before
i was supposed to
have his fucking baby—
hospital bed,
heart monitor,
bruises,
panic,
begging to know
if my baby was even still alive.

🖤✨

you know what
that moment really needed?
my mom,
stepdad,
brother,
dad,
literally fucking anyone,
i begged to come,
showing up,
dragging me outta there.

💔🖕

guess who showed?
just mom—
alone,
empty-handed,
sent solo to
"deal with it."

dad,
stepdad,
brother?
anyone?
lol
who the fuck knows.
crickets. 🦗🔪
too busy,
too bothered,
too fuck-off-and-die.

mom’s mission?
pack my whole life
into bags,
drag my traumatized,
postpartum ass back east,
straight into dad’s house
of childhood fucking horror. 🏚👻

realizing—
damn.
since fucking birth,
the family motto has always been:
“wow, sucks for you—
probably your fault, tho."

like, damn,
thanks demon squad,
appreciate the support.

😒🔪

oh, and the alleged
attempted murderer?
getting more violent
the more pregnant i got—
L O L 💀
the man literally
couldn’t beat me
at my regular strength,
so he waited till i was weak,
vulnerable,
about to pop.
real tough-guy shit.

family facetimed in
to the bruises,
the scratches—
clocked it instantly,
and promptly decided:
✨ “that’s sam’s problem.” ✨

my family—
always making sure
i’m properly abandoned,
just in case
i get confused
and think i deserve love
or safety
or something cute like that.

real fucking adorable. ✨

but don’t worry,
i eventually clawed my way out.
part two is coming, bitches,
and spoiler alert:
it’s savage as fuck.

and honestly.
worse.

🤷‍♀️💀✨

like girl… seek help, not my story views

girlie.
you don’t fuck with me?
cool.
so why the hell are you still watching me
like it’s your main baddie addiction
years after you left?

babe—
i barely remembered you existed.
unfollowed years ago.
but here you are.
daily.
multiple times. daily.
(???)
💀💀

like shit.

this isn’t even just “i’m curious.”
this is full-blown,
olympic-level hate-watching.
every story.
every post.
baby, this is not casual—
this is ritualized obsession.. 🧠

and you only popped off
the second you
thought i was slipping.
that maybe—i’m weak rn.
that’s when you strike
say some unhinged shit.
report me.
block me.
(lol ok, you are here, on my profile)
restrict my account
because i asked you to stop
hate-stalking my trauma disclosures
while i’m literally
mid–dv + incest survival arc. 🧨

fucking legendary. 💀

babe,
that’s not petty.
that’s predatory.

girl. be fucking for real.
you didn’t block me
because i was “mean.”
you blocked me
because i broke character.
because i called you the fuck out
and that made your little head implode.

i say “domestic violence”?
you hear “i need attention.”
i say “incest trauma”?
you hear “block and restrict her page.”

lmao. slow clap. 👏

like damn—
i’m dodging fists,
spam call barrages,
credit sabotage,
child support evasion,
and you’re mad
had to straight up get me restricted—
because you came to watch
and i made you uncomfortable?

bro.
that’s the part
that should scare you.
the silencing isn’t passive.
it’s organized.
it’s intentional.

baby—
you self-navigated to me.
i don’t check on you.

but fuck it—

i love this list.

✨✨ the many creative ways
they’ve told me to shut the fuck up ✨✨

let’s run back through my favs:

✶ my dad?
lmao.
the king of fuck you.
cut off a 15-year-old credit card
just ‘cause he cosigned it in 2007
and saw me escaping with a baby and a dog.
knowing that shit was my last card.
he pulled the plug to
financially choke me out.
dude—
i only ever paid that shit.
tanked my credit.
(while already in a financial emergency)
but control
is the sole language of abuse.

yo—
this one’s silly.
✶ my significant other
straight up—
threatened me with
a slander suit
right before he bounced
like “don’t you dare fucking say this shit out loud.”
you beat the holy fuck out of me
and stole my money—
but sure, let’s talk defamation
motherfucker. 💅

✶ my stepdad?
legit was like
“do you really need to say that out loud?”
yes, bitch.
yes, the fuck i do.
i had your voice in my ear
while i was fighting to stay alive
and now you want
me to censor the aftermath?
lol. girl stop.

✶ you.
babygirl—
you think i’m not used to threats?
stealthy-ass-covert-violence?
you think this is new to me?
lol nah.
this is how shit works, babe.
this is how people—
especially women—
get taught to shut the fuck up.
✨

and you?
you’re not checking in.
you’re not concerned.
you’re not supportive.

you’re just mad
that watching my survival
stopped making you feel superior.
and when that stopped working,
you tried to shut the whole show down.

✨

and babe—
the emotional whiplash of
”i hate her” (unfollow)’→
stalk daily for years →
watch me fight through dv →
”i’m have to block her”
+ report/get her restricted
for being like yo…stop.
=
wild ass
insecure-little-bitch behavior, bro.

but
fuck you too, girlie. ✨✨

✨🖕🏻✨

every dude that pissed himself the second i asked for ammo 💀🔫

yo,
you wanna hear the
weakest male shit
ever?
the most pathetic
lack of “protect and provide”
natural instinct 🥊
recorded in modern history??

bro; buckle up.

