🔥 the ongoing fucking harm

let’s fucking go.

🔥

✦ inducement + abandonment.

• yo, they raised the fucking conflict
  refused to clarify for months—
  (insinuated my husband + my advisor).

• then they abandoned me to figure it out,
  alone, postpartum, scared, with a fucking FRO in place.
  

✦ surveillance + retraumatization.

• forced me to live with
  daily monitoring by the whole fucking crew—
  and also
  the same dumbass conflicted advisor
  who never even
  formally stepped off
  my fucking account.
  who was inside my fucking marriage;
  late pregnancy,
  while we almost died—
  but hey,
  they’re still not clarifying
  if there had been /
  still fucking is—an ongoing conflict.

• stall tactics for months.

• babe,
  that’s not passive—
  that’s a fucking choice.
  that’s an action.
  it’s repeated retraumatization → ongoing PTSD triggers.
  

✦ obstruction + silence.

• refusal to answer the basic who/when/why about her exit from my account.

• how my policy ownership, seemed to magically change.

• who authorized beneficiary changes, mid restraining order, while i was paying—

• why all three of my accounts— were wrongly lapsed, post DV notice?

• forced me into a 500-hour pro se “deep dive”
  just to uncover the fucking timeline.

• lol. that’s time, labor, energy, mental toll → damages.
  

✦ retaliatory policy sabotage.

• policy lapses / cancellations conveniently aligned with my disclosures.

• refused on multiple levels to investigate.

• refused to address any potentially conflicted onboarding.

• told me to fuck off—for months
  policies were always my unemployed, violent, conflicted husbands.

• that’s not just negligent — it’s retaliatory breach → economic damages.
  

✦ pychological devastation.

• constant fucking nights awake, baby in my arms,
  piecing together what should’ve been a compliance officer’s job.

• ongoing fear: “is he still in contact with her?
  she clearly has zero ethical boundaries—
  doesn’t seemed phased that he punched me—
  was constantly bragging about her own resources—
  was already funding my husband while we
  slept in the same fucking bed—
  and now?
  we’re scary fucking broke.
  that means power, babe.
  wait but—
  does that mean he had access
  to my private account
  during active DV litigation?—
  while it was locked the fuck down—
  despite being a monetizing platform?
  because i was mid-emergency?
  through my financial representative?
  bro—
  is our safety fucking compromised?
  what is actually going on?!”

• duh. wtf did you expect?
  that’s foreseeable emotional distress caused by their refusal to fucking clarify.
  

✦ economic damages — quantifiable.

• yo, i gave them $200 of my last $700
  and they still fucking stripped all three policies.

• every policy i paid for during the conflict = babe, that shit is recoverable.

• my hours of pro se research? even at a “low rate,”
  lol. that’s fucking catastrophic.

• goes on and on and on…

because
it’s not about
the money,
babe—
it’s about
the fucking misconduct.

it’s about
the fucking
real life tangible
damages
and blatant injustice—
of this entire fucking setup.

✶

yo,
hey—
this is what happens
when you give
absolutely zero fucks
about the impact
of your ongoing actions
on your own—
vulnerable
fucking
clients.

shit gets broken.

.
.
.

but keep fucking around.

🔥

midnight meetings with your married coworker? fucking standard 🕰️📉✨

a warning story in fiduciary theater

✨🕰️✨

this is giving:
what kind of “professional”
invites a married recruit
to their apartment at 11pm,
doesn’t sell shit,
and then holds the
fucking wife’s newborn
a few weeks later?

strap in. 💫
here we fucking go:

(bro
first off,
tell me
i actually blacked
half this shit
completely out—
because of
the fucking trauma
and violence
that exploded
during this
exact fucking period.)

but fuck,
now i got the records…
so let’s go the fuck in—

✨

just a
quick question,
because you really
had me
believing this was safe—
and i’m asking
for the entire
girlboss economy:

after reviewing
the shit-ton
of brand new
documented records
i’ve extracted
from the goddamn dead—

listen…

is it normal—
like,
industry-standard,✨
compliance-approved,
regulated-firm-certified normal—
to host your
brand-new married
male coworker
at your private apartment
until nearly midnight,
because you're
allegedly
doing “group work”
with “higher-ups”
and some vague cast
of senior finance guys
citing sales shit—
that,
weirdly enough,
never seem to appear✨
in any sales logs
and never seem to
generate
any commission?

(although,
i see now
i was constantly
promised 💫
dates and amounts
of bonuses
from all these
”meetings”
were coming in)

shit, spoiler:
they never did.
nah instead?
he just drained
my life savings instead—
while choking me out.

because i trusted
your goddamn system.

