the little girl in me keeps asking if it’s safe yet. 👧🏼🧸🫣

like—
how wild
is it that my brain
still craves
someone stepping
between me and the world,
when the evidence is
a three decade-long disaster
of men who couldn’t even
step between me
and the goddamn sink full of dishes.

i want to be feral.
self-contained.
but somewhere in me,
the little girl—
is still tugging a sleeve,
looking up,
whispering: 👧🏼🎀
“please don’t let me
do this alone. just once.
just once, can you protect me?”

instead i get silence.
instead i get all the bills in my name,
bruises i have to document,
cops who ask if i’m being vengeful.
🐍🖤💋

and i hate
how much i want it.
hate how much
my body still aches
for someone’s shadow
to cover mine.
hate how
i would probably
fucking melt
for the bare minimum
fucking shield—
like a man
standing in a doorway
and saying

👤✋✨ “not her. not today.”

it’s humiliating,
honestly.
to crave protection
in a life where
i’ve had to build
my own fucking fortress.

i can cite
rule 4(e)(2)(B) in class,
i can figure out
single motherhood,
with zero fucking backup—
i can install window bars,
train a german shepherd,
walk into midterms
with a fucking fever
because the babysitter
goddamn ghosted,
👩‍💻✨
and still—
still i ache
for someone
to just step in and say:

“i’ve got her. she doesn’t fight this one alone.” 🥀🗝️

i know,
it’s so stupid.
that there’s still
this pathetic,
feral fucking wish:
that somebody,
someday,
might finally
stand between me
and the goddamn knife.

🔪

🤫📄💨 ✶ lapse-a-palooza ✶ the dates they filed that made my baby lawyer brain do a “yo, wtf” 💀

the “are y’all dumb or just corporate?” —official memo

aka: the tragic comedy of policy “termination” ft. sam’s last $700 and zero lies

bitch.
lol.
they really
handed to the court
a document in their
sad little filing saga that:

💫 hubby’s term policy
🍼 my baby’s whole life policy
💅🏻 my own life policy

all just coincidentally
lapsed or terminated
on feb 19, 2025
(except mine,
which they say died
[🪦 r.i.p.] may 9, 2025).

💀

ok so let’s be
specific.

these clowns are now claiming that:

🤰 while weeks postpartum
🩸 still bleeding, leaking, crying, and actively trying not to die
✍🏼 coerced into signing under emotional and physical duress
🏥 no onboarding. no walkthrough. no disclosures. no real consent.
🚫 no policy meeting. no “hey here’s what this means for your family.”

…lapsed on february 19, 2025.
and they really had the balls
to say that in a court filing.

you know—
the same policy they:
let me fund,
never confirmed with me,
never explained,
never transferred,
and then let disappear
while still charging me for it.

and then let evaporate quietly 🧾💅🏻

but wait—
it gets dumber. 🤡

🚩 meanwhile in who-owns-what clown hell: 🪓🙂💀

☑ i paid for my policy, his, and baby’s.
☑ all three were under my payment file
☑ i’m the only one with a job, income, or fucking pulse in this relationship

(oh and apparently,
the only one without an insider,
personal “awkward” relationship
with our financial rep,
while we’re actively married
and raising our newborn)

💩💩💩💩

yet:

🔪 hubby is the sole beneficiary on my policy
🔪 he’s unemployed
🔪 he’s paying for NONE of it
🔪 and his new girlfriend

(yes, the awkward office affair one)
was texting and facetiming him,
sending him kickbacks 🤫💋
while he lived in my condo,
as i funded his “career”
during my entire pregnancy.

and she was likely in contact with him
while he was actively listed as the beneficiary
👀🔪🙂💀🌹🤫 ✨

🧟‍♂️ this man could literally
have un-alived me
and collected a check
from a policy i funded
through a company
whose rep facilitated it
all to happen 💣💥😊
all while—
at the very least,
having had
emotionally
and financially
stepped the fuck out 💋😈
with my legal husband—
and still didn’t mention
a fucking conflict.
🌫️🤫✨

✨make it make fucking sense✨

meanwhile?

🧾 jan 2025 —
i pay for all three policies
(mine, hubby’s, baby’s)

🧾 feb–may 2025 —
they’re still actively:

servicing me as payor
emailing me about policies
accepting drafts
re-onboarding the child
asking me to “start” baby’s policy AGAIN
never once saying
🗣🗣🗣 “hey, btw, her original policy lapsed for no reason lol”

like?
so…
which fucking policy
was i paying for?
when i
linked my new bank account—
while actively
under a TRO,
in 2025?

hm.

'cause if you’re saying
the first lapsed
absolutely,
couldn’t be revived
🤫📄💨
by feb 2025…
then what the fuck
was the policy
you were actively
billing me for
and i paid for—
in january?

or what about
my husband’s policy
i paid for,
(that you confirmed via email)
even though—
he had apparently
already changed the
fucking beneficiary,
(despite having “zero”
official contact with your office)
but you
lol, didn’t think to
fucking tell me.
and yeah,
no refunds. 🕊

🧍‍♀️→🪦
“sam’s paying for a ghost”
is a wild business model.

and nah,
you don’t get to claim
“nonpayment” 👻
when the entire record
is you
fucking emailing me
about how to fix the thing
you allegedly already buried.

🪓 short version for the jury:
(aka: emails don’t lie, y’all just lazy)

i signed for her first policy
while still in a fucking diaper.
you let it “lapse.”
then had the audacity to

✘ bill me
✘ re-onboard me
✘ collect bank info
✘ accept drafts
✘ assign me ownership
✨🤫📄💨

and file a defense that
says i’m fucking irrelevant.
baby, that’s not a lapse.
that’s a fucking negligence confession.

and after that level of bullshit?
when i try to
re-enroll
my fucking infant
in a policy
from fucking scratch,
zero equity transferred? ✨

bro,
they fuck me again.

apr 2025
🧠 me: “pls re-enroll ryan, here’s the new payment info.”
📩 them: “will start it for you. we’ll check your policy is paid.”
📍5pm: “what’s your new colorado address?”

…
📩 updated address.
again. updated bank. again.
(this much follow-up should cost extra.)

…
📩 “thx for completing ryan’s medical questionnaire…”
(…for the alleged “lapse” restart, so my new rep could
make double commission off a single mom—lmao)

may 14, 2025
📍3:30 pm: me — confirms birth state.
📍3:32 pm: them — “need banking info to pay YOUR life insurance + ryan’s.”
(we’re going to auto-pay this “fraudulent” 🤫 new policy and lapse your individual one)

lol

I THEN FORWARD
FULL BANKING NUMBER
+ ROUTING
FOR AUTOPAYMENTS. 💥

y’all,
this is where
they themselves
self-fucking-report
to allow my
year plus old—
personal policy,
to fucking lapse.
(now all three are gone)
💥🥴

what?
how the actual fuck?
just like—
fuck it, huh?
thought i wouldn’t
actually read
the response?
or some shit?

the fuck?

💥🤷‍♂️🤦

📉 meanwhile in billing clownland…

while they’re screaming “nonpayment,” their system is:

☑ sending autopay confirmations
☑ flagging grace notices
☑ consolidating all three policies
☑ accepting drafts after the alleged lapses

like holy shit.
babes…
you can’t claim
i ghosted
while actively sending me
overdue balance alerts
and updating
my child’s damn application
and my payment info.

🤫😉 duality of delusion:
they deadass claim:

(a) i never owned hubby’s or my baby’s policies
(b) but accepted premiums “as directed
and authorized by samantha lowe”
and i signed all the paperwork for the baby—
and signed for my husband,
docs that are:
no longer available anywhere ✨
on my account.
(lol, girl pick a personality.)

🤡 clown math says:

✘💋 feb 19 lapse?
ok so why are you
charging me in jan 2025—
while under a protective order,
when my husband
(unknowingly to me)
already removed me,
and my baby’s policy,
isn’t even mine?
while my og rep,
watches every “estrangement”
instagram fucking story?
(like someone way too personally
entangled with a client / coworker?)
emailing me mar 24
to backpay my policy/baby’s
and remove hubby’s from my file?
(sounds like i’m the wallet, not the ghost.)

✘💋 may 9 lapse?
then what the fuck
are you doing may 14
asking for my bank info
to set my policy on autopay
and launch my kid’s?
and what the fuck
are you doing may 28
issuing a new one
with me as owner/payor—
as you let my personal policy
fucking lapse?

are y’all actually serious
with this legal response—
including this bizarre ass
seeming confession
of blatant fucking fraud?

😦

wow.
bold. 🔥

🎯 so what are we looking at?

☠️ a postpartum mom signs a policy to protect her newborn
☠️ her abusive husband is made her beneficiary
☠️ she pays for all three policies
☠️ he contributes $0, commits DV, fucking vanishes
☠️ the firm never changes the beneficiary
☠️ they “lose” the first child policy
☠️ re-onboard her behind the scenes
☠️ take more of her money
☠️ and file a defense pretending we don’t matter

this isn’t insurance.
it’s a fucking death wish template.

🧨 preemptive chirp response:

“but did she even pay?”

📣 yes, bitch.
i paid for
all three in jan 2025
with $200 out of my last $700
because i believed in keeping them.

then i:

✔ updated bank info
✔ followed all steps
✔ responded to every rep
✔ sent drafts
✔ complied with every notice
✔ asked no questions when i should’ve sued earlier

🤪

that’s good faith.
that’s mitigation.
that’s not how lapse law works
when you keep taking my fucking money.

⚖️ for the jury: (babe, they’re not dumb)

✘ the lapse dates are improv
✘ they let a broke, unemployed, abusive husband stay on as beneficiary
✘ while collecting money from his battered wife
✘ for a policy that lapsed
✘ on a child she was still healing from birthing
✘ after a fraudulent onboarding
✘ during an active domestic violence crisis
✘ with no real agent, no disclosures, and no support
✘ and then they claimed it was just “nonpayment.”

nah bitch.
that’s negligence.
that’s enabling.
that’s blood money accounting.

they submitted this shit
with confidence.
i’ll file the truth with records.
and if he ever cashed out on my death—
they’d have called it a “clerical error.”

💀🪓🙂

yo, fraud squad—
you want to
lie on a legal filing?
cool.
i’ll be here
with the actual fucking records—
oh, and
the trauma bleeding
through the fucking whole
goddamn timeline
you created.

💫

✶ stay dumb.
✶ i stay filed.

just let me suffer in peace—for fuck’s sake. 😩🤝🙃🕊️

✦

you know what
i don’t have to do?
apologize
for fucking bleeding.

like damn,
people are way
fucking madder
that i feel shit
than the fact
that it actually
fucking happened.
how fucked up
is that?

wild, huh?
you’re chill with abuse
but not
my audacity
to process it
like a grown baddie
instead of
a violent fucking manchild?