🏳️‍🌈➡️🏃‍♂️

homie—
you wanna know why
i asked you to teach me how to shoot?
babe, i wasn’t trying to
✨ hang out and vibe ✨
nah bro.
i already clocked the cowardess.
you weren’t gonna protect shit.

so babe—
i asked
because the last time
i tried to protect myself
i picked up some
lesser-ass weapon—
like,
anything to keep this dude
from straight
kicking my ass
just something to maybe
make him pause.
and do you know what happened?

this man had me
on the fucking floor
instantly.
nine months fucking pregnant.
child fully formed inside of me.
ready to be born like now.
and i’m getting hit with
repetitive blows to the fucking head
and body !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
because i had the fucking audacity
to try and not die.

homie.
you know how mad a man has to be
to see a woman try to defend herself—
and fail—
and still take that
as a personal fucking insult?

baby—
that wasn’t a fight.
that was a message.
that was
“i will fucking kill you”

lol.
yo.
wanna laugh?
i was full chillin with
a fucking marine
🪖🦅🇺🇸
and told him
some sanitized
pg-13 version
of my personal true crime story
babe—
dude blinks twice, goes:

“shit… hope i’m not here when that fucker shows up.”

😭😭😭

bro you stormed deserts for democracy
but my ex is where you draw the line?
copy that, dawg.

🥇 y’all are fucking pussies. 🥇

what about my dad?
you’d think, okay,
biological father,
protector, right?
nah homie.
this man weaponized my vulnerability
and turned it into some
incest-adjacent horror film.
like i’m literally running for my life
and he’s looking at me like a fucking target.
insanity.
lol.
brother??
my own blood??
nah.
he’s too busy doing shots
and flexing on golf trips
🥃⛳💸
while i’m out here with my toddler
rationing fruit snacks and reinforcing doors.

man shit?
baby—
i was fighting at 8.
fighting at 9 months pregnant.
when did the dick—
leave your fucking bodies?
💅💅💅

so yeah.
fast forward.
i survive.
barely.

men are nowhere to be found.
no dad.
no brother.
no secret side quest.
definitely no husband.
and then—
there’s this fucking dude.

💀🔫

mr. “i’ll always protect you.”
mr. “lock your doors.”
mr. “let’s start a family.”

baby—
you were just up in me,
like,
last week
talking about feelings and loyalty
and i’m thinkin, ok.
at the bare minimum
you’ll teach me
how to fucking shoot.

but lol
nah.
you hit me with
that emotional baby shit.
🙏🪦

lmfao.
because god forbid
you act like a fucking man.

one fucking time.

hey—
i mean this:
y’all are little fucking bitches.

like couldn’t protect shit.
from a fucking butterfly invasion.
🦋 🦋 🦋

(i’m deadass)

like bro.
i wasn’t trying to drag you into war.
i was trying to not end up in a casket.
maybe keep my kid alive?
and you somehow made that about you?
bro.
fucking spare me.

you weren’t emasculated.
you were just asked to be useful.

sir.
seriously—
are you stupid
or just deeply fucking unserious?

like.
you think i was gonna lean on you?
bro i asked for technical support.
load.
aim.
click.
not therapy.
not loyalty.
not even fucking presence.
just one tiny sliver of
masculine utility.
and you fumbled that???

jesus fucking christ.

yo.
i just asked
for you to…
fucking have a dick.
bro.
to grow some unemotional
non-victim-bullshit
BALLS.

LOL.

yo.
for the love of god.
don’t ever talk to me about
“protector energy”
“real men”
“provider mentality”
LMFAO.
when i asked one thing
after getting my skull
nearly caved in while carrying a child—
and y’all threw a fucking fit
because the vibes were no longer flirty.
💀💀💀

bravo.
you got out-manned
by a single mom with a diaper bag
and a complex trauma history.
do you feel strong now?

babe—
that shit was pathetic.
you ain’t scary.
you’re just another
soft-ass disappointment
in a long-ass line
of weak-ass men
who couldn't even show up
when the bare minimum
was life or death.

but congrats.
at least you proved something:
y’all don’t want women to survive.
you want us to need you.
and when we do?
y’all run and hide.

🏃‍♂️💨

i present y’all
with the honorary:

🏆 weakest bitches alive award 🏆

fucking unbelievable.

no worries,
i’ll get my stage-4
halfway-to-death
old-ass-bestie
to teach me
before…he dies.

thanks ladies.
good work.

👸👸👸👸

👏👏👏
👏👏👏
👏👏👏
👏👏👏

✶ in defense of the bag ✶

why onlyfans is the moral apex of capitalism
(peer-reviewed by zero fucks given, written by samantha lee lowe)
m.b.a. = mommy. baddie. academic.

abstract (aka the slap):

• capitalism’s been robbing women blind.

• onlyfans is the first time we sent an invoice.

