✨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.
💡

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. ✨✨

✨🖕🏻✨

✶ 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.

the life you could've had—if you weren't scared of greatness 🖤

okay, babe, pause.

i want you to sit with something.

like—
real quick, imagine:

it's early as fuck.
sun cracks in through our bedroom window.
i'm already awake because
your alarm wakes me before it wakes you.
but i roll over,
run my hand across your chest—
you open your eyes like,
"shit, my girl's fine as hell,"
and we fuck like we've got all day—
even though we've got like seven minutes
before the kids start destroying the house.

boom.
satisfied.
i make coffee,
and you hit those eggs
like your name is gordon fucking ramsay.
it’s sexy.
you catch a glance of me
in a crop top and booty shorts—
can’t help it,
you’re grabbing my waist,
telling me you can't wait 'til tonight.

chaos downstairs:
our kids—
already awake,
already wild as fuck.
climbing on you—
but babe,
i’ve got it.
this shit's easy mode.
you're dressed,
looking like an absolute snack.
i hand you an actual snack for work,
grab you by the back of your neck,
pull you in for that goodbye kiss
you can't stop thinking about all day.
you lift our babies up,
swing them around—
they’re laughing,
screaming,
all messy hair and giggles and shit.
you leave for work with that big
"damn, this is really my life" energy.

at work,
you bust your fucking ass.
you sweat,
grind,
get that fucking money.
you know why?
we've got vacations planned,
babe—
rollercoasters to hit,
beaches to claim with our babies.

meanwhile,
i'm home:
i’m raising these kids, babe,
and they’re fucking thriving.
killing law school.
immaculate house.
dog loyal as fuck.
kid happy as fuck.
and i’m making cash too—
but it's "fuck around and find out" money,
babe.
flexible schedule shit,
because bad-bitch lifestyle.

later,
you roll up after work,
sun just starting to dip.
i actually learned how to cook
without setting the kitchen on fire—
it's tacos or some shit.
you shower quick,
toss on sweatpants,
walk in like,
“holy shit, how did i land her?”
we sit,
eat,
laugh,
kids throwing taco shells around,
absolute chaos—
but fuck,
they’re so happy.
they watch us, babe.
they see us loving each other right.
healthy,
laughing,
safe,
alive.

babe?
sometimes we even roll up at your job
just because we can.
bring snacks.
wave at daddy.
kids proud as shit—
seeing you do cool big man things.
you flex a little,
feeling yourself,
knowing your family sees you
absolutely dominating.

sun's almost gone,
we throw the kids in the truck for ice cream
but they pass out hard,
sticky faces pressed to the windows.
we pull over,
watch the sunset,
debating full-scale parental abandonment right there—
because, damn,
we’re still fucking obsessed with each other.
we chill,
hold hands,
step outside the truck—
to hit the spliff,
listen to music,
swear like fucking sailors,
make stupid jokes,
die laughing—
realizing we genuinely fucking love being together.

back home,
we carry sleepy kids to bed,
quiet forehead kisses goodnight.
then we close our bedroom door,
look at each other like it's day fucking one,
and babe—
we climb on top of each other
like we're still teenagers sneaking around.

that’s it.
that’s the life you could’ve had.

bro, can you fucking imagine fumbling this?

i’d say “tragic,”
but honestly?
it’s just fucking pathetic.

🖤

damn babe: karma really slapped you upside the head.

(honey, you really manifested this shit)

but nah girl—
the vibe is:

can you imagine if i was your ex?

like,
imagine losing me
and living with that knowledge

not just the body
not just the brain
but the entire experience—
the rare combo of
baddie,
mother,
best fuck ever—
genius,
face card that never declines,
and woman who actually gave a shit about you
when she had absolutely zero reason to

nah
even in my worst chaos era
you fumbled
and i was just learning how betrayal lands
so i could come back sharper
less forgiving
and impossible to replace

years ago?
maybe i cried
maybe i begged
maybe i tried to reason with boys who don’t read
gave too many second chances
too much benefit of the doubt
to men with no benefits
and no doubt they’d fold under pressure

but now?

bro
even mid-apocalypse:
my home is immaculate
my kid is glowing
my gpa is climbing—
my dog’s got better judgment than you
i don’t lie.
i don’t cheat.
i don’t scam people out of love, money, or pity.
i don’t need to manipulate—
my personality is strong enough to carry me, babe.

you hope you upgraded?

baby—
your girl looks like a fan
who follows me on instagram
like—
lowkey hater
highkey obsessed
👀 watching my stories
like it’s bad bitch homework she’s failing
in the bushes like
“babe who is she?”
while i'm in your hoodie,
unbothered
and she struggles
to emotionally regulate in target.