💀 cool.

and yeah
maybe sometimes
i sound rage-light™
(bc hi,
single mommy.
sleep deprived.
fighting goddamn demons).
but let’s be real—
it’s not rage,
it’s just me
hemorrhaging
in fucking public.

and i’m done
apologizing
for making pain
look like
fucking paragraphs—
to not implode.
to not throw hands.
to not commit
sponsored fucking felonies™.
babe—
instead of
fucking prison time.
yo.
because be real—
it’s not fists.
not strangling.
not fucking fraud.
not abandonment.
not cheating.
not theft.
it’s not the shit
they did to me.

it’s me—
choosing not to rot.

but apparently,
even my feelings
need a fucking permission slip.
like sorry
i still love a baby
i never met.
sorry
i once
loved someone
who doesn’t even
fucking exist anymore.
except
in the deep
fake-ass
version my trauma
coded as “love.”
sorry
i keep fucking surviving
when everyone else
wanted me
to fucking die.

and
maybe
that’s fucking embarrassing.

because listen,
i’m not
the type
to chase.
you’ll get
maybe
one “wtf” text
every leap year,
otherwise
i ghost so hard
i make casper
look fucking clingy.
but can i
not
just fucking feel?
can i not
have this dirty
lil fucking corner
of the internet
to stitch
my goddamn wounds
in fucking peace?

bc if i smile—
wrong.
if i fuck—
wrong.
if i rage—
wrong.

if i tell the truth—
dead wrong.

if i’m mad?
i’m fucking dramatic.
if i’m happy?
i’m faking it.
if i’m in love again?
i’m a goddamn whore.
if i say i’m not over him?
oh she’s fucking obsessed.

yo,
just let me fucking live.

like—
nah.
fuck off.

seriously.
i don’t give a fuck.
maybe it looks
pathetic to you.
but fuck it.
i felt it.
i lived it.
and i don’t owe you
a fucking retraction.

fucking ever.

🖤

but this?
little grief garden
i made online?
this shit is mine.

truth is
this is the healthiest
i’ve ever fucking been.
i’ve escaped the goddamn abuse.
and i had
to drag
my bleeding body
by the hair
through fucking hell.

so let me write.

'cause i’d rather
let it die in poetry
than in fucking prison.

✦

so yeah.
this is the fucking graveyard
for what i can’t
scream out loud.
the place
i let it hurt
without killing me first.
an altar made
of wi-fi and fucking blood,
for whoever
the fuck
stumbles across it
and feels
less fucking alone.

🕯️💀🕊️

god changed her mind. move the fuck on.

fuck it.
i’ll say it.
i don’t cry over my ex.
i don’t cry over my mom.
i don’t cry over
my fucked-up life
or how i’ve had to
survive shit
that would leave
most people
in the fucking ground.

but this?
this shit right here?
losing her—
shit’s got me
sobbing at 3am
on some
random-ass wednesday.

nah, but—
i’m not a fucking soft bitch.
it just makes me so fucking mad,
i don’t have anything
to prove
you
even
ever
fucking
existed.

i cry about that shit.

i fucking cry about a baby
who never even got a chance
to be “real” to anyone else.
no fucking ultrasound taped to the fridge.
no fucking hospital bracelet.
no stupid fucking balloon.

bro.
no paperwork to prove
she even fucking had life.
god, that fucking kills me.
yo, for real.
like a dropkick straight to my stomach.

like fuck it,
you don’t get a fucking funeral.
you just bleed out,
on the fucking floor.
by yourself.

and that’s how
you get to say
goddamn goodbye.
to an entire
alternate fucking timeline.
where maybe i had two of you.

she never made it.
but she made it to me.
she was real to me.
she lived in my body
and rewired my entire
sense of fucking hope.
and then she was just—
fucking gone.
no warning.
no explanation.
no fucking goodbye.
just some faded ass lines,
and blood gushing out of me
on the laundry room floor.

yep.
but like,
next day?
everyone acted like
i should just
bounce the fuck back.
like it was a fucking blip.
like i should be grateful
i still “could” have another.
(i am)

but i didn’t want another.
i wanted her.
and i still do.
and i fucking loved her.

yeah,
fucking both of them.

because, yo—
most days?
i don’t think about fucking anything.
i black out all the pain.
nah,
i mean all of it.
some days i’m fine.
then a random night
throat-punches me
and i’m on the
the fucking floor again
like a dumbass cliché
i want to set the fuck on fire.
it’s embarrassing as hell.
i don’t want to be this
little pussy ass bitch.
i hate feeling this much
fucking pain.
i hate this story.
i hate that i still cry.
i hate that i can’t logic it away.
i hate that the world
gives zero fucks
about a goddamn ghost
and tells me
to get the fuck over it.

ok.

i found out
i never even
knew my husband.
he was probably
lying to me
the fucking whole time.
cheating.
manipulating.
spending my money
and building some
std-filled-future
while i was planning
to raise our fucking kid.

and even that betrayal?
bro, literally—whatever.
dude was truly wack.
cool.
take him.
fucking trash day.

besides my kids?
(obvy sammi included)
fuck it,
throw them the fuck away.
done with my mom.
yep.
she’s gunna
miss
the whole ass
grandma era
fucking experience.
sucks for her.
my entire
fucking family—
is goddamn
dead to me.

and honestly?
couldn’t give
a single fuck.
i’ll see
those assholes
in fucking hell.

shit isn’t a loss, bro.
those people?
they don’t give a fuck.
and now?
i don’t either.
because
really,
it’s like my whole life
has been
so fucking numb.
i can’t feel things sometimes.
it’s just like—
i expected you to hurt me.
i expected you to fuck off
and obviously—
goddamn abandon me.
that part?
yeah, fucking whatever.
that pain is dull.
nah,
i don’t even cry.

but her?
she is bright,
sharp pain that
refuses to fade.
she’s the quiet room
in my aching chest
with the light left on.
she’s the “should have been”
that keeps breathing
even when
i’m trying not to think.

and don’t get it fucked up:
i would choose my daughter
now
a thousand lifetimes
in a row.
she is fucking perfect,
feral magic,
exactly where
she’s meant to be.
i’d break my body
a million fucking times
again
for her
without blinking.

it’s just—
two truths
can live in the same
brutal tiny chest:
i’m grateful
for the child i have.
and i am fucking haunted
by the one i didn’t get to keep.

and i don’t have
a dumb
fucking lesson for you.
nah,
no bow.
no moral.
no “everything happens for a reason.”
for the love of god,
please miss me with that.

because her loss wasn’t just sad.
it was cosmic.
like something sacred
got ripped from my life mid-sentence.
like god herself
changed her fucking mind.

i just want it to
stop
fucking
hurting like this.

until then,
i’ll keep doing what i do:
pay the bills.
kiss my living girl’s forehead.
and sometimes—
on those random,
stupid fucking days—
i’ll pull over,
cry like a dumb motherfucker,
wipe my face,
and keep going.

girl: this is a bitch slap 💥🤚🏼

girl.
fucking relax.

i am a dumbass
lovergirl.
to my dumbass core.

but bitch.
hello?

💕🗣️ attraction ≠ capacity

he wants to fuck you.
he can’t find you
on a google fucking calendar.
bro
can’t even
pick a dinner spot
but thinks
he’s your future husband.
yo.
you’re not asking
for too much.
you’re asking a himbo
with exactly—
zero
load-bearing skills
to build a fucking life.
bro.
he can’t carry it.
not even in installments.

—

“he’s just confused”

ok but
you’re the only one
with anxiety. lol
babe.
repeat after me:
he's not confused.
he's fucking cowardly
and you're in denial.
you’re out here
writing plotlines
for a man
who can't finish
a fucking text.
you keep calling it
a “gray area”
when it’s clearly
flying red fucking flags
in a goddamn trench coat.
girl.
stop squinting.
it's not nuance.
you’re not special.
he just doesn’t love you.
he never did.
it's all bullshit.
you got played.

—

your boundaries
didn’t scare him.

babe—
they exposed him.
he clocked your standards
and immediately
shit the fucking bed.
then blamed your tone.
then said
“you’re too much.”
nah,
he’s just used
to women who speak
his mind
instead of her own
and cook through
the fucking tears.

—

let’s translate “i hate you”

☑ “you know too much.”
☑ “you saw behind the cosplay.”
☑ “you expected realshit and i only got vibes.”
☑ “i’m not done lying to other women and you’re making it hard.”
☑ “you’re a closed door with a ring camera. i prefer unlocked windows.”

baby.
he doesn’t hate you.
he hates that
you woke the fuck up.

—

you were never asking for too much.

you were asking for
a text back,
a plan,
and a man
with a face
and a spine
at the same fucking time.
apparently
that’s the
holy fucking trinity now.

—

let’s get disgusting 💕
with the truth:

→ he didn’t forget to call.
→ he remembered, and chose not to.
→ he didn’t change.
→ your tolerance for excuses just went to fucking zip.
→ he didn’t ruin your peace.
→ you let a walking c+ in on a group project and now your GPA is fucking crying.
→he didn’t ghost.
→ he self-deported when your standards required a fucking visa.

—

girlie. 💫
your anxiety attack is not a fucking soulmate,

it's a warning siren.
he’s not “giving butterflies.”
you’re just not safe,
bitch.

—

capacity checklist 💀
(the bros that fail in real time)

■ shows up on time? ❌
■ plans a date that doesn’t require google maps or emergency birth control? ❌
■ knows what he wants? ❌
■ says what he means? ❌
■ leaves you better, not bleeding out from nervous system rot? ❌

nah—
he’s not a man.
he’s just some fucking dude.

—

stop writing poetry
for fucking side characters

baby.
he’s an extra.
fucking background noise.
a goddamn filler episode
that set you back six months.
he came with no plot,
no fucking purpose,
and not a single fucking word of truth.
he brought a hoodie,
not a future.
and you were about to—
fuck his trauma out
like it was a muscle spasm?
girl.

—

new commandments 🔥
for emotionally exiled baddies

✝ thou shalt not decode texts from the illiterate.

✝ thou shalt not negotiate with libido in a truck.

✝ thou shalt remember: the bar is not hell. it’s buried under his mother's house.

✝ thou shalt not babysit potential. especially when it shits.

✝ thou shalt not fuck men who disappear when asked for an ounce of fucking bravery.

—

edit that shit out of your life ⏪

sweetheart.
you’re not “crazy.”
you’re underprotected and sick of reading records out loud.
you’re not “clingy.”
you just noticed you’re the only one holding the damn rope.
you’re not “intimidating.”
he just can’t lie in front of a camera
and that’s on god + evidence.

—

🕯️ conclusion (and fucking obituary)

he died doing what he loved:
being vaguely hot and
emotionally fucking bankrupt.
that shit was never love.
respectfully?
fucking next.

❤️‍🔥

why i say: fuck the parties 🐘🎖️ 🏳️‍🌈 ⛪️ 🇮🇱 🚔🕊️🔫 ☮️🏳️‍⚧️

aka: the two party brain-fuck

🧃

rude.
hilarious.
still true.

(blue-hair + pronouns + chronically online vibes)
🌹 ✊ 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍⚧️ 🌍 🌱 ☮️ 📢 🕊️

v.

(maybe nazi + love guns + truly believe jesus = white)
🐘 💰 🔫 🎖️ ⛪️ 🇮🇱 🚔 🛑 🛡️

first off.
the whole
“team red vs. team blue” bullshit?
stupid as fuck.
always was.
never the fucking point.

america didn’t start
with two fucking parties
in the goddamn constitution —
the framers were
literally screaming
don’t do factions, dumbasses
and within like five minutes
they were like
“ok word—
federalists vs. anti-federalists,
let’s fucking go.”
pure fucking clownery
from the fucking jump.

so as per usual—
let’s run it the fuck back.