• moral panic? hold my drink.

babe. it’s a bill. pay up or shut the fuck up.
your righteous outrage = disguised jealousy & client entitlement

thesis (the main shit):

every “respectable” job demands women’s:
• fake smiles
• emotional babysitting
• invisible submission

onlyfans is just the first platform that demands:

“consume my content? pay me directly, asshole.”

the panic? not the nudity,
it’s losing control of the cash flow

exhibit a (corpo hypocrisy decimated):

1. 92% of exec assistants are women.

2. women are evaluated more on vibes than productivity

3. service jobs demand girly labor for $12/hr.

your boy dave’s paycheck depends on your compliance
but god forbid a woman sets the price on her own pussy
sit the fuck down.

exhibit b (emotional labor = free sex work):

• you want your boss’s “work wife.”

• you want your hot-bartender-therapist.

• you want your baddie assistant to take the abuse

  all unpaid, all expected
  onlyfans creators?
  boundaries up front
  paywall mandatory
  block button loaded
  capitalism with a spine, bitch.

exhibit c (it’s sovereignty, stupid):

sex sells, but autonomy fucks with patriarchy
you jerk off in private and clown women in public
that’s not sex-shame, it’s autonomy-shame
you’re mad girlies cash the checks on your fantasies
you’re the client, the user, the thief
bro, take your broke ass somewhere else

exhibit d (whole economy is a whore-house):

• teachers financing classrooms with second jobs.

• nurses assaulted, underpaid.

• warehouse workers piss in bottles

• single moms = fucked

and we argue what is degrading?

onlyfans is the cleanest transaction in the building.
quit crying, recognize the bag

appendix: jesus, would def be down:

• he ran with sex workers, not bankers, babe.

• he flipped tables at exploiters.

• he never said “cover up.”

he’d tip heavy and roast the pimps
so bitch, shut the fuck up about sin
baby, call out the real monsters

conclusion (mic drop):

onlyfans isn’t immoral.

what’s immoral:

• demanding free access.

• moralizing labor while underpaying women.

• punishing autonomy.

babe.

they’re not ashamed.

they’re not sorry.

they’re not confused.

you are.

✶ shame archives locked.
✶ pay up or look away.

👑 king-tier behavior

🧠

babe, are you stalking my brain again?
lol
🕵️‍♂️🫢
weird

anyway.

🎤 hi yes,
welcome to my ted talk called:
“thanks for the absolute fuckery, i’m hotter now.”

but
alright,
alright,
alright—
because
yo,
i can literally already hear it
the whole sad-ass
circus rolling up,
your truck
full of gremlins crying,
“dude 😩 she’s so on your dick 😭”
lol—
baby,
before your boy band fan club
starts revving the emotional clown car
with balloons and blowhorns like:
“brooooo 😩 she’s talking about me again 😭”

🤡

✨ relax. ✨

what you mean is:
bitch got long-game played ✨
and you’re—
🕵️‍♂️ obsessed. 🕵️‍♂️

but since you found yourself here…

💋 let’s make this one count. 💋

seriously.
because i owe you
a massive thank you.

no fr.
🥇 thank you.
gold fucking star. ✨
you were the final boss battle
in my personal apocalypse
and you played the role with such
narcissistic finesse
that i literally stood there
experiencing a mental break—
like
oh shit.

🚨 no one’s coming. 🚨

not friends.
not family.
not husbands.
not men who swore they’d protect me

not a dude in carhartt
pretending he gives a shit
while literally adjusting
their drawstring sweatpants
to text another girl.

my brain was all like—fuuuuuuuuuuckkkk.

babe.
you weren’t a betrayal
you were a fucking confirmation.
like oh right,
i’m the emergency,
everyone saw smoke
and left the fucking building.

🚨 fuck.

and you really cemented that shit
when you popped back in
not to check if i was breathing,
not to ask if my kid had milk—
but to unload your emotional garbage
like i was both
your uninhibited support counselor
and
absolute best fuck ever.
💋💋💋

(i know you’ll miss that shit—lol sucks)

baby—
there was no
“shit babe, what happened?”
🖤

just

”blah
blah
blah”
me.
me.
me.

🧍‍♀️🔫

yo—homie,
did you even hear me when i said it?

multiple times?

nah…

you just pressed
✨mute✨

and then hit me with the

“i hate you, i am so much better without you since…a few weeks ago”

lol.
bro.
like
what?
dude,
be actually fucking for real.
i hadn’t even spoken to you.
you give me:
no greeting. no context.
just ✨violence✨
and a vague—
”i most definitely am out here
lying to someone”
vibe.
🎯

like truly—
wtf happened to you?

like homie,
i wouldn’t have served that shit
to my worst enemy,
in their darkest era,
like,
are you good?

because yo.
i want you to know—
from the bottom of my
now-fully-fucked nervous system—
that was it.
that was my roman-fucking-empire falling.
except no colosseum,
just me,
with a bunch of kids
staring at my phone like
ah.
ok,
so now i really can’t feel—
anything.
nice.
💀

so honestly?
thank you.
no like fr.
because the moment
i got hit with that coward-ass tantrum
instead of a phone call,
a check-in,
a “you safe?”
i got it.
bro—
i finally fucking got it.