🤨🧾✨

because
baby—
at the time?
i was sitting at home.
puking and pregnant.
trusting the fucking process,
because this firm—
apparently has
zero fucking oversight.
while they
induced me into,
paying all the bills.
nah—
just here at residence,
feeding the dog.
budgeting for groceries.
waiting for the man
who told me
he was
“at a professional development session” 💫
with “team leads.”
and you—
his supposed
professional peer —
were allegedly
hosting him.
lmfao.
WOW.
but…

zero business produced?—
from team pow-wows
at basically
midnight?

💫

shit babe,
he’s over here
dropping actual names,
quoting direct meetings,
but generating
absolutely
zero
fucking
business.

that night? 💫

he talked in circles,
”i’m coming”
”we’re all here”
babe,
and he promised
to bring me
something special.
a little treat.
on the way home.
you know,
specifically misled
my ass,
into thinking
he’d go out of his way—
for me,
you know,
straight manipulation.
but turns out?
bro stopped at 7-Eleven.
and came back
with basically nothing.

in the
near early fucking morning—

from a
work meeting?
at a female colleague’s?
with “the crew?”
and this bitch
then—
signed on 💫
fucking willingly,
without my request—
to be my
professional financial
contact point?
and fucking representative?
signed me up
for all my
life insurance policies?
acquired all my fucking
medical documents?
including my newborns—
while in or
barely fucking
out of the goddamn hospital?

but y’all didn’t…know shit?

come on.
just stop
shut up—
that’s blatant fucking bullshit.

babe,
a coworker—
drove her to my fucking home—
while i was still
in a goddamn diaper
from fucking childbirth.

yo.
you’re fucking liars.
the goddamn fucking audacity.
the fucking
professional violations—
left and fucking right.

yeah,
i feel violated as fuck.
and we almost
didn’t
fucking—
make it.

no fucking joke.

fuck.

ok.
and you all knew.
you made jokes—
knowing i was footing
the fucking bill
while pregnant—
and then ✨
saw me in real life.
repeatedly—
at parties
at the office.

💫

so…
i’m just wondering:
was that…
compliance-approved behavior?

are those
late-night meetings,
at her apartment—
on the formal record?

because i wanna see them.
like immediately.

lol.

✨

yo.
you created this—
y’alls business structure,
was so fucking vague
so shapeless—
so fucking ambiguous…

i was like—
ok, bro
do what
you need to do—
to get those sales.
because i’m not jealous,
and i trusted this whole
fucking system, to protect me.✨
and look—
i’ve personally witnessed
this group of fuckfaces
encourage✨
this fucking relationship—
and the
constant “sales talks,”
so i guess
this shit is kosher?
—right?

some reasonable explanations?

💫

because let’s zoom out:

✶ brand-new married rep.
✶ no book of business.
✶ no sales to show for these “late nights.”
✶ consistent references to “working late with you.”
✶ and then later?
✶ you become my consultant.
✶ with access to all my files.
✶ while we’re still married.
✶ while i’m giving birth.
✶ while you come into my home,
✶ without ever contacting me—
✶ while you’re watching my daughter grow up on instagram.
✶ making little weird ass comments,
✶ and you never once, in your professional capacity, disclose the conflict.

🤔✨

so help me understand:
is this how regulated finance works now?

because either:

a) y’all were doing ✨deep-dive financial strategy
in your apartment at 11:30pm,
no sales,
no deliverables,
no outputs

or

b) someone was
lying to someone✨
about where they were,
what they were doing,
and who was present—
while using the firm as cover
with specific names,
and “strategy”
to sustain an inappropriate relationship
under the guise of career advancement
while a pregnant woman
footed the fucking bill,
and then handed over her financials—
to the same fucking woman.

but like,
your stance is—
no one fucking noticed? 💫

lol.
nah.
incorrect.

and honestly?

babe—

i hope it was option A.
i really do.
i hope every single name dropped
in those alibis checks out.
the constant late nights,
that made zero sense—
because i have records.
and i’m building a timeline.
and if these “meetings”
that produced zero income,
weren’t meetings 💫—
if they were just brand-safe
sleepovers in business-casual disguise —
then the question
isn’t “was it ethical?”
the question is:
who the fuck supervised it?

and why the fuck✨—
did she sign on
to my
fucking account?

for policies,
that mysteriously
fucking lapsed?
the exact time period,
she’s presumably ✨
(you won’t tell me that
material fact lmfao)
fucking
straight bounced
with zero record—
from my file?

…

and wait…
funniest part?
all this late night shit,
undisclosed meetings—
were happing
at the exact point
in fucking time
down to the days—
he RANDOMLY—
out of fucking nowhere,
with zero prior history,
starts trying to
straight up
murder my pregnant ass?

LMFAO.

this is fucked.

and the answer
to that
supervision question— ✨
so far?
absolutely
fucking no one.

nah.
nope.