✶ "i am not a crook"
nixon (1969–74)

the plot twist king.
bro was a crook.
watergate, baby. 👀
tried to bug the dnc,
lied,
obstructed,
dragged
the whole fucking country
through scandal
until this fucker had to resign.
also started the “war on drugs”
basically as a tool
to criminalize white hippies +
black people.
straight from his aides’
motherfucking mouths.
big time slime.
but signed the fucking epa
into goddamn existence
and green-lit title ix
(big feminist/environment flex)—
objectively fucking huge.
then turned around
and laid the scaffolding
for the modern drug war
with the
controlled substances act
and the dea.
environment + women = up;
criminalization machine = also up.
welcome to the fucking contradictions.
clean air for your lungs,
prison time
for your neighbors.

✶ major “grandpa in cardigans” energy.
carter (1977–81)

lowkey the deregulator king.
totally fucked the iran hostage crisis
(444 days of fucking humiliation).
deregulated
trucking,
airlines,
banking —
which sounded efficient
until it gutted wages +
blew holes in fucking industries.
preached human rights
while arming fucking dictators.
fucking slime in a sweater.
bro—go deeper.
the airline deregulation act (1978)
ripped price/route controls off the industry —
cheaper fares + more flights for many—
also goodbye small-town airports +
hello “$35 carry-on fees.”
tradeoffs, baby.
that shit is fucking real.

✶ full roid rage level “law & order.”
reagan (1981–89)

this motherfucker.
mr. hollywood himself.
bro was a little weird.
run it back.
iran-contra: illegally sold
weapons to iran
to fund nicaraguan
fucking death squads.
then lied about it.
exploded homelessness
by slashing fucking
mental health + housing funding.
union-busting (see: PATCO strike).
built “morning in america”
on fucking mass incarceration +
exploding fucking inequality.
tough-on-crime
on fucking steroids.
anti-drug abuse acts (’86, ’88)
baked in the infamous
100:1 crack vs. powder
fucking sentencing gap =
decades of racialized
fucking damage
and
communities nuked.
simultaneously,
he signed IRCA (1986) —
employer sanctions +
border enforcement
and fucking amnesty
for ~3 million
undocumented people.
fucking contradictions,
again.

✶ the og bush
george h. w. bush (1989–93)

“read my lips”
guy who then…
raised taxes
lmfao.
willie horton ad:
racist fearmongering
that helped him fucking win.
doubled the fuck down
on drug war + mandatory minimums.
played the gulf war like a fucking
tv special —
ratings up, bodies downrange.
signed the
1990 budget deal
because
math > slogans.
also signed
the ada (1990) —
landmark civil-rights law
for disabled americans.
that’s real governance,
not vibes.
pretty much
he fumbled slogans
but left wheelchair ramps
fucking everywhere.

✶ slick willie =
the centrist fucking shitshow.
fucking clinton (1993–2001)

yo. this fucking guy.
bro,
my man
pisses me the fuck off, tbh.
most def likes minors.
crime bill: supercharged prison building.
welfare reform:
time limits + work rules
that left poor families fucked.
fucking NAFTA:
factories shuttered, towns gutted.
the monica fucking lewinsky scandal:
lied under motherfucking oath,
impeached for perjury + obstruction.
repealed glass-steagall = set the stage for 2008.
charm slime.
saxophone slime.
nafta implemented (1994):
integrated
north american
supply chains;
lowered prices;
messy sectoral winners/losers,
esp. manufacturing.
1994 crime bill:
$$$ for cops/prisons +
violence against women act +
“tough” incentives states chased;
big carceral tailwinds.
welfare reform (PRWORA, 1996):
time limits/work requirements;
safety-net holes widened
when the boom faded.
telecom act (1996):
rewired media/telecom competition
(and consolidation).
gramm-leach-bliley (1999):
tore down big chunks
of new deal bank walls;
also birthed modern
financial-privacy rules.
deregulatory + privacy weirdness
in one package.
legacy?
set the stage for the ’08 crash.
but yeah,
he played saxophone
(lmfao),
so libs
got fucking wet.
fucking yikes.

✶ the frat bro presidency.
george w. bush (2001–09)

lol.
bro is kinda funny.
be real.
but also—
the whiplash era.
yo—this dude
got a fucking shoe
thrown at him
mid-fucking press conference.
lmfao. what?
also: patriot act +
surveillance state expansion
after 9/11.
civil liberties went all:
“hold up—be right back.”
bro. iraq AUMF (2002) → iraq war (2003).
you know the rest. shit was not good.
”weapons of mass destruction”
but actually,
nah. not really.
lowkey
destabilized
the whole goddamn region
+ killed fucking hundreds of thousands.
yet—
medicare part d (2003):
added drug coverage for seniors —
enormous domestic policy.
pepfar (2003): arguably the most
successful global health program
of our lifetimes —
millions of lives saved
from hiv/aids.
yes,
from a republican admin.
torture program:
“enhanced interrogation”
a.k.a. fucking war crimes.
big time fucking fumbled katrina
response so bad new orleans
drowned fucking twice.
(please see kanye’s official statement)
tax cuts for the rich + dereg =
deficit fucking exploded.
the frat bro who
crashed america’s fucking car.
so:
big,
deadly,
dumb war
and
smart health policy.
fucking weird-ass chaos.

✶ hope & change…
and fucking deportations.
obama (2009–17)

deporter-in-chief:
record fucking removals.
let wall street execs fuckoff
after 2008 crash —
no handcuffs, just bailouts.
expanded fucking drone strikes,
including on american citizens abroad.
syria “red line” bullshit collapsed.
smooth-ass slime.
inspiring slime-lite.
but fucking slime.
aca (2010): coverage expansion,
pre-existing condition protections;
medicaid expansion
where states fucking
allowed it.
the floor got sturdier,
i fucking guess.
dodd-frank (2010):
post-crash guardrails;
created fsoc and the
office of financial research
to watch systemic risk.
enforcement reality check:
deportations hit
record highs early
(2012 peak);
the machine grew
under both parties.
was lowkey kinda a pussy
about the supreme court shit.
like bro—
what the fuck?
but, bro did try.
daca (2012): limited protection
for dreamers via executive action —
powerful,
but vulnerable as fuck and
non-permanent.
don’t ask, don’t tell
repealed. aka: gays in uniform,
i mean duh.

✶ the orange fucking felon-guy.
trump (2017–21)

bro is a twat.
let’s be real.
my man is a fucking dickwad.
tcja (2017):
big corporate tax cut;
~$1.5T 10-yr revenue loss projected;
many individual cuts sunset in 2025.
first step act (2018):
bipartisan justice reform —
risk/needs assessment,
earned time credits,
some sentencing fixes.
yes, that happened.
usmca (2020): nafta reboot
with tougher labor/digital rules.
racist-ass travel ban upheld
in trump v. hawaii (2018) —
courts blessed broad exec power
on entry restrictions.
bro. fucking yikes.
this dude does everything
for goddamn attention.
also, let’s be fucking real,
most definitely
dabbled in some fucking
goddamn sexual assault.
family separation at the border.
kids in fucking cages,
goddamn receipts.
endless fucking conflicts
of fucking interest
(hotels, golf courses, foreign govts).
nepotism bullshit everything.
and do they look like elite fucks?
nah, looks imbred.
this joker is:
impeached…twice:
ukraine shakedown +
jan 6 fucking coup.
pandemic disaster:
bleach, fucking chaos, bodies.
absolutely fucked
the entire
fucking supreme court. lol.
no big deal, am i right?
xenophobia
and twat-ass
haters / racists—
got their legal stamp.
bro is a big baby.
slime, but make it
neon fucking orange.
also a felon.
like a lot.

✶ bro that was clearly too fucking old.
biden (2021–2025)

yo, why?
go fucking home.
still approving new oil +
gas projects while
waving fucking climate flags.
backed fucking israel
through bullshit + bombardments
that turned into
a goddamn full-scale
fucking genocide with
a shit-ton of
murdered fucking children
(!!!!!!!)
bro—fucking fuck.
also,
student debt relief fucking
watered the fuck down + delayed
while interest restarted.
friendly old man slime.
nap-time slime.
infrastructure law (2021):
roads/bridges, broadband, grid, water —
the boring shit that actually
keeps civilization fucking running.
inflation reduction act (2022):
climate industrial policy +
medicare drug price negotiation +
extended aca subsidies.
fucking huge.
chips & science (2022):
$ for domestic semis + r&d
+ tech hubs.
industrial policy is fucking back.
bipartisan safer communities (2022):
first federal gun law in decades
(u-21 checks, trafficking,
“boyfriend loophole” fixes).
dumpster-fire-ass
afghanistan withdrawal (2021):
state’s after-action review documents
how trump’s doha deal +
biden’s execution
boxed a messy,
deadly fucking exit.
pain all a-fucking-round.
grandpa joe
mixing fucking naps
with industrial policy.
bro, retire.

💀 the moral of the slime report:
every president is a mixtape
of “hey that was kinda…good”
and “wtf how was that even fucking legal.”
america doesn’t do goddamn saints.
it does slime with fucking slogans.

✶ ✶ ✶
motherfucking reality checks
(aka why your brain hurts)

1) the carceral state wasn’t one party.
reagan-era drug laws (100:1 crack-powder) +
clinton’s ’94 bill = bipartisan accelerant.
the fair sentencing act (2010) cut it to 18:1,
and the first step act (2018) made some relief retroactive —
but decades of damage don’t evaporate.

2) mass incarceration grew for decades.
from the 1970s to early 2000s,
prison populations exploded;
by 2001, over 1.3m people were in state/federal prison.
the curve finally bent (a little) in the late 2010s,
but the scale remains fucking huge.

3) deregulation waves weren’t just republican.
carter’s airline deregulation;
clinton’s telecom +
finance moves; reagan/bush tax reforms.
both parties put fucking sandpaper
to old-ass regulatory walls —
sometimes good, sometimes shitty.

4) “law and order” is bipartisan branding; surveillance, too.
patriot act powers survived
multiple
fucking
admins.
later reforms
cut some shit—
but the post-9/11 security state
never went back in the fucking box.

5) also bipartisan: big civil-rights/health wins.
ada (1990) under bush sr.; pepfar (2003) under bush jr.;
aca (2010) under obama; ira (2022) under biden.
it’s never pure-ass politics
if you follow outcomes,
not fucking hashtags.

✶ ✶ ✶
okay, but what should liberals
actually know (and probably hate-read)?

✘ clinton didn’t just play sax on arsenio —
he was a highkey fucking douchebag,
that got his d sucked in the motherfucking
oval fucking office by a
borderline fucking child/adult
oh yeah, and—
he fucking supercharged “tough on crime,”
signed welfare reform,
and dereg’d finance/telecom
while doing VAWA and EITC expansions.
paradox shitshow.