you were never going to save me.
and neither was anyone else.
this is solo journey.
final level.
no cheat codes.
just me,
left with everyone’s lies,
and knives in my back.
but fuck it,
right?
🪦

i’m just collateral damage.

but like
yo—
truly.
the absolute worst part?

bro, you know i told you.
like, explicitly,
multiple times,
but definitely
two sentences—
literally as you were sprinting out
the fucking door.
and what did you do?
you hit me with a hate call
so fucking cold it could freeze hell over.
not a single fuck given about my existence.
you weren’t checking if i was alive,
you were just flexing
your own mental bankruptcy.
legendary.
👑

final stab in the heart?
you,
the only dude
i actually trusted
to not be a complete fucking douchebag,
turned out to be the main event
in my “no one gives a fucking shit”
reality check.
like,
i truly almost do want to thank you
for the clarity,
but nah,
for real i’m too dead inside
to actually fake that shit.

like,
wtf is wrong with you?

for real.

but whatever—

round of applause, my guy.
👑 real big boy shit.
👑 real making bitches
have existential crisis level shit—
yeah bro.
👑 king of fucking killing the last spark.
you did the impossible—
you confirmed that nobody
gives a single fuck
and that’s the realest shit.

👏👏👏

mission accomplished.
solid work, buddie.

i had no idea
your actual soul
shit-out.

🎬

welcome to the: “did you eat glitter glue or just sabotage yourself?” academy 🍎✏️📚

🧃🧃🧃

yo
everyone take a seat on the rug
gather the fuck up, children
i’m about to put
the whole circle time
on suicide watch
no sippy cups
no emotional support blankies
snacks down
eyes up
it’s time for:
“how to not absolutely shit yourself
when you recognize your own dumbassery
in a post that probably isn’t about you—
but go off and out yourself,
like a clown.”

aka: 🪞😭

babe—
if you feel exposed,
🚩🚩🚩
that’s your conscience
bitch-slapping you in public.

now quiet down,
let’s begin.

🧃🍪💀

let’s start real simple
since half of y’all
are out here
acting like
you’re in witness protection
like this is a full-blown
rorschach for trolls
🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️
i drop a line about
“liars and cowards”
and suddenly
you’re in my
phone logs,
emails,
dms:
acting like you just got called
to the principal’s office

if you feel
✨ personally attacked by a post✨
with zero names,
zero details,
and zero fucks given
i’m gonna need you to raise your hand
and go sit in the
🎯 “guilty as fuck”
time-out corner
right next to the kid
who bit someone
because your ego
has fucking rabies, babe.

🔊 internal alarms are going off like:
if a post about someone acting shady
hits you in the guilty spot
and your first instinct is
“holy shit, she’s talking about me”
congrats!
you just outed yourself
to your own infant-level ego
that’s right
i didn’t even name you,
detective gremlin 🥸🕵️‍♂️
but your dumb ass hopped right in
like “hey, is this seat taken?
i brought my own fucking guilt!”
💀

see,
what you’re experiencing
is called
“pattern recognition for toddlers”
🏆🏆🏆
or as i like to call it:
the
🔊🤡 “oh fuck, she sees me” 🔊🤡 syndrome.

it goes like this:

1. you lie

2. you hide

3. i post something about lies and hiding

4. you sweat so hard you could refill the kiddie pool

5. you text your mom like “yo, am i a villain??”

6. you binge-read everything i post, looking for secret messages 🔬🧪🧬

warning: plot disclosure:
lab results in,
diagnosis:
terminal clownery.
no cure.
🍿🤡🎪

yo, are you okay?
are you hydrated?
because you are sweating so hard
over a post you “didn’t even read”
that your phone is water-damaged
i didn’t even shade you
but here you are
spiraling
like i hacked your diary
and faxed it to your therapist
💀

like,
holy shit
why are y’all so triggered
by words you claim
are not about you?
i say “cowards”
and you hear:
“your full government name
and last 4 digits of your social”
🥷🫥

girl.

i’m just out here
documenting survival,
making literary memes
out of savage trauma—
and y’all are out here
taking the SATs for self-owns
filling in every answer:
🐸 “me, i’m the problem, it’s me.” 🐸

y’all have the audacity
to act offended
when my realest flex
was not even remembering
the unique way you fucked me—
until you slid in the commentaries
doing emotional jazz hands
like ✨“she’s exposing my soul!!”✨

aka: 🪞🧟‍♂️

no bitch
you’re exposing yourself 🔦
i’m just sitting here,
bored,
unfazed,
eating goldfish
and watching you
re-enact your own descent
like a toddler
tripping on their shoelaces 🤾‍♂️

literally—
it’s giving
“where’s waldo”
except you’re waldo!
and the only reason you see yourself
is because you’re literally
walking around
in a little red-and-white striped lie
🤯🙅‍♂️🧠

it’s honestly disarming
watching y’all try to
reverse-engineer my feelings
like i’m out here dropping
epic level fucking riddles
for your inner cryptkeeper
squinting at my words
👁️👄👁️
like you’re about to win
a national spelling bee for emotional avoidance
trying to crack the da vinci code of