(damn homie, embarrassing)

sweetie—
you’re not in love
you’re in hiding

and me?

still that mom
you wish your kid had—
still hotter than ever.
still fuck better,
still smell better,
still feel better,
and it still definitely haunts you.

but you’re just out here
still scrolling—
still
👀 👀 👀

…yikes,
babe.

sweetheart—
remember,
you don’t miss me
you miss the version of you
that felt less mediocre
next to a legend

and now?

now you get to love women
who ask less.
who need less.
who think less.
who mother—less.
who remind you of this version of yourself.
because that’s what boys choose
when they can’t grow up and claim a dime-piece.

how pathetic—

so here’s your compensation prize:
babe—

you get to tell people
you knew me.
once.

but not really.

🖤

💀 universal laws for the emotionally irresponsible.

a nonchalant science recap for the delulu & dramatic:
aka ☁️ physics for people who lie recreationally

1. newton’s third law
(the fuck-around-and-find-out doctrine)

yo—
let’s simplify:
every action has a reaction.
for every ghost,
there’s an equal and opposite glow-up—
and the universe sends you
a certified “wyd” at 3 am.
you lie about who you're with?
→ your "boys night" ends up tagged
on tiktok as a “do you know this man?”
hits the timeline like a meteor, babe.
nature’s clap-back:
you threw shade → they got brighter.
it’s basic drake physics:
"started from the bottom, now we here."
⚖️

2. the butterfly effect
(small fuckups, colossal L’s)

homie,
let’s talk causality.
you send one “u up?” at 2:17 am → 3 years later
you’re choosing nursery paint colors
with a girl named after an essential oil.
micro-mistakes multiply exponentially, babe.
one tiny lie
and suddenly your whole narrative
is sponsored by
anxiety meds
and paternity tests.
it’s giving “wtf did i do” energy
sincerely,
chaos theory.
tiny flap.
massive storm.
oops.
🦋

3. schrödinger’s cat
(the quantum dm slide theory)

bro—
the unread message
is both “seen” and “unseen”
until you click it.
it’s simultaneously chill vibes
and a 7-paragraph monologue
that’ll ruin your life.
leave it unopened: anxiety.
open it: confirmed chaos.
welcome to the quantum mechanics
of your inbox—
where every notification
is a fuckin existential crisis
waiting to drop.
the cat’s already dead.
so is the vibe.
📲

4. entropy
(everything trends towards chaos)

everything falls apart
unless maintained.
and babe—
you didn’t maintain.
same shit applies emotionally.
you start narrating bullshit and leave it…
unresolved?
babe—
suddenly you’re living
in an emotional haunted house.
the sloppy chronology piles up
until you’re sleeping on unresolved drama,
unpaid emotional support,
and too many “it’s just complicated” texts
clean up your shit—
or watch it deteriorate into chaos.
⚡️

5. occam’s razor
(angel, just stop fuckin lying)

short version:
the simplest explanation
is usually the correct one.
(shout out to the hubby)
your girl catches you:
option a: “my phone died.” (probable, mildly sus.)
option b: “i got kidnapped by crypto bros in cancun and they deleted my contacts.”
(creative, highly entertaining, deeply full of shit.)
lying requires hella footnotes, baby.
the truth?
uncomplicated.
cut the shit.
✂️

6. the first law of thermodynamics
(bullshit is eternal)

energy cannot be created or destroyed—
only transformed.
aka: “real hot-girl shit.”—
(thanks, megan)
so the dramatics you stirred up
thinking “lol really fucked up that love story”
nah babe,
it transformed into emotional warfare
and is now fully weaponized against you—
the insecure bullshit never evaporates;
it only evolves into trauma responses
and an emotional shitstorm—
everytime the jealousy spikes.
you’re reminded—
because that shit is forever.
🔥

7. quantum entanglement
(two lies, one notification)

scientists say two particles
linked together react instantly across distance.
translate this shit:
you send one shady dm in boulder—
her best friend’s crystals vibrate in alabama.
energy’s real, king.
and so’s the screenshot.
(jk—but don’t test me)
🔗

8. karma
(the spiritual “fuckkkkk”)

yo—
to quote the words of
saint cardi:
“the karma for you is gon’ be
who you end up with.”
translation:
every lie,
ghost,
or fuck-around = shiiiiiit.
karma’s just waiting for you
to post a thirst trap—
then sends it to your boss,
your mom,
and your spiritual advisor.
🪬

9. sunk cost fallacy
(doubling down on dumb shit)

”got 99 problems...?"
and more specifically…….
it ain’t love—
you’re just embarrassed.
you stayed because leaving meant admitting
you wasted years on a delulu theory.
and now?
you’re committed.
so you’re out here doubling down on stupid.
sending more texts,
fabricating timelines,
inventing fake scenarios.
congrats, honey,
now we all take the hit.
shit’s just bad math.
💸