✘ both bushes did some grown-up shit
liberals actually like
(ada, pepfar, part d, even tax honesty in ’90),
alongside wars and surveillance libs
(and many fucking conservs) hate.
humans are messy;
presidencies more so.

✘ obama expanded coverage
and financial guardrails
and ran the most muscular interior
fucking immigration enforcement
early on,
then pivoted.
multiple truths can sit in one seat.

✘ trump did the fucking expected
(tcja, travel ban), the dumpster fire chaotic,
and a reform many progressives wanted
(first step act). it’s goddamn whiplash
all the fucking way down.

✘ biden’s era is industrial policy +
climate + boring-but-big infrastructure…
and the fucking afghanistan exit
we’ll be dissecting
for a motherfucking decade.

✶ ✶ ✶
the rude, but fucking useful.

every
modern
president
did some shit
your side loves
and some shit
your side pretends
didn’t fucking happen.
policy is a cosmic fuckery
of goddamn tradeoffs.
slogans are trash
that rot your teeth.

think harder.
look deeper.
decide for yourself.

🕊️🔫

slow clap: here we fucking are again 💫

“here we fucking are again” 💫

—

bro.
i’m just venting
into the goddamn void.
i am in fucking disbelief.
truly. whatever.
because—
like,
are you shitting me
level disbelief.
idk why, though.
but it’s the kind where
you want to throw your laptop
through a goddamn window,
but you can’t—
because it’s the same laptop
you need to
file pro se pleadings,
while your toddler
freaks the fuck out
because she can’t
punch the screen
while climbing in your lap
and your violent-ass ex
is out free
on felony fucking bond
and can’t be
fucking
pinned down.
cool.
cool.
cool.

everybody swore up and down:
“if it ever gets really bad, i’ll be there.”

yo: it’s really fucking bad.
and guess who’s here?
us.
just me.
as per.

—

my life right now?
let’s look—

🖤 $700 law school classes
attended with a screaming toddler
while i’m trying not to cry on camera
getting socratic methoded into fucking oblivion

🖤 a live criminal case
against the man who strangled me pregnant.
(no, not “allegedly.” he fucking did.)

🖤 a civil lawsuit
where i’m my own fucking attorney
because apparently billion-dollar firms
can fuck me for no reason
and still plead “no duty.”
(who the fuck are you?)

🖤 clients texting me like,
“yo cleaning emergency—
while i’m like—
yeah, sure,
let me just
juggle felony-level
domestic violence,
civil litigation,
single motherhood,
and then
i’ll pop by
to sort your rugs,
no problem.

🖤 “friends” who swear
they’ll be here in an emergency—
and when the emergency comes?
they invite me to stop by.
like i’m not already cleaning houses
with a baby strapped to my back—
lol, just to survive.

🖤 family who thinks
paying a bill—
erases the fact
they enabled
this entire fucking circus.
(hint: it doesn’t.
it’s not love,
it’s hush money.)

🖤 one person
who actually
shows the fuck up
once a week—
ily. i do.

because truly?
it’s like—
2 hours sleep—
my kid chucking
her bottle
in the backseat.
my dog barking
out the side of the car.
a stack of shit
i literally do not
have enough
hours to do.
and i’m thinking—
how the fuck
am i going to
fucking survive this?

honestly,
most days
i really don’t know.

and it’s fucking scary.
to be so fucking alone.

—

and the etiquette lesson?
let me fucking spell
it out since no one seems to get it:

when your friend is literally in survival mode:

✶ don’t constantly make your regular annoyances
more important than her current life-emergency.
✶ don’t treat her like your unpaid therapist.
✶ don’t hand her your dead-uncle stories
while she’s choking on her own active trauma
that you don’t want to ask anything about.
✶ don’t say “i’ll be there” and then vanish when shit hits the fan.
✶ don’t think sending food once = “showing up.”

instead:

✶ come over.
✶ take the baby.
✶ walk the dog.
✶ wash the fucking dishes.
✶ sit in silence.
✶ stay two nights.
✶ let me sleep.
✶ let me file motions.
✶ let me fucking breathe.

it’s not rocket science.
it’s called showing the fuck up.

—

since february,
bro.
not a single human being
has stayed in my home
for even two nights.
not since the move.
not when he was arrested.
not when he was released.
not during midterms.
not during finals.
not when i didn’t know
what the fuck to do.
not once.
no one.

💔😢😭

so don’t fucking tell me
you’ll “be there in an emergency.”
this is the emergency.
this is the fire.
and all i see is people
waving from the sidewalk,
snapping pics for instagram,
while i burn alive inside.

—

i’m not inspiring.
i’m not a goddamn motivational quote.
i’m fucking cornered.
i’m surviving because
i don’t have a fucking choice.

💪⚡🩹

so if you said you’d be here—
and you’re reading this—
and you’re not here?
own it.
don’t gaslight me with
“you’re so strong.”
don’t clap like it’s a
fucking war story—
don’t pat yourself
on the back
for crumbs.

because
here we are again.
me.
alone.
still standing.
still screaming into the void.

🥀

and if this
makes you uncomfortable?
cool.
good.
maybe sit with that
discomfort long enough
to finally show the fuck up.

✶

#darvo, inc. ™

how a whole-ass financial firm tried to roleplay the victim while i held the records

disclaimer (read this in a lawyer’s least fun voice):
this is commentary + opinion based on my records,
my lived experience, and their own filings/communications.
this is not sworn testimony. this is protected speech.
if that makes your tummy hurt, log off.

✌️✨

—

ok babes.
syllabus time.
today’s lecture is
darvo: deny, attack, reverse victim & offender.

aka:
how to look non-criminal when the paper trail says “girl, be serious.”

shocker: they did it in teams. synchronized. like olympic gaslighting.

the cast

• the reps: the friendly faces who “just want to help” while helping themselves.

• compliance: the clipboard that says “we take this very fucking seriously”
  while forwarding your danger emails to a goddamn black hole.
  also: telling people not to respond. cool.

• corporate: the autoresponder in human form.
  weeks of “we value your trust” while butchering it.

• counsel: writes “no duty” like it’s a prayer candle and not a confession.

level 1: deny

(“we didn’t do that” / “that’s not our job” / “you’re mistaken, queen”)

• rep squad denies obvious conflicts—
  like nobody could possibly be sleeping,
  selling, and supervising in the same storyline.
  because ethics are optional if your awkward blazer fits.

• compliance denies responsibility while exercising control:
  routing comms, deciding who can speak, then gagging the channel.
  congrats, that’s called control.
  also: allegedly instructing silence when danger is disclosed.
  love that for you.

• corporate denies urgency with chirpy cut-paste replies as if the calendar isn’t on fire.
  “we’re reviewing after PTO.” for months. while billing?
  while locking doors you paid for.
  while a woman’s saying DV + warrant + restraining order.

• counsel denies duty while citing processes that only work if a duty exists.
  pick a lane, counselor. any lane.

translation: deny the facts
and if the facts won’t move, deny the meaning.

level 2: attack

(“she’s hostile” / “tone” policing / bureaucratic brinksmanship)

• label the survivor “emotional,” “confused,” or “uncooperative,”
  especially right after she uses the correct words:
  conflict, fiduciary, restraining order, danger.

• escalate nothing, document nothing,
  then call her persistent follow-ups “hostile.”
  it’s not aggression, babe. it’s documentation.

• dangle access. move the goalposts.
  “we can help—after you do x y z.” then vanish.
  then resurface to sell the replacement for the thing you broke.
  (wow! synergy!)

• if she says “this is unsafe,”
  answer: “per our policy.”
  policies don’t shield you from
  negligence,
  or fraud,
  they just laminate it.

translation: attack credibility
so you never have to address conduct.

level 3: reverse victim & offender

(“we’re the ones being harassed actually” / “she’s ruining our reputation”)

• make the survivor the problem: “too many emails,” “lawyerly tone,” “upset social posts.”
  meanwhile: she’s literally flagging conflicts, payments, and access issues…with receipts.

• pretend the firm is being “defamed” while the firm is actively shaping the record—
  who can speak, who were given endless opportunities to amend,
  what’s acknowledged, what’s ignored.

• act wounded that she went public…
  after you starved her of basic answers.
  (funny how sunlight hurts what mold loves.)

• file no duty vibes and then hold yourself out
  as the dutiful steward everywhere marketing dollars can reach.
  it’s the hypocrisy for me.

translation: play victim
so the actual victim looks like the offender for saying
“hi, i’d like my property/rights/safety.”

the pattern in receipts (cliff notes)

• compliance: forward the danger email, then “do not respond.”
  (you said the quiet part quiet, i’ll say it loud.)

• corporate: generic replies while the clock runs, the bills clear,
  and ownership/access mysteriously remix. “we care,” they whisper…
  to the fucking void.

• reps: smile, onboard, misroute, upsell the fix for the harm they helped create.
  customer lifecycle meets cycle of abuse.

• counsel: the legalese version of “who, us?”—
  while standing ankle-deep in a puddle labeled control, benefit, knowledge.

why darvo “works” (until it doesn’t)

• it confuses outsiders: if everyone sounds “reasonable,” the survivor looks “dramatic.”

• it buys time: time kills paper trails, memories, and momentum.

• it flips the risk: instead of “are we liable,” it becomes “is she risky.”
  (she’s not. the conduct is.)

and then a weird thing happens:
paper doesn’t forget.
calendars don’t forget.
emails don’t forget.
bank drafts don’t forget.
routing, escalation, “per policy”—
none of that forgets either.
(bless metadata.)

what actual accountability would look like
(free consulting; you’re welcome)

• admit control where you exercised it.
  stop pretending independence when your emails say “do not reply.”

• repair what you broke before you pitch a replacement.
  refunds before re-ups. access before add-ons.

• document conflicts in writing and notify the client, not the boyfriend,
  not the office friend, not the group chat. the client.

• quit DARVO. if the truth exonerates you, you wouldn’t need godddamn theatre.

closing arguments, your honor

i didn’t invent these facts;
i survived them.
i didn’t invent darvo;
they executed it.

and i’m not here to be “nice.”
i’m here to be accurate.

so if anyone’s confused
why i keep speaking:
it’s because silence is how women die,
i’ll say that with my goddamn last breath—
and DARVO is how institutions
train the audience not to notice.

the show’s over.
turn the lights on.

—

footnotes for the shocked:

my burn book is exactly what i said it is:
first-person commentary, not sworn testimony,
protected by the first amendment + anti-slapp.
read at your own risk.

the “do not respond”/
routing-to-nowhere cadence
and the corporate chirp-replies
are documented in my site
narrative and correspondence logs;
the vibes you’re feeling are called inferences.
if you disagree, produce the full record.

…

tap to file under:
breach, babe ✶ villain manifesto ✶ sponsored felonies™
tagline: if you wanted me quiet, you should’ve been fucking honest.