✨“maybe don’t act like an insufferable toddler”✨

as if this is high-level math
as if i’m hiding a map
to my feelings inside
a fucking sudoku puzzle

babe,
you’re not deciphering
ancient alphabets—
but here you are,
in the lab,
test tubes out
mixing up formulas
🧪🥼🔬🧬
trying to figure out
why i’m such a bitch.

it’s not advanced, babe
this isn’t AP trauma
this is coloring book shit
like baby,
you could’ve just
🥇not been an emotional goblin🥇

but nah.
and you know what’s
truly fucking wild?
i would have given you:
a juice box
and a nap
and a “try again tomorrow, champ”
if you’d just acted right
but instead you chose
full on gremlin mode 🧟‍♂️🦖
and now every time i post,
you get flashbacks
to that one time
you fumbled the bag so hard
you could never feel love again
🥀

so yeah
sit criss-cross applesauce
take your accountability snack
and try not to shit yourself next time
someone posts a sentence
with the word “liar” in it

🧸 pro tip:
if you want to stop spiraling every time
a baddie writes about betrayal
maybe just…
don’t…
fuck with people?

i know,
revolutionary
but hey,
i believe in you
gremlins can heal too
but only after naptime
🍎✏️📚

xoxo

circle time’s over
go cry in the hallway
goblin.

forgiveness was one honest text away. but y’all love jail. 🖤

yo,
real talk,
for the homies out there
like: 👤👤👤
sometimes i just space out
and think,
damn,
i really could have saved
you so much time,
so much shame-spiraling,
so many embarrassing lies
you can’t keep straight—
if you’d just
opened your mouth and said
one
real
thing.

literally, just one.
one actual adult sentence.
groundbreaking shit.
like for real;
y’all actually could have just.
told.
the.
truth.
like—
imagine!

like,
you could have pulled up and said:

🗣️ “hey, i’m still psycho-texting my ex at 2am”
🗣️ “i’m fucking scared”
🗣️ “i think i wanna be a dad but i also have fear of abandonment”
🗣️ “i’m broke as hell”
🗣️ “i made out with my co-worker”
🗣️ “i’m depressed as fuck”
🗣️ “i started talking to her before you came back around”
or shit,
🗣️ “i have a pharmacy in my sock drawer and i’ve been selling your pills.”
stunning.
i’d have said,
✨“bet. thanks for being real.” ✨

and either i would’ve:
1. handed you a solution,
or
2. walked away in peace

instead of adding you
to my mental shit list
forever.

you really could have said:
“yo i’m not ready for this,”

🖤

but nah.
y’all picked the hard mode.
like this was a
fucking escape room.
except the only unknown was
“how many times can
i gaslight this bitch
into thinking
it’s her that’s crazy?”
🦹‍♀️
answer?
infinite.
until now.

but for real.
this is the part that kills me—
i didn’t even need
y’all to do shit perfectly,
just do anything
honestly—babe.
one time.
one honest
“yo, i fucked up.”

…do you realize
(this is genuine)
i would’ve helped you?
like actually helped you?
or at the very least,
i would’ve had fucking context,
and i would’ve
moved different,
with a tiny,
adorable thing called
“clarity”
instead of full-throttle,
about to fuck shit up,
resentment olympics.

like why?
i probably would’ve
made you a sandwich.
maybe even let you sleep
in my bed instead of in your own
self-created purgatory.
💀

but nah.
y’all went with:
“what if i lied so badly that i create
a whole side quest for myself
and then resent you for noticing?”
💀
like ok bro,
speedrun your own downfall i guess.

but nah.
nahhhhhhhhh.
instead,
y’all turned
“i need to own my shit”
into a multi-season
ego drama
with 200 plot twists,
except the only twist
is you’re all just
cowards with wifi.
💀

and now—
instead of like,
literally sending a
three-word apology,
or just saying “damn i really fumbled that,”
instead of sending a half-assed “my bad,”
or venmoing the child support you owe me,
instead of being an actual grown up,
you just sit there,
binge-reading my life
like a hulu series,
bro—
y’all are really acting like
you’re watching me through glass,
as if your silence = innocence.

the way you all act like not talking
means no accountability.
like you’re a ghost.
like you don’t exist
unless i say your name.
newsflash:
you’re not invisible.
👻

and truthfully
the words you’re looking for
as you scroll every post are:
✍️✍️✍️
”damn, i am sorry girl.”

yooooo.
y’all are really so dramatic.
i’m an understanding bitch.
i just didn’t want to be
lied to and manipulated,
and then have y’all act
like i’m the problem
because i fucking said it out loud.

like damn,
that’s not even baddie energy.
that’s just basic adulthood,
and y’all keep opting for,
”nope.”
we’d rather go with:
lurking
and
avoidance
and
lifelong regret.

like honestly—
the bar was:
just tell the truth

but instead you chose:
🧢🧢🧢 (cap, cap, cap)

premium gaslight bundle 🔥🔦
and honestly?
that’s outlandish.

but lol.
ok.
good luck out there, kings.
i hope silence keeps you warm at night.