✨

and yet
here we are.
now estranged—
two protection orders. 💫
a felony DV case.
no financials submitted.
no contact with his child.
in almost a year
and still —
no clear disclosure,
after my new rep,
thought it was funny
to make a joke—
on how i trusted your
dumb ass fucking bullshit—
but nah
zero clarification
or any material facts—
about how this all started
or how deep it ran.

but i’ll say this:

girlie✨—

if you invited
my husband
to your apartment
for a “work session”
until midnight
while i was pregnant at home
holding the fucking line—
trusting all y’all?
trusting the fucking name drops?
and weird-ass excuses?
and then
you showed up
without contacting me directly—
at my fucking home
days after giving birth,
because i fucking trusted you,
and this stupid ass institution—
and then?
you fucking held my newborn child
whose safety
you fucking compromised
through proximity,
silence,
money incentives,
job offers,
constant attention,
daddy connections—
and a flaming
fucking
conflict of interest?

✨

oh, bitch.

pray
i’m so fucking wrong.
and the
blatant fucking misconduct
isn’t as bad as it looks.

yo.

i fucking hope
whatever you were
“working on”
was fucking worth it.

because
now i’m the one
filing the paperwork.
i’ve got every single fucking
weird ass date.
and you’re the one
holding the fucking bag.

—

nah really,
better fucking pray.

✶

disclaimer:
purely speculative,
of course.
LMFAO.
not naming names.
not asserting facts.
just doing my own little compliance theater exercise
with some screenshots,
some timestamps,
and a little thing called
delayed, post-escape
fucking pattern recognition.

carry on.

finra.
✨👻✨

the resurrection files ✶ autopsy of an office cover story 💀👻🔄

(it reads like
you fucked
with my husband
while i was pregnant,
still signed
the fuck onto my file,
like a pyscho—
and kept contact
like a fucking pyscho—
through our
entire fucking marriage,
and potentially ✨
while he was out
on felony
dv bond
for choking me out—
while y’all
concealed a
material conflict)

💀(🔫)

aka:
bro that shit
is
really
fucking
bad.

🤷‍♀️👮

aka:
yo—
are we about
to make
colorado case law
fucking history? 🧑‍⚖️✨⚖️

i think the fuck so.

⚖️💡✨

ok.

holy shit.
no the fuck
i did not
just drag hundreds
of fucking pages 🔄
out of the goddamn grave
and line them up
like a fucking firing squad—
but i did.

aka the
500+ pages 🗂️💥
of timestamped
fuckery
i that i truly thought
for sure fucking died—
crawled out of the
motherfucking grave

📄✍️🤯

babe,
resurrected.
finally.

deleted
wasn’t deleted.
it was waiting.
so.
i ran the whole
dumbass shitshow
through a phrase sweep
(not ai; a fucking machete):

it’s fucking bad.

nah,
despite
blacking out
this whole fucking
period—
turns out
i didn’t overreact.
i underreacted.
i tried to be fucking decent
while a corporate mascot
literally chucked
flaming shit on me—
while pregnant.✨

✍️😑

justification squads?
(plural)
hi.
hope you’re well.
but yo,
the only thing
you’re closing?
is a case study
in fucking breach.

and listen—

it’s honestly
fucking finished.

💔

and yo,
it doesn’t even
bring me fucking
joy—
it makes me
wanna fucking
vomit.
✨🧾🤰💥🥊

because
what demonic✨
professional✨
fucking industry
could blatantly
fuck 💥😢
an extremely
vulnerable
client—
you knowingly
fucking induced💥
into this
goddamn
fucking
disloyal,
disgusting,
seemingly deadass
defrauding— 💥😢
whole fucking
pyramid scheme
so goddamn egregiously?✨

baby,
this is civil, 💥
propoderance scale?
lmfao
you’re fucking—
dead on arrival.

zero chance
of recessitation,
heart stops—💔
pronounced deceased
on
fucking
site.

👍🙃✨

civil court?
shit isn’t
fucking sudoku,
babe.
it’s a scale.
lol
if my shit
weighs even
a fucking fingernail
more than yours?
shit. 💔
means i win.
that’s preponderance.

aka more
likely than not.
aka 51% > 49%.
(colorado, hi.)

wild,
am i right? 💀

lol y’all
not certainty—
nah,
not
“beyond a reasonable doubt.”
nope.
just a fucking tilt.
a goddamn wobble.
a lil-ass lean.

✨🧾

burden?
babe, mine.

and?
fuck—
i got this shit,
all day.
every day. 🫠

(*don’t worry
my demonic other half—
i’ll start
a fucking
college fund✨
for our girl—
with the
fucking
damages)

🤝🙃✨

the fucking reality:
everyone’s acting
like they
don’t notice—✨
the scale?
that shit isn’t
fucking nudged;
nah babe—
that shit is
face-down
in the fucking gutter
💀🔥🎉
spitting up blood,
a tooth,
it’s fucking dignity
and that shit?
yo, it’s
absolutely
fucking covered
with fiduciary
fucking fingerprints.