💥 duty → 💥 breach → 💥 causation → 💥💥💥 damages 💵💰💳

imagine this:
i just delivered,
head covered in bruises,
c-section still freshly bleeding,
and a financial rep
is in my condo
holding my newborn
like an anti-trophy wife audition—
while running my money
through her wannabe office-boyfriend,
drafting policies in his name,
while he’s unemployed,
draining my fucking accounts,
and cutting me out—
the actual payor—
out of
my own
baby’s life insurance
(!!!!!!!)

yo.

that’s not “bad optics.”
that’s fucking fraud.
baby, that’s punitive territory.

they:

ㄨ pushed e-sigs while i was in the ER
ㄨ billed me for policies they knew were already invalid
ㄨ rewrote beneficiaries to my abuser’s estate without notice while i was under FRO
ㄨ told me “we’ll make sure you’re paid up” five days after my policy flatlined
ㄨ took my bank details and still didn’t update my active policy
ㄨ gagged their own reps once i asked questions
ㄨ and then had the balls to call it “reasonable administration.”

no, babe.
it’s called theft.
and i have the invoices,
the ACH pulls,
the emails,
the lapse dates—
all of it.

💀 the receipts aren’t vibes.
they’re blood-stained policy numbers.
they’re compliance failures
stamped with my abuse timeline.
they’re policy correspondences,
i never fucking had.

click the link
to see the
legal fucking timeline:

👉 the paper trail

because
nah—

you don’t
get to fuck me over,
steal my money,
and hand
my baby’s life policy
to a potential fucking felon
that refuses to respond—
(because you actually let that
shit intentionally lapse)
and then act like
i’m the crazy one.

lol.

no.
you’re the fraud.
and i’m the fucking reckoning.

✶

💸🤑💰

why i fuck with republicans— fairly hard 🫡

i know,
i know.
pick your fucking jaw
off the floor,
babe.

hear me out.

🇺🇸

first,
all my cards on the table:
i’m a thousand-percent
progressive.
i want
healthcare,
housing,
schools,
and gun safety
that actually work.
i want women + kids +
survivors + workers protected
with bills,
not vibes.
i want systems
that stop
eating people a-fucking-live.

and still—
i fuck with republicans.
fairly hard.
here’s the part
some of y’all
pretend not to understand:

1) politics is a full-time phd brain melt

like any science,
political science
is a hydra.
you don’t
“get it” once.
you wrestle it
forever.
i have the gov degree.
i’m in law school.
it’s still
complicated as fuck.

so spare me
the bullshit certainty.
most people
are doing fucking triage
with limited time,
limited info,
and unlimited
fucking costs.
respect that.

2) language is code.
and liberals love a private speech.

we’ve done
a dogshit job
educating this country,
yes.
but people
aren’t dumb—
they’re decoding
survival at scale.

when your “movement”
talks like a white paper
ate a fucking thesaurus,
you’re not being smarter.
you’re being fucking inaccessible.
if your code
only compiles
for grad seminars,
your coalition is five people
and a fucking notepad.
say it plain fucking english
or enjoy losing,
repeatedly.

3) identity ≠ ideology
(and environment is a mother)

people don’t vote
like textbooks.
they vote like families,
towns,
traumas,
churches,
paychecks,
and timelines.
i’ve met republicans
who are absolute angels—
faith-driven,
show-up-with-a-truck-
and-a-check kind of angels.
got a fucking gun.
i’ve met liberals
who ghost when it’s time
to carry a fucking box,
hold a baby,
or sign their goddamn name.
and i’m not saying
every conservative
is a saint
or every progressive
is a fucking clown.
i’m saying labels
are the worst predictors
of basic character.

4) dehumanization is lazy politics

the more you
other people
without speaking to them,
the more you
guarantee
you’ll never build anything
beyond your own homies.
call people in.
ask hard questions.
fucking listen to them.
break bread,
not bones.
you don’t have to
abandon your values
to talk to your neighbors.
you do have to
grow the fuck up.

5) what i respect in republicans (yes, i said it)

plain talk.
fewer TED-talk riddles,
more
“here’s the problem,
here’s the plan.”

duty brain.
a belief—sometimes
corny as hell,
often useful—
that you owe
your people something.

mutual aid
without the hashtag.
church ladies
feeding families
before any grant clears.

boundaries.
not every line
is “violence.”
some lines are just…
fucking lines.

none of this means
i co-sign cruelty,
culture-war idiot shit,
or punching down.
miss me with that.
i’m not trading
rights for vibes.

6) what i expect from liberals (and don’t always get)

material help.
show up,
not just “signal.”

clarity.
if your idea
needs a footnote forest,
rewrite it, dipshit.

courage.
real stakes,
real risk,
not just fucking
tik-toks or
retweets.

accountability.
if your “values”
evaporate when
it’s inconvenient,
you don’t have values.
you have branding.

7) both things are true

i can fight
for progressive policy
every damn day
and still say,
with my whole little chest:
some of the most decent,
save-your-ass humans
i’ve had
were republican.
some of the slimiest,
performative “allies”
were liberal.
if that sentence
fried your brain,
go outside
and touch a voter.

8) what i’m actually loyal to

outcomes over aesthetics.
did we feed the kid
or just draft
a mission statement?

truth in short words.
say the hard thing
fucking plainly.

who shows up.
i measure you
by the ride or die,
not the bumper sticker.

no cruelty.
non-negotiable.
if your politics requires
a target
to feel alive,
that’s not policy—
that’s a personality disorder.

9) coalition > cult

if the goal
is a country that functions,
then the assignment
is coalition,
not cult purity.
coalition means
you will not love
every hymn
in the fucking hymnal.
cool.
sing the ones
that keep people
breathing.

10) receipts from my life

i’ve watched church folks
move like first responders
before the state
remembered our names.
i’ve watched “progressives”
duck out
when the asks got real.
i’ve seen “feminist” men
put hands on women
while tweeting
liberation fucking poetry.
in my world,
the republican aunties
brought cookies
and court rides.
that counts.

—

so yeah:
i’m progressive as hell.
and i fuck with
good republicans—
the ones who show up,
speak straight,
and defend the vulnerable
in goddamn practice,
not performance.

if that offends you,
ask yourself
why you need
the fucking costume
more than the courage.

quote me on it.
and while you’re at it,
show up with a truck.

🫡

x

DARVO, motherfucker. (shit means you’re guilty af)

✨ deny.
✨ attack.
✨ reverse victim
✨ & offender.

aka: the emotional abuse playbook.
aka: what people do when
they’re deadass guilty
but still want you to look crazy.

✂️ DENY

"that’s not what happened."
"you’re overreacting."
"i didn’t mean it like that."
"you’re remembering it wrong."

oh so now you’re
an expert in my trauma timeline?
bitch,
you were the villain,
not the fucking historian.
this is the part
where they gaslight you
so fucking hard
you start apologizing
for having a memory.
they didn’t do it.
and if they did do it,
it wasn’t that bad.
and if it was that bad,
you made them.

welcome to
the olympics of brainfuckery.

🧨 ATTACK

✶ "you’re crazy."
✶ "you’re abusive, actually."
✶ "you’re manipulative."
✶ "you’re just bitter."

this is when
they go full scorched earth
on your ass
because you dared to speak.
✶ your trauma? weaponized.
✶ your anger? framed.
✶ your silence? fucking suspicious.
✶ your documentation? “obsessive.”
like no matter
what you do,
you're guilty
of responding
fucking wrong
to being harmed.

congrats.
you’re now
the defendant
in your own goddamn story
while they’re out here
roleplaying martyr of the fucking year.

🕳 REVERSE VICTIM & OFFENDER

✶ "she’s attacking me."
✶ "he’s obsessed with me."
✶ "they’re ruining my life."
✶ "i’m scared for my safety."

this is when
they go full fucking
fake tears
start a smear campaign
and call their
friends and
fucking family,
to stalk
and harass
you online.

✶ it’s giving:
“i set her on fire
but she screamed
too fucking loud
so i’m filing a complaint.”

✶ it’s giving:
“i choked her
while she was pregnant
but now i feel attacked
bc she told someone.”

it’s fucking theater.
except they’re trying
to get your life canceled
to protect their ego.

🧾 DARVO IN REAL LIFE LOOKS LIKE:

✶ you call out real abuse
✶ they pretend they never saw it
✶ then they show up in court
with printouts of your trauma diary
like it's a fucking closing argument

they bypass the fact pages.
ignore the option to
fucking submit corrections,
nah, these motherfuckers
ignore the receipts.
and go straight to the rage,
the sadness,
the fucking scars—
and try to wear
your fucking breakdown
as their defense strategy.

this is not lawyering.
this is character assassination
in a cheap ass corporate fleece.

🏛 WHEN INSTITUTIONS DO DARVO?

baby
that’s not an “oversight”
that’s a federal lawsuit
waiting to happen.

and it’s when you file reports and they:

✶ delete them
✶ ignore them
✶ retaliate against you
✶ and then say you’re the fucking provocateur.

💣 WHY THIS SHIT IS DANGEROUS AS FUCK

✶ DARVO isn’t just annoying.
✶ it’s a trauma multiplier.
✶ it retraumatizes.
✶ it silences victims.
✶ and it teaches everyone watching
that telling the truth is unsafe.

and the courts?
the media?
the institutions?
they eat that shit up
unless you know what the fuck it is
and call it by its government name:
motherfucking DARVO.

🧠 AND HERE’S HOW YOU KILL IT:

✶ name it. out loud. first and fast.
✶ document everything.
✶ don’t argue tone. argue pattern.
✶ bring in a trauma expert who knows exactly how this works.
✶ make your credibility boring as hell and your timeline lethal.
✶ treat every DARVO stunt like what it is:
evidence of ongoing abuse.

🥀 fuck you.

DARVO is not confusion.
DARVO is not “two sides.”
DARVO is a strategy used
by people who are guilty as fuck
but still want you to look unstable
because if you get believed—
they lose control.
they lose narrative.
they just fucking lose.

and baby,
they should.

💅✨

not jealous. just dodging fucking femicide. 💍✨

the emoji codified, comic-tier equivalent of my marriage:

💍✨ | 🚩🚩 | 🥷💸 |🤰🥊 |🧍‍♀️↘️💀💥🟫 | 📸🧾📆 | 🚨👮 | ⚖️✍️ | 🍼🏡🌅🔒💤

alright,
y’all are goofy.
so, let me say this
with my whole chest:
this is not jealousy.
i’m not here to be likable.
i’m not here to seek revenge—
i’m here to be alive.

i did try
to fall in love with my husband.
like,
fully gave it an honest,
cringe-level little american try.
baby, wedding day?
i truly let myself believe.
atlanta trip? i let myself hope.
for a second i thought,
maybe this is the life
i always fucking wanted.
but shit—
i didn’t marry a fantasy.
i married a man
and then watched
the data fucking betray me.

because look,
there was
always fuckery.
babe—
always a missing
pill…or fucking 20.
always a locked phone screen
always an hour +
locked in the bathroom,
yo.
always a story with
three sideways-ass-endings.
then the long,
creative
theft of my future.

i swear on it all,
i tried. god, i tried.
i practiced loving him
like a language
i was never even taught.
and still—
the math on the bank app
never added the fuck up.
stories with bonus endings.
cash that grew fucking legs.
late-night “errands”
that smelled
like cheap
facetime calls and potentially
fucking extramarital untruths.

nah.
you want jealousy?
baby,
jealousy is loud and thirsty.
i was quiet and stabilizing.
honey, i swear—
in a different universe,
where he’s not leaning psychotic,
we could’ve at least
been best friends.
i wanted that.
i wanted our kid
to have a fucking dad
who shows the fuck up.

but jealous?
babe, no.
if anything,
i prayed he’d
find a girlfriend
so he’d stop
orbiting my life
like a disaster fucking moon.
but nah,
what snapped
my fucking neck
wasn’t “a tragic side-bitch.”
it was the timeline.
the overlap.
the fucking choreography.
that shit is chilling.
if she was there
the fucking whole marriage,
that’s not romance.
that’s premeditated deceit
with an expensive pill habit.

yeah, so
here’s the part
that keeps me up at night:
i stayed loyal to a man
i wasn’t even
deeply in love with,
because we had a child
and a fucking plan.
i chose duty
like goddamn oxygen.
he chose extraction
like a fucking addict.