🏆🏆🏆

xoxo

🥀

forever your biggest regret.

when you get hit with a “nah” mid emergency.

✶

yo.
let’s just cut the shit—
seriously.

when i asked for help,
a friend—
i wasn’t asking like
“lol i’m kinda overwhelmed.”
i meant
🔥 “we are absolutely, no-joke, fucked.” 🔥

bro
i am dead serious.
this is a real emergency.

🫠💸📉
heat index crisis.
power bill unpaid.
$10 in the bank.
ebt approved,
still no card.
showed up three fucking times
during business hours
found the office locked.
so i guess—
fuck me, right?

and yeah.
truthfully,
i was forever that bitch.
because it’s survival 101.
plan ahead.
bought the condo.
savings account padded.
paid off the car.
zero accidents.
everything tight,
always had it together—
bro,
i paid shit off early.
sponsored y’alls lil dreams,
funded my husband’s whole ass fucking life.
rebuilt my dad’s house like
a one-dumb-bitch hgtv special.
📉📉📉

now i can’t even keep the lights on.
and nobody blinked.
👁️👄👁️
not a single fuck.

my dude,
when i texted
“can you watch my kid
while i sit in class?”

i didn’t mean:
“free babysitting so i can vibe.”
💅✨

i meant:
🔥 “if i fail out of school,
we’re absolutely fucked.” 🔥
like,
lifetime fucked.
like,
no-degree,
full-debt,
can’t-ever-catch-up fucked.
⚰️⚰️⚰️

when i said
“can someone help me
carry the AC upstairs”
i meant
🔥 “my kid might overheat and
i don’t have any backup plan
except not dying.” 🔥

and y’all ignored it.
or worse—
acted like i was fucking annoying
for asking.
like i was being outlandish.
like you didn’t ✨read along✨
while i was running out of food money.

🙏💨🧍

and for real—
what’s fucking insane
is how easy
it was for y’all
to brush me off.

to tell me: lol sorry.

like
casually.
coldly.
quickly.
without a single follow-up.

but “no worries” 🙃

and bro—
i wasn’t asking everyone.
i was strategic.
desperate,
but targeted.

like
“hey—maybe y’all,
who’ve known me for a decade—
maybe you could
see me as a human being
for five seconds
before my shit
blows the fuck up.”
🙏

and to be impartial—
shit wasn’t out of the fucking blue.
this wasn’t some random favor
from a fucking stranger.
it was probably directly after a:

💀 “love you bestie,”
💀 “i’m always here for you,”
💀 ”i swear it’s different this time,”
💀 “nah—i’ve grown up,”
💀 “i’m a family guy now.”

🧃🧃🧃

bro—
don’t act like
i was fucking out of pocket.
you set the stage, my guy.
i just took you at your word.
bestie.
my bad for believing you.
(👶)

but nah.
y’all really—
straight-faced
said:
”eh,
i honestly
couldn’t give a shit
if you fucked off and died.”
✶☠️✶

i try to process that.
like—
damn.
can y’all believe this?
(didn’t even keep it on the main page.)
no names.
just real fucking pain.

lol.
suddenly i’m a fucking demon. 🔪
(💀 dead 2 u, babes ⚰️)

broooo—
y’all were more offended
that i wrote it down.
more mad
that i had the audacity
to narrate my own fucking crisis
on electricity that technically
should already be cut off.

cool.
wild.

🧘‍♀️💸🔥

disloyal-as-fuck.

mommy’s doing math, babe

nah, see—

this is what happens
when everyone around you
thinks they’re playing chess
but you were born inside
the fucking algorithm.

they lie,
they hide,
they move weird—

and i’m out here solving
a multi-variable betrayal equation
with nothing but vibes,
a 30-minute nap time,
and a dissociative episode.

bro.
you really thought
you were being fucking brilliant,
didn’t you?

like babe,
y’all were realistically
learning cursive and mario party—
while i was calculating the probability
of getting my ass kicked in real-time.

truly—
you gave me three data points
and i just reverse-engineered
your whole scandal
while microwaving dinosaur nuggets
and i’m already solving:

(how many lies ÷ how fast you text back) × the silence in your tone² = get the fuck out of here before he ruins your life)

that’s just math, babe.

and meanwhile you’re over there
emotionally deregulated because
your parents divorced in 2008
and took you to the hilton
instead of the ritz for your eighth birthday—

(lol, inspired by real life)

is this shit serious?
i’m running data forensics
on financial fraud,
tracing treachery patterns,
decoding generational decay—
and battling the softest bitches alive.

really—
y’all are out here
with the emotional wounds
of being raised
by a stay-at-home mom
and a dad
who bought you too many dirt bikes
instead of asking how you felt.

fucking jesus christ.

you think i’m unstable?

ha. nah.

it’s called hypervigilance, babe.
ADHD + PTSD + a sixth sense for bullshit.
i scan every text,
pause,
look,
and delayed reply
solving for x
where x = how bad is this gonna hurt me
and y = can i afford an emotional breakdown.