👍✨✨

honestly?
baby,
this is my karma,
it’s called—
fucking justice.

so babe?
save the “no duty /
no knowledge.”

for the
legal precedent
you’re about to set.
brand-new,
court-tested
fucking standard on
breach.
misconduct.
non-supervision.
and what the fuck
not to do.

🙂👍🔪

yo.
(finra 👀)

👻

✶

preserve
everything.
we’ll discuss
the rest
under fucking oath.

🗓️⚖️😩✨

war hero, ivy league, family-man... who then abandons his own newborn 💫💀

(yo,
listen to your
goddamn inner
bad bitch, on this one)

💫

that contradiction—
war hero,
ivy league,
honor...
who then ghosts
his own fucking newborn—
babe,
that doesn’t just
scream sociopath.
it screams fucking
personality disorder
with a
public relations fetish.

hun—
you’re watching
the collapse
of a man who was
entirely constructed
for external validation,
and internally
empty as fuck.
💫

✨[side thought]✨

—yo babe,
did you know,
your kid says
✨”daddy” ✨
all the fucking time?
yep—
out here
perplexed as fuck.
because look,
ms. rachel?
she taught her
all that shit.

and truly?
it breaks my fucking heart.
because,
damn—
she already knows.

the void exists. ✨

i watch her
look around,
say “mommy,”
scans the room,
fucking find me.

and then daddy?
utter fucking confusion.
there’s just
one.

just me.

it’s fucking sad—
she doesn’t even
fucking remember you.

at all.

and for real?
that’s goddamn
fucking tragic. ✨

and totally fucking pathetic.

because
you little fucking bitch—
you goddamn knew her,
you pretended
to give a shit
about her,
while we, (lol)
of course—
spent a fucking grand
on some
dumbass elite—level
baby bike and backpack,
because you
always,
ALWAYS—
fucking needed
the brand,
more than
the real thing,
or shit—
the fucking kid.

and you?
babe,
you should be fucking ashamed.

disgusted with yourself.
because
that’s absolute,
+ complete bullshit.
and you’re
so epically
fucked up—
for that shit.

what this is:

nah,
not a mistake.
not confusion.
not fucking overwhelm.

↳ this is a man who:

✦ pursued the highest
fucking image hits
he possibly could:
soldier,
scholar,
husband,
father.

✦ exploited
every role
for how it made
him look—
not what it
actually required.

✦ bailed the
fucking second
those roles
required
accountability,
service,
or sacrifice.

sweetie.
it’s textbook narcissistic collapse:

✶ chase titles,
✶ uniforms,
✶ ceremonies,
✶ baby bullshit.

✶ feed off sympathy
↳ "i'm a vet”
↳ "i had a hard childhood"

✶ exit fast once the supply dries or the mask cracks.
✶ rewrite the story,
✶ pretend nothing happened,
✶ ghost the fucking mess.

↳ and the sociopathic tell?

✶ he didn’t just leave.
✶ he left knowing
↳ he had financially fucked you
↳ you just enrolled in school
↳ he straight fucking traumatized you
↳ and you were holding the child he asked for.
✶ he didn’t fucking flinch.
✶ he didn’t check in. (besides for pills)
✶ he left zero trace of empathy.
✶ forgot his daughter fucking existed.
↳after knowing her for almost a year.
✶ that’s not immaturity.

that’s dangerous fucking vacancy.

and yes,
sam—
fucking remember:
it’s the contradiction
that gives him away:

✦ “i’m a protector” → he strangled you pregnant.

✦ “i’m a father” → he abandoned your daughter before she spoke her first fucking word.

✦ “i’m a provider” → he lied to pay nothing.

✦ “i’m a patriot” → he walked out on every oath.

✦ “i’m not a terrible fucking human” → left you with no money, all the debt, and your baby—fucking alone.

babe,
he won’t even
pay $87 in child support.
after showing the fuck up—
with two defense attorneys.
he doesn’t give a fuck.

this isn’t just failure.
this is what
unmasked sociopathy
looks like when
the narrative
fucking flops.

and you?
babe,
you weren’t crazy
for believing the titles.
you were targeted
because you believed
in love
and fucking loyalty,
and he knew
how to detonate
those words
like a fucking bomb.

but now
you see
the gross ass
contradiction.
you have
the receipts.
and you’re
still
fucking
standing.

💀

but hey,
guess who
fucking stayed?

don’t worry,
i got her.
i promise—
she’s safe.

💫

justifiable reliance 