👏🏻 money siphoned.
👏🏻 car fucked.
👏🏻 benefits “for the family”
redirected into the void
of his unlimited potential.
👏🏻 periodic “acts of deceit”
like the good deeds
you fucking brace for—
because yo,
it’s always
followed by fucking
violence—
that’s not heartbreak.
that’s horror
remembering
my fucking skull
slamming on the
goddamn floor.

🫨 → ↘️ → 💀💥 → 🪵 → 🔁

nope. 🖕🏻
this ain’t about some
”awkward” love triangle.
it’s a fucking risk assessment.
it’s me swapping
a violent heartbreak playlist
for a level three
fucking safety index.
deadbolt over daydream—
babe.
documentation over
fucking goddamn denial.

the facts:

✨ june: vows.
✨ july/august: vanishings + dumb lies.
✨ peek pregnancy: bank balance drops, temper spikes, 10+ scale fucking violence
✨ after: promises to not economically abandon → economic abandonment.
✨ ongoing: the mystery money fountain that never once watered our kid.

compare that to jealousy’s profile:

✶ jealousy says “pick me.”
✶ terror says “don’t kill me.”

✶ jealousy cyberstalks the new girl.
✶ terror rotates passwords,
bars the windows,
and memorizes fucking plates.

✶ jealousy wants him back.
✶ terror wants an order honored and a toddler safe.

so let me carve this in concrete 💫

if he could
lay next to me every night,
watch my body make a person,
and still run parallel lives—
then i didn’t lose a husband.
i survived a fucking full-on con.

i’m not jealous
of whoever gets him. 💫
i’m nauseous for her.
because i know
how the edited scenes
really fucking look—
with photos,
apologies that expire
in 24 fucking hours,
and a bruise
shaped like
a goddamn lesson.

nah—
i don’t hate him.
yo, there’s a
stubborn-ass part of me
that still prays his humanity wins.
but love
without safety
is a fucking trap, 💫
not a virtue.
and forgiveness
without consequences
is a goddamn accelerant.

so no,
bitch,
this isn’t jealousy.
this is a woman
who understands
pattern recognition.
this is a mother
who refuses to be
a fucking eulogy.
this is the ledger talking:

he took the money.
he took the peace.
he tried to take the story.

i’m taking it the fuck back.

✨🖕🏻✨

commit
that shit
to memory:

not jealous.
just fucking terrified.
and so done.

💫

nah, i went public because private almost killed me 💫

why i’m saying it out loud
even when my hands
still fucking shake.

—

here’s the savage truth, babe.

i didn’t go looking
for a fucking courtroom.
i didn’t wake up
craving “charges.”
i told one
simple,
boring,
bureaucratic fact:
i have a restraining order.
please note it.
please just keep our file.
please don’t provoke him.

and somehow
now—
i’m the fucking liar?
while every dude
with a badge
hit me with the same
fucked-ass script:
“but he’s a vet. ✨
was it really that bad?”

yeah bro.
it was that bad.
and honestly?
sometimes i do forget.
but then i get
fucking flashes
of my goddamn
skull smacking the
wood floor
and suddenly,
i remember it
better than i
remember my own
fucking birthday.
yo.
i know, but
really picture that shit.
i was pregnant.
the only reason
it stopped was
because i made sure
there were fucking
witnesses. ✨
not remorse.
not growth.
an audience.

—

you wanna know
why i’m public now?
because silence
is where women
go to fucking die.
because my
“support system”
is a goddamn
ghost town with
a fucking ring camera.
nah,
no dad.
no brother.
bro, not even
an ex checking in
caped the fuck up.
nope.
just me and a baby
and a stack of bills
this man fucking
engineered.

✨

baby,
i tried grace.
i tried patience.
i tried “he’s struggling.”
but meanwhile?
he fucking promised
not to economically abandon us.
then immediately began
the goddamn threats,
followed by abruptly
economically fucking abandoning us.
liquidated what i built.
stole the value in the fucking car.
left me with all the debt.
enrolled himself in the gi bill
he swore was “for our family.”
while i used my
whole fucking tuition refund
to finance his
northwestern mutual
fucking pipe dream.
lol.
didn’t even get the
baby’s fucking life policy.
and i’m still here
arguing for $87/week
because he refused
to fucking comply
when it was $150.
do you hear
how goddamn
insane that is?
eighty. seven. fucking. dollars.
the price of a
mediocre-ass
dinner
and
two fucking liars.

—

let’s talk papers
since
everyone loves
a fucking
signed document
more than
a goddamn bruise.

💫

✶ dependent pay?
i jumped through
hoops,
undoing social security
bullshit,
getting all
that baby info
so he could
get that bump—
weird how
it never physically reaches
the fucking dependent.

✶ the child policy
i started from
a fucking hospital bed?
vanished into
“oh, sorry, not yours—
try another premium.”

✶ cross-country relocations x2
to escape lethal levels of violence?
i paid in cash,
cortisol,
and custody nightmares.

✶ secret cash pipelines?
bro, he’s “broke as a joke”
until it’s time to post bond
or fly private delusion class.
there’s always a mysterious
auntie or a trust-fund hobbyist
with a goddamn venmo signal.

—

do i want him to suffer?
no.
i really don’t.
do i want him
to face consequences?
yes.
because lack of consequences
is the abuse continuing by other means.
ask his first wife whether
the graph is trending up.
what’s the forecast
for the next one—
or me, in the next 5 years—
homicide true crime?

and yeah,
i was fucking scared
to press absolutely anything.
of course i told them
not to escalate.
he’s fucking trained.
he’s goddamn unpredictable.
and i have a toddler.
that’s not cowardice;
that’s fucking risk assessment.
bro—
i didn’t “weaponize the system.”
he did—
financially,
legally,
and psychologically.
i’m just done subsidizing
it with my fucking silence.

—

why now?
because i ran out
of private doors to knock on.
because i’m not protected
by an uncle with a badge
or a boardroom
with a reputation to polish.
because every
”let’s be reasonable” meeting
turned into:

“let’s be reasonable
about you starving fucking quietly.”

so i’m being unreasonable.
i’m being loud.
i’m being fucking alive.

—

baby,
this isn’t drama.
this is a safety plan
with punctuation.
this is me planting
a fucking flare on the map:
if anything happens to me,
understand there was
a long,
boring paper trail
of people who knew,
who fucking shrugged,
who asked if
the floor “was really that hard.”

i wanted a co-parent.
i got a goddamn case study.
i wanted a ride-or-die.
i got a drain-and-deny.

so here’s
my line in the fucking sand
and the fucking court file:
fraud is fraud.
abuse is abuse.
and escalation
is the only thing
that thrives in darkness.

turn the lights on.
count the money.
read the orders.
match the dates.
watch the fucking pattern.

then tell me
with your
whole goddamn chest
that i should’ve
stayed quiet.

—

closing statement,
your honor:
i’m not asking for revenge.
i’m asking for friction.
consequences are brakes.
without them,
men like him don’t “heal,”
they fucking accelerate.

so print this.
stamp it.
frame it if you have to.
call it evidence,
a warning,
a fucking obituary
i refused to let them write.

i’m public
because my kid
needs a mother,
not a fucking memorial.

💫

i’m loud because i plan on living. ✨

fuck around & find out: punch your wife, the tort edition 💖✨🫶🏻🌈🌷💅🏻🦄

so here’s the thing
i’ve been
thinking about…
it’s something like—

✨cuffing szn✨
for abusers & their enablers

☀️🦋🌷🫶🦄🌈✨

but wait—
hear me out:
abuse isn’t just
one psycho dude
🔪💀✨
with a fist and
unmitigated rage issues.
nope.
abuse is a whole-ass
infrastructure.
it’s systems.
it’s fucking silence.

it’s people who know
and decide their
office vibes
are more important
than your skull
not getting
cracked the fuck open.

and honestly?
i think dv survivors
(the ones that fucking survive)
need to

sue 👏🏻
more 👏🏻
people. 👏🏻

✨🇺🇸🫡

period.
why?
because if there’s
no fucking consequences,
then it’s open season
on women
fucking
forever.

like—
society doesn’t
change
because people
“learn.” 🤡
nope.
society changes
when it gets
dragged the fuck
into court 💥
and fined until
its ass fucking bleeds.

(figuratively)

🙃✨

so yeah.

i wage this fucking war. ❤️‍🔥🦅

nah,
not for fun
(though god knows
i’d love some
financial resurrection
after my ex nightmare
and the institutions
that indulged him
nuked my fucking
bank account
and my body).
but nope.
not just for me
(though, side note:
restitution
pls,
baby,
his family is
literally on gov aid
because of his
💥 overt
💥 physical +
💥 financial
fucking abuse 💫
+
total
fucking
💥 abandonment

while these institutions
keep wiring money
to the goddamn abuser
casually,
fucking systematically—
ducking child support
abandoned his
whole
ass
family).

👊🏻💥👊🏻💥👊🏻💥👊🏻💥 ⚠️🤡

i wage this war:💫
for my daughter.
for every woman
who’s been slammed
into a floor
head first—
at eight months
fucking pregnant.
for every mom
who delivered
with black eyes
like it was just
another fucking accessory.
for every wife
who goddamn flinches
when the “hero” husband
comes home from war
and she knows
the switch is about
to fucking flip.

✨🇺🇸🎖️

like hello???
seriously,
fucking unfortunately,
(i mean that)
i have receipts. ✨
photos of a fucking
split lip
black eyes
literally days
before giving birth.
bruising across my skull.
matching ER visits.
a paper trail
so fucking thick
it should have its own
fucking ISBN number.
and that makes me
goddamn sick.
and still
society’s like
“eh idk, 💀
maybe she’s being
fucking dramatic.”

💥🥊

lol. ✨

meanwhile:
he drained tens
of thousands
of my savings.
now: i can’t pay the bills.
he pockets dependent pay—
his kid is on fucking medicaid.
after he promised tricare...
(wait… for real?) ✨
and this is just
fucking fine?
nah.
and y’all
are still
sending him money?
still giving him jobs?
still letting him enroll
on more benefits
while he abandons
his goddamn baby?

👏🏻👏🏻💀

nah.
no more.
if you
defended,
denied,
funded,
ignored,
or conveniently
“didn’t wanna see it”—
guess what?

fucking lawsuit season, baby.