if (childhood neglect) + (abusive marriage) / (familial fuckery) = me,

this is matrix-level computations
on every interaction—
clocking microexpressions,
tone drift,
emotional lag time,
and your weird-ass word choices
like a forensic linguist
with a cracked iphone
a fucking will to survive.

and bro—
it’s not even on purpose.
they made me like this.

but nope—
i’m not losing it.
just staying alive.
because homie,
when life is a fucking threat
my brain isn’t just thinking,
it’s scanning
for the trapdoor in your sentence.

like bro—
this isn’t intuition,
it’s data analysis.
i’m literally decoding
the emotional supply chain
of every motherfucker who’s ever
smiled while stabbing me.

yo—
i built a fucking war room
off vibes and silence.

my last dude?
truly,
like a toddler hiding behind a curtain—
read him like my kids’
feel-and-touch baby books.
adorable.
flashy.
and ultimately outgrown.
only fumble was thinking he’d graduate
from deadbeat to dad.

oops.

babe—
i’m not throwing punches;
i’m taking notes—and laughing.

this isn’t paranoia.
it’s✨ pattern recognition ✨
in fucking overdrive.

you’re basic arithmetic.
cheat, subtract, divide.

i multiply: rage, strategy, receipts.

and sweetie—
i’ve already circled the date
you’ll regret underestimating the bitch
who did trauma math before she was even old enough to ride shotgun.

i chose peace. you chose violence.

✶

nah—
y’all are truly tripping.
i really tried to be nice.
i really tried to choose “peace”
i really tried to fucking love you.

you chose violence.

yo.
i did not wake up aggressive,
i evolve into it.
like—
you gotta really work for the privilege
of seeing me turn heartbreak into
an atomic fucking explosion.

nah babe,
i don’t go nuclear right out the gate.
i ration that shit.
because i remember what it felt like
to almost fucking die
from someone’s casual cruelty
in the middle of my own personal apocalypse.

like y’all think
i came out the womb swinging?
nah babe,
i earned this.

and honestly—
i hold back,
because
i still remember

random shit like
seventh grade:
home life on hell mode,
literally fighting for my life—
whole ass friend group
lost the baby fat overnight
shopped at hollister 1x
and then—
calls me a spaz to my face.
after i invited them to a theme park
and they literally said nah
and then went with-fucking-out me.
girls,
seriously.
if you’d seen half my shit
you’d be twitching in a padded room
singing the law & order theme.
yeah, i was a spaz.
it’s called nervous system collapse.

high school:
backpack of shame,
sleeping on floors,
dodging creative violence from pop,
smiling while the “have no trauma” girls giggle—
right.
y’all had sleepovers,
i was running game theory on whether
i could stage a car accident for my dad
and make it look like fate.

and you wonder why i keep the flamethrower holstered.

fast-forward:
i’m just home from the hospital,
from getting my ass beat,
delivering—
while these bitches blow up my phone
about drama and tax forms.
with threats
like,
sorry i missed your venmo request, ashley,
i was a little busy
not getting date-lined bitch.

white-girl crisis hotline lighting up
while i’m out here starring in a true crime doc.

now—
you.
fuck.
i want to roast you,
but i still taste that soft spot
in the back of my fucking throat.
do you know what it’s like
to get a text from someone who meant everything
right after you escape your own fucking dad
dragging you out the car by your hair,
handprint still on your neck,
mom just had a fucking brain aneurysm
left my kid
with a fucking predator
and i’m like—
holy shit
maybe life isn’t just:
getting punched in the head,
restraining orders,
and the world’s shittiest survival instinct?

nah, you don’t.

babe.

you hit me up—
at the precise moment,
i was debating
if god existed or if karma
was just a middle finger in a baby-blue sky.
for five fucking seconds
i thought,
maybe the universe
wasn’t all brutality and police reports.
maybe you meant it.
maybe you wouldn’t epically fuck me this time.

i even tried to fucking tell you.
tears streaming down
my dumb fucking face
please, i prayed
like a truly dumb bitch—
understand me
don’t fuck with me.
but nah—
randomly.
out of nowhere

just fucking

silence.
then radio static.
then the kind of ghosting
that would make houdini get a fucking boner.
like,
one day it’s
“let’s build a life,”
next day i’m full-scale
fucking invisible—
no credits,
no scene,
not even a goddamn post-it note goodbye.

THANK YOU,
I REALLY NEEDED THAT.

and yeah—
you’re the victim.

but wait:

✨ bonus round:
because it’s the truth.
and fucking WEIRD.
ready?
your personal jesus-freak hostage-taker
follows my ass—
same fucking day
🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡
(i shit you not)
literally binge-watching my trauma,
stalking my socials like it’s her fucking job,
while i’m out here googling
“how to stay alive after getting curb-stomped
by hope, men, and the cost of milk.”

and you’re out here handing out sympathy—
for her.

LMFAO.

i just sit there dazed.
like yeah bro.
sounds bad.

fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

like is this a fucking game to you?
is this real life?

literally:

get the fuck out of here.