10. roi of truth
(the index fund of vibes)

truth isn’t hot—
it’s fuckin slow-metamorphosis.
boring as shit,
but stable as hell.
lies are a crypto currency:
quick hype,
then crash harder than the 2008 stock market.
truth is the 401k of emotional investing:
compounding quietly,
zero panic attacks at midnight.
buy in early, bro.
🌪

the recap:

physics doesn’t care about your feelings.
and the universe isn’t chill.
it’s just patient.

bless up.
truth out.
🧃🧠🧃

intention deficit disorder 💀

ok like—
help me out here y’all.
(i’m serious)

i’m genuinely trying to understand
how people can move through life
with this bizarre skillset
of saying emotionally intimate shit
they don’t even slightly stand by.

like seriously,
i don’t think you realize
i logically cannot wrap my head around
the cognitive dissonance of that.

like
genuinely
can someone explain to me
how people have entire hidden motives
and don’t short-circuit from the sheer cognitive load of that??

like bro
i say what i mean
and i mean what i say
not because i’m above-it or evolved or whatever
but because i literally cannot keep track
of a fake personality
plus my real one
plus the logistics of daily survival

if i told you i cared—
i meant it
if i let you in,
it wasn’t a test
i wasn’t trying to manipulate you into staying
i just actually fuckin liked you
and thought maybe this would be safe

so when people say one thing
and then actively do the opposite
i’m like
bro.
genuinely.
what was the plan?
like was it a game?
did you win?
was the goal to get close to me just to dip??
congrats i guess?

like i am trying—
truly trying—
(this is a generalization)
to comprehend how someone
can look you dead in the eye
say “i love you,”
and be actively drafting their
fuck around and find out chaos
or dumpster fire of an exit strategy—
the same fucking second.
like…
did you dissociate mid-sentence or are you just evil?

my guy—
i’m sitting here like
a tired ass bitch with a toddler
a police dog drop-out and a google calendar
trying to figure out
why the people who swear they fuck with me
keep moving like kanye post–vma interruption
loud, chaotic, and not about me actually

like bro.
i’m not taylor.
you don’t get to hijack my stage
say you care
then bounce
leaving me to accept an award
for surviving shit you induced

and this isn’t even romantic at this point
this is across the fucking board
family, friends, people who “wanna help,”
people who “care so much,”
and then completely fuck you
or ghost harder than my serotonin every time the
delusion disintegrates

and bro, truly—
it’s not that i’m out here on some high-road saint shit
it’s just like
i don’t have the neurological capacity
for multilayered interpersonal deceit.

it is actually confusing to me.
because why not just—
disengage?
not waste energy fucking with people?

because honestly—

you think i’m scheming?
babe i’m googling “is it normal to forget to eat and also cry while folding laundry”
i’m maxed out.
i don’t have a secret folder of false identities.
this is it.
this is the whole presentation.

if i love you, you’ll know it.
if i’m mad, you’ll hear it.
if i say “i care,” it’s not a pr stunt.
it’s because i meant it with my whole unhinged little chest

so when people say shit they never plan to keep solid—
like “i’m not going anywhere”
then dip harder than jay-z during the diddy trial.
i’m just like
ok.
cool.
so yeah
if you told me one thing
and then did the complete opposite
i’m not mad
i’m just… confused.
like deadass.
because…
what was the reason?
why even say it??

it breaks my heart
and honestly, it’s giving:
“i love you but only if it costs me nothing”
”i was always trying to manipulate you”
“i’ll always be here” (except when you’re sobbing)
”you matter to me” (until i get challenged or uncomfortable)

and it’s not even that deep anymore
i’m not spiraling
i’m just looking around like
bro. seriously?
was this your plan??
this??

idk

seems unfulfilling.
i’m just sitting here
blank-faced
asking the universe:
why?

like did it make you feel powerful
to pretend you were safe for me?
did you just wanna get the behind-the-scenes access
before lighting a fire and dipping??
did you just wanna feel something?

—you practice your exit in advance?

because.
yo. be serious.
i know i’m intense
but i’m consistent.
and it’s wild that
me—trauma-coded,
adhd fried,
hanging by one thread of executive function—
is somehow the most honest bitch in the room.

idk man
maybe y’all are built different.
maybe your capacity for false intimacy is
a feature, not a bug.

maybe y’all are the intelligent ones.

but over here?
i’m incapable of pretending
i physically cannot perform affection i don’t feel
it would be mentally exhausting,
feel unproductive—
and i refuse to buy-in
to this casual intentional cruelty
y’all pass off as standard.

it’s weird.

so yeah.
i’m perplexed.
not raging.
just genuinely, neurologically
and spiritually
confused as fuck

i meant what i said.
and you didn’t.
and apparently
that was the intention.

odd af.