💖✨🫶🏻🌈🌷💅🏻🦄

you gotta understand—
even if i lose,
i win.
because every complaint filed
is a crack in the fucking wall.
and mark my fucking words,
i smell future class actions
against these systems
that keep sheltering abusers
like they’re
endangered fucking wildlife.

so yeah.
💀 let’s sue government agencies.
💀 let’s sue corporations.
💀 let’s sue the enablers
💀 the fucking individuals—
who can’t stop cutting checks
to men who choke out their wives.

nah.
not to get rich.
not for revenge.
but to finally
make the goddamn violence

fucking stop.

🤰💥🥊

👋🏽 federally funded—wife beaters inc. ✶🪖🇺🇸

hey y’all!!—
you finally showed up.
152.xxx.xx.x,
tic.va.gov. 👋🏽
got that fed badge,
baby,
chrome browser,
colorado.

what’s up?

don’t act shy—
you read
the origin story,
faqs,
terms & threats,
and damn,
burn book.
you clicked through
like a goddamn
bored-ass auditor.
but let’s not pretend
you don’t know
why you’re here.

because hey.

you are now
in possession of
actual knowledge of:

✶ fraud risk → veteran dependency
benefits under 38 u.s.c. § 1115 and
apportionment under § 5307 are
being misused.
the dependent bump ($300+) added
to this dude’s soldier money
when i birthed his daughter
has not been used
for her care. lol.
one venmo—$100
in 10 months.
the rest?
i guess diverted.

✶ legal risk → same combat-trained
beneficiary is technically still
extremely violent.
considering my guy
strangled and assaulted
his pregnant wife.
lethality factors recognized
under doj lethality assessment protocols.
and yet your checks keep cashing.

✶ reputational risk → every fact here
exposes you as
the only employer in america
where:

severe-level DV +
nonpayment of support =
continued paycheck.

cool. 💀💀💀

🪖 here’s your own rulebook:

✘ 38 c.f.r. § 3.450: if the vet fails
to reasonably discharge
his responsibility
for support,
benefits may be apportioned
to the spouse/child.

✘ 38 c.f.r. § 3.451: “special apportionment”
is supposed to prevent hardship
to dependents.
spoiler: my baby is on welfare.
hardship achieved.

✘ va handbook 5019: you even
claim to have a domestic violence
program coordinator.
comic, where she at?
because i walked in to the local VA,
and they told me support was
only for him.
doesn’t seem
100% legal—am i right? lol

✘ dod instruction 6400.06:
family advocacy program 🔥
is allegedly designed to
“address and prevent family violence.”
ok. command discretion = lol 💀

so you tell me:
is the “support” being provided
when i’m rationing groceries
and he’s posting bond
while living on your money?

⚖️ so, my federally funded wife beaters inc. :

consider this not just an email,
but constructive notice.
you’ve clicked my site.
you’ve read the allegations.
you are now bound by
your own statutory authority:

✘ investigate dependency misuse (38 u.s.c. § 1115).
✘ process apportionment (38 u.s.c. § 5307).
✘ stop financing an abuser under the guise of “service.”

failure to act = complicity.
failure to redirect = fraud by omission.

💀 conclusion:
you created him.
you trained him.
you funded him.
and now you’re fucking here.

because hey—

this is no longer just his problem.
it’s your institutional liability.

because look,
i’m not the only wife—
this shit
happens to,
and i bet you know that.

✶🪖🇺🇸

you are all
complicit as fuck.

💫

nah but this is me being chill. 💀

yeah,
i forgive you.
but yeah—
i also reported it.

because baby?

this is:

truth,
accountability,
and why i don’t hate you—
but i’m done protecting
you from your-fucking-self.

and nah, babe.
this ain’t emotional—
i’m just done covering for
your fucking crimes.

…

yo, for real—
i don’t hate you.
i never fucking did.
i’m not built like that.
hate rots your insides
and makes you carry people
longer than they fucking deserve.
and god knows,
i’ve already carried this shit
long enough.

(fucking amen)

but what i do believe in?
truth.
accountability.
and the fucking audacity
to say what happened—
out fucking loud.

✶

because here’s
the psychology of it:
the fucking 101:
when you protect people
from the truth of what they did,
you don’t love them.
you enable them.
you build them a delusion.
and they’ll live in it—forever—
if no one burns it the fuck down.

when you let someone
hurt you
and you absorb it in silence,
you’re not healing.
you’re fucking decaying.
you’re erasing yourself
to keep the peace
in a room
that has already
declared a goddamn war on you.

truth must be spoken.
out loud.
with fucking teeth.
with the goddamn records.
with your whole fucking chest.

because trauma
doesn't just stem
from the violence—
it stems from the denial of it.
the gaslighting.
the erasure.
the “was it really that bad?”
yes.
it fucking was.

and silence is how it happens again.
and again.
and again.

✶

the philosophy of it?
truth is sacred.
truth is relational.
truth is the only way
any of us can ever really be known.
and i fucking refuse
to be a stranger
to myself
just so someone else
can stay comfortable
in their fucking hallucination.

forgiveness is
not the same as erasure.
i can not hate you,
and still require you
to fucking look at what you did.
i can not wish you harm,
and still say: you harmed me.
you harmed our child.
you destabilized my entire fucking life.
you cost me
peace,
money,
health,
safety,
time.
and no,
love doesn't erase the fucking debt.
it demands justice.

you wanna be better?
then sit in what you’ve done.
feel it.
own it.
fucking name it.

because without that?
you’re not healing.
you’re hiding.
you’re not changing.
you’re just mutating in horseshit.

and i am not your
mirror anymore.
i’m not the surface
you get to bounce
your goddamn denial off of.

people think
withholding the truth
is fucking grace.
it’s not.
it’s fucking cowardice.
and i’m not a coward.
i’m not a martyr.
i’m not your punching bag,
your rebound,
your emotional fucking accountant.
i’m not here to swallow my screams
so you can sleep better.

truth is necessary.
accountability is fucking holy.
and consequences
are the only language
some people understand.

so no,
i don’t want to destroy you.
i want to interrupt you.
i want to say:
this ends here.
not just for me.
but for the next woman.
for the next kid.
for whoever would’ve been next.
for my daughter, watching.

you don’t get to leave blood
on the fucking floor
and call it spilled milk.
not in my home.
not in my goddamn life.

✶

i don’t hate you.
i just refuse to be your accomplice.
and if that feels like betrayal to you?
good.
maybe now you know
how the fuck it feels

to be stabbed
in the goddamn back.

accessory after the fact: the most classic enablers of violence against women 🪦👏🏻

aka: aid, abet, pretend:
how “helping” becomes homicide-adjacent

✶

💀🔫

nah, not bystanders—
co-fucking-conspirators
you “didn’t know.”
deadass?
baby, you knew.
but hey—
it takes a fucking village
to break a woman
clout, cash, & cover:
the fucking trifecta
that gets women killed.

🪦👏🏻

damn.
breathe.

✶

—

pattern (aka how the abusive fuckery is powered)

fund the abuser → financial aiding.
ignore documented dv → reckless endangerment.
paperwork under conflict/duress → fraud + fiduciary breach.
hide him, lie for him, smear me → obstruction.
call it “private” → it’s public crime with your goddamnn fingerprints.

so?

⚖️ 18 u.s.c. § 2 — aiding & abetting.
⚖️ 18 u.s.c. § 3 — accessory after the fact.
⚖️ 18 u.s.c. § 1343 — wire fraud (digital money/paperwork).
⚖️ dv crimes — strangulation, assault, stalking, coercive control, economic abuse.
⚖️ civil claims — negligent supervision, fraud, iied, conspiracy,

wrongful fucking death for the kid if her mom doesn’t make it.

💔🪦👶🏼

—

receipts the bench will give a shit about:

✘ notice. you were told. repeatedly.
✘ benefit. he got money, cover, logistics.
✘ act. you did something that helped him offend or evade.
✘ nexus. your help tied to our harm.

yo.
that’s the fucking four-square you can’t duck.

#translation

if you helped him,
✘ you helped it.
money moved = ✘ help.
transport given = ✘ help.
lying to cover = ✘ help.
“don’t get me involved”
while sending him cash = ✘ involved.
“two sides of the story” = ✘ accessory vibes.
lol, please,
don’t play dumb.
for real,
play the fucking lotto
if you wanna gamble.
not dice on my fucking life.

⚀ ⚁ ⚂ ⚃ ⚄ ⚅

—

#the math

(aka: how enabling fuels abuse)

→ inputs you fed him
cash + couch + car + power + cover

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

→ outputs i’m forced to eat
debt + danger + downtime + doubt + delayed justice

minus (💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸)

→ equation you keep pretending isn’t real
your dollar in his pocket = a dollar i don’t have for utilities, food, lawyer, safety

• an hour i lose to fix what you financed 💸

• one more day he’s free to escalate 💸

→ line items (plug your numbers, my guy):
bond you posted + flights you bought + ubers you covered + facts you lied about + car you spotted
– child support paid (lol) – diapers he bought (lol) – bills he covered (lol) – massive debts he left (lol)
= the gap i carry while you pretend:

you can’t see that
he obviously
kicked my ass
at 9 months pregnant.

🤰🥊💥💀💰💰

lmao, delusional bullshit.

→ time is currency too:
every “quick favor” you ran for him = hours i spent calling courts, pharmacies, daycares, shelters
while holding a baby and a stack of past-due fucking bills.
the exchange rate is brutal: your 10 minutes of ‘help’ buys him 10 more hours to evade and abuse.

→ risk multiplier (no bullshit, just facts we all fucking know):
pregnancy + strangulation history + access to cash + a goddamn cheering section
= spike in lethality.
you kept the spike.

—

#ignorance shit audit (stop fronting)

did you hear “she filed a restraining order”?
did you see bruises? hospital wristbands? police cards on the counter?
did you know about the warrant? the bond? the court dates?
did he stay on your couch “just for a bit”?
did you text “you good?” while zelling your buddy $200?
did you tell me “it’s not that serious,” “it’s between y’all,” “she’s a liar”?
congrats—you passed the threshold. knowledge + assistance = you’re in it.

—

#the usual suspects: moms, coworkers, desperate females, firms, & goddamn cowards

🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒

→ the mommy 🏆
i said pills.
i said stolen money.
i said fucking violence.
i showed her goddamn pictures.
you fucking shrugged until the warrant—
then suddenly you care.
to protect him, not us.
that’s not confusion. that’s convenient.

🫡

→ the co-worker 🏆
you had a license and a pulse.
fiduciary duties aren’t a goddamn suggestion.
you funneled him money on the low and pushed paperwork while i was in crisis.
two policies vanished. fucking shocker.
stop pretending venmo is a confessional. it’s a receipt.

🫡

→ the aunties & distant fam 🏆
you openly lurked my stories.
typed “she’s fine” while i posted pregnancy black eyes.
sent him cash.
ate up his bullshit.
while never giving a single shit,
about this actual child.
nah. you’re logistics.

🫡

→ the fucking firm 🏆
you gave him a little desk, a title, and a pipeline.
you ignored the disclosures.
you let the conflict eat shit.
if i died, you’d be in court calling it a tragedy.
save it.