🖤

bro—
i was walking through an actual
fucking nightmare.
but hey:
thanks for the final emotional blow.

[next time i’m just gunna be a manipulative, weak bitch]

but NOPE,
i don’t go looking for war.
but if you drag me to the battlefield,
i go full scorched earth.

i keep my claws in—
because i know one mean comment
can end a whole fucking story.
but push me?
i salt the fucking earth.
i knock planets out of fucking orbit.
and babe,
i do it laughing.

i was bred for this shit.
i chose peace.
over and over and over.

y’all chose cruelty and silence.

so yeah,
maybe i don’t start shit.
but i finish it
with a flamethrower and a fuck-you playlist.

and hey.

at least i didn’t build
my whole fucked up personality
on hurting people who were already
one disaster away
from not making it.

and then crying,
”i’m a victim”

real nice, guys.
just don’t say:
that you ever gave—
a single shit.

✶

and
hey—
come close…
when you ask me
how i’ll turn rage into peace—
maybe start by asking yourself
why you needed me to swallow it
in the first place.

live, laugh, lose 15k followers

yo.
shut the fuck up.

some of y’all are really out here
self-navigating to my online diary
to suggest—
politely,
passive-aggressively,
or outright—
that i
✨ be quiet. ✨

like?
are you insane?
bitch—
absolutely the fuck not.

lemme just say this slow
so the people deep in the views
but pretending not to see me—
can keep up:

👏 this is not a fucking publicity stunt. 👏

if i wanted attention?
i would've shut the fuck up,
posted a thirst trap,
done a cartwheel in a thong,
gotten lip filler and never once said the word genocide.

you think i risked my fckin mortgage money
for social suicide?

no babe,
that’s ✨ dumb-brain behavior ✨
that’s “don’t think too hard” energy.
and i need you to try harder.

bro.
the only reason
we have furniture,
diapers,
lights,
is because
✔️ i used to be a micro-influencer,
✔️ i’m white,
✔️ and i had a baddie-bestie with social media leverage

when shit hit the fucking fan.

without that?
we’d be in a fucking car
next to a strip mall
eating dry cereal with no spoon.

the only reason we’re here
is because i made the disaster visible.

but popular?

LMAOOOO.
yo.
shut the fuck up again.

run the actual numbers:
since i started telling the truth?
💀 15,000+ followers gone.
💀 reach dead.
💀 shadowbanned like a fucking ghost.
💀 my attitude does not pass the vibe check.

2016? down.
me too movement? down.
palestine? lol.
domestic violence? white women panicked.
colonization? they started praying for me.

girl—
meta flagged me for
“hate speech”
for literally saying:

“men are trash.”

you think brands wanna touch this?
dv in public?
lol.
i am a walking commerce catastrophe.

brands want “healing” as an aesthetic.
they want “trauma” like a candle scent.
they do not want
“hey this man left me with a baby, a pile of debt, and a restraining order,
while the bloodline fucked me, gaslit me, ghosted me, and said i was being dramatic.”

yeah.
absolutely fucking not.

i am radio-fucking-active.

for real—
years of stats confirming
the more honest i am,
the more invisible i become.

and y’all still think this is for attention?
bro,
i’m getting hate texts.
distant fam in the dms like
“do you really have to say that?”

girl.
i can’t even pay the fucking light bill.
i’m cleaning houses with a toddler.
debating stripping.
dancing.
selling plasma.
whatever.

and y’all really want me to go radio silent?

that’s funny.
meanwhile—
the only reason we had groceries last week
was because a real one saw a 3am story
and sent bread, milk, and gatorade
like trauma down-bitch doordash.

this shit is not hot.
there is no clout
in being openly,
publicly
fucked.
there’s no participation award.
no influencer baddie trophy.
no benefit for surviving what should’ve fucking ended you.

this is not empowering™.
this is not marketable.
this is system failure triage.

and still—
even when the stats tank,
even when the algorithm tells me to eat shit and die
(usually after i say something like
“free palestine” with my whole chest)—
i keep narrating.

because this is the only thing i’ve got.

i can’t privately explain 35 years of trauma
to 300 people one by one.
they don’t have the time.
they don’t have the bandwidth.
and let’s be real—
not everyone gives a fuck.

but if i stay visible,
if i say it when it’s happening—
the people who do care can read my sos.
and sometimes—
they actually fucking save us.

but go off—
next time you wanna snake,
“she’s doing this for pity,”
switch to the internal monologue
and ask yourself:

would you rather be dead,
homeless,
or disliked by megan from marketing
and an uncle that was always a dick?
’cause personally? same, bitch.

truth kills reach.
truth kills the mood.
truth kills families.
truth kills careers.
but silence kills women every day.

so definitely,
i could be out here—
still posting handstand pics on the beach
still doing it for the likes
still making that cash
if i’d just shut the fuck up.

but silence is dangerous.
and if the options are: disappear or disturb?
babe.
i’ll disturb.
i’ll burn it all-the-fuck down.

in high def.
with captions.
and the comment section off.