🫡

—

#how it plays out (cause → effect → body count)

you pay his bond → he’s sidesteps fucking reality.
you float his rent → he skips child support.
you buy his flights → he violates, then “restarts” somewhere adorable.
you co-sign his narrative → cops and courts second-guess me.
you hide his location, his car, his phone → i look “dramatic” while he conspires.
repeat until someone’s obituary “has no cause listed.”

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

—

#what you call love, i call aiding and abetting

cash is complicity.
couch is harboring.
“she’s crazy” is smear tactic.
your silence is supply chain.
that’s aiding & abetting.

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

—

for the fucking record

i carried the debt. the bills. the child. the threats.
he re-enrolled in school with defrauded money.
promised transfers for our kid that never came.
meanwhile you wired him help and called me crazy.
i delivered a baby with two black eyes.
you’re still making goddamn excuses.

😑😐😑

the fuck?

—

relief sought ✨

charge the helpers.
prosecute the firms.
subpoena the phones. the venmos. the imessages. the onboarding logs.
depose the mommys, the aunties, the “only coworkers.”
freeze the money. void the shitty paperwork. claw it the fuck back.
name them in the fucking caption, not just the goddamn footnote.

✨ that’s how you fucking end dv. ✨

—

#jersey closing arguments (for the inhabitants in the stalker section)

you knew.
you liked the version of him
that looks clean, but
that cost me blood.
and every dollar
you laundered through “helping”
became another inch
of fucking rope
around my throat
and our life.

so here’s the new policy:
if you fund it, you own it.
if you hide it, you’re fucking in it.
if you witness it and silence me,
you chose a fucking side. ✨

🤰🥊🏆

every abuser has a supply chain.
you kept it operating.

✶

you are not fucking bystanders.
you are goddamn accessories.

✶

squad pic: 🧙‍♀️🐸🤡👹🧟‍♂️

💥 why wives getting their asses beat is the military’s 🪖🇺🇸 fucking problem.

not a vibe. not a one-off. a pattern.

🇺🇸
🇺🇸
🇺🇸

🧠 fact: veterans are 2–3x more likely to commit intimate partner violence (IPV) than civilians.
→ that number jumps for combat vets, especially special forces or infantry-trained.
→ and no, it’s not because their wives are “crazy.” it’s because war breaks people.

🇺🇸 fact: the military tracks suicide and PTSD—but barely touches DV.
→ 1 in 3 female military spouses report abuse.
→ 1 in 4 military women experience sexual assault—by other servicemembers.
→ 40%+ of substantiated DV cases in the military result in no criminal charge or separation.

📉 fact: most bases prioritize optics over intervention.
→ commanders can ignore or “informally handle” DV complaints.
→ most survivors report retaliation or career damage when they report their abuser.
→ military court-martial for DV? rare. outcomes are: counseling, demotion, relocation. not accountability.

💰 fact: VA + DoD benefits still flow to abusers post-separation.
→ restraining order? doesn’t stop the direct deposit.
→ dependent pay? gets pocketed while the survivor is left applying for food stamps.
→ DV charges? he can still access Tricare, GI Bill, and disability while financially choking out his wife.
→ military service is the only job in america where beating your wife doesn’t stop your paycheck.

🩸 fact: strangulation + pregnancy assault = lethality indicators.
→ DV victims are 750% more likely to be killed by their abuser if strangled once.
→ pregnancy abuse is one of the top predictors of homicide.
→ and both are common in combat vets w/ untreated trauma.

🕳 fact: “combat conditioning” overlaps with coercive control.
→ isolation? standard op.
→ surveillance? learned skill.
→ dehumanization? trained in that shit.
→ rage cycles? buried under “discipline.”
→ the man you trained for war is not harmless when he comes home.

📦 fact: the VA has a “domestic violence coordinator” in fucking theory.
→ most spouses never hear from them.
→ most DV survivors in military families don’t even know that’s a resource.
→ and if they do? they’re told: “go to the family advocate.” aka: the military’s HR for bruises.

⚖️ fact: the U.S. military is functionally exempt from the systems that hold civilians accountable.
→ no mandatory reporting.
→ no public records.
→ no fucking transparency.
→ and a thousand-page NDA culture where silence is loyalty and those who report are “unstable.”

💀 conclusion:
you created this.
you trained him.
you ignored the signs.
you paid them.
and when his wife ends up in cover,
with a baby and a fucking trauma file—
you still call him a soldier. 🪖

it’s not a domestic issue.
it’s fucking institutional.

🇺🇸

✴︎ men be like “i love you” 💀

yo—
in one second,
that shit hits you
not like a fucking punch
to the goddamn skull
more like that
slow realization
they never fucking loved you.
none of them.
they liked the ego boost.
the sex.
the fucking survival package.
the unpaid emotional labor.
the therapist that sat on their goddamn lap.

💔

nah,
you didn’t love me.
you just liked having
someone prettier than you
sit quietly while you
talked about your-fucking-self.

you didn’t love me.
you just liked knowing someone
would still text you the fuck back
after you disappeared
for 3–5 fucking business days
and came back
with a weak ass
"sorry i’ve just been in my head."

you didn’t love me.
you just liked not having to do dishes
in the fucking condo i paid for.

you didn’t love me.
you loved saying
“i'm just really not good at emotions”
while i carried the weight
of your entire fucking nervous system.

you didn’t love me.
you loved being forgiven.

i was never your soulmate.
i was your fucking hospice nurse
for the dying parts of you
that you refused to fucking fix.

because sweetheart?
not one of them
has ever truly given
a single, whole, fuck
about you.

sure.
they loved the fucking mirror you were
when they looked into your eyes
and saw someone who
still fucking believed in them.

they loved what you did for them
but not who you are.
nothing ugly or complex.
they loved your body
like a fucking piece of trash—
they could throw away
when they were finished.

and when that shit broke down?
yeah, babe—
they fucking left you
on the side
of the fucking road
and called it goddamn closure.

none of them
brought water
when you were in fucking flames,
none of them watched your kid
while you studied for fucking finals—
none of them showed up
unless your downfall fucking profited them.
they sent flowers—
after inflicting the fucking wounds.

they loved the idea of you.
but not your wars.
your rage.
your fucking truth.
your shitty backstory.

and still—
you fucking loved them.
fed them.
goddamn defended them.
fucked them.
believed them.

and they
let you
burn alive.

💔

the fucking conclusion?

you were never the love of their life.
you were
collateral
fucking
damage.

and babe?
they’ll miss you
only when
they’re fucking nauseous
and need help
remembering where
the fuck
their goddamn
souls went.

💀👻💨🪦

how to bankrupt your baby mama and still post bond… twice ✴︎

coercive control: the deluxe financial fuck-you edition

monthly disability check:
→ $1600+ from military,
→ that shit was raised $300+ when i birthed his fucking daughter
→ keeps it all. doesn’t share a fucking dime.

• child support sent since 2024:
  → one (1) venmo: $100
  → memo said: “daddy misses you”
  → payment rejected prior. never re-sent.
  → we’re on WIC.
  → he’s on double government-sponsored benefits.
  → refuses to pay $87/week for food.

• mutual debt left in my name:
  → $600 car loan + $400/month insurance
  → co-signed + promised to cover before he totaled my old car
  → vanished despite promising not to abandon us economically
  → drove it into the fucking ground like it was his.
  ~$20k+ in transporting, repairs, labor.
  
  

• GI bill transfer (baby, i swear):
  → promised to transfer benefits to me or our child
  → aka: the price of my fucking loyalty + my entire fucking life savings
  → used my savings account / tuition money to launch his career
  → never transferred shit / refused after i drained everything
  → guess who’s now enrolled again?
  
  

• career investment (funded by me):
  → licensing, training, wardrobe, travel
  → $10k+ minimum
  → all during my second / third trimester
  aka: real man shit.
  → all while he sat on his ass saying “i’m trying”
  aka: texting his female coworker and getting
  untaxable kickbacks from her, instead of making
  money for your actual family.
  
  

• tax fraud?:

  → claims $5k total on joint-taxes despite various jobs +
  whole ass career in finance for ~half a goddamn year
  → malevolent other half = currently being hunted by the IRS.
  → my $3,000 refund is eaten by his fucking tax bullshit

…this is all in:
~one
fucking
year.

reads like: god-tier fucking abusive exploiter.

deadbeat daddy ≠ suddenly got stacks? 🧐💸

let’s break that felony funding shit down.

• ✦ two private criminal defense attorneys:
  ~roughly $7,000–$12,000 retainer each

• ✦ felony-level bond posted (twice, lol)
  → $50k texas + $10k colorado bonds
  ~roughly $5,000–$10,000 cash minimum

• ✦ flights TX ⇄ CO (2x round trip):
  ~roughly $500+ total

• ✦ all this while “not working,”
  claiming to be “a teacher’s aide,”
  living on “just disability + stolen child bump $,”
  and “can’t afford” to feed his kid.

*🤡 he said “i’m broke.” but he meant: broke morally.”

👏🏿👏🏽👏🏻👏🏾👏🏼

lmfao.
who
the
fuck
is bankrolling this bullshit?
nah, like—for real:
who
the
fuck—
is backing this absolute
abusive-levels of financial fuckery?

you are
aiding
ongoing
domestic
fucking
violence.

👏🏿👏🏽👏🏻👏🏾👏🏼
👏🏿👏🏽👏🏻👏🏾👏🏼
👏🏿👏🏽👏🏻👏🏾👏🏼

these bitches (👺👺👺👺) are
really fucking out here:
funding a
fucking
felony
(!!!)
y’all are fucking clowns.
🤡🎡🎪🍿
while his baby remains
economically abandoned—
ok sure.
that’s true devil shit.

🔥💰💰💰💰💰🔥

🚨 why this ain’t financial hardship — it’s fucking abuse 🚨

coercive control: deluxe army ranger / ivy league — golden boy courtroom edition

baby—
this isn’t financial hardship.
this is coercive control—
weaponized through money, timing, and legal maneuvering.
abuse doesn’t end at the restraining order.
it just changes fucking form.

▶︎ coercive control is a recognized pattern of domestic abuse under
laws like the UK’s Serious Crime Act 2015 and reflected in U.S. DV literature:
 → economic deprivation 💀
 → isolation 💀
 → legal funds out of fucking nowhere 💀
 → reputation gaslighting (she’s lying about being punched/strangled) 💀
 → selective access to resources 💀

= 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

▶︎ he’s not funding survival (diapers, food, child support)
 → he’s funding strategy (attorneys, bonds, unnecessary fucking travel)

▶︎ control by proxy is a DV fucking hallmark
 → enablers, lawyers, money, and institutions used as shields or fucking weapons

▶︎ economic abuse is a fucking lethality factor
 → especially post-separation, duh.
 → especially when combined with legal retaliation or parental abandonment

this isn’t broke behavior.
it’s battlefield budgeting.
and y’all—
he’s fighting to control,
not to get help.

baby,
he’s not broke.
he’s just refusing to support
the fucking life he goddamn created.
instead, he’s spending fucking thousands
to dodge accountability for crimes
he actually fucking committed.

🤡💀

sweetheart,
go back to repenting.
lying to a judge looks pathetic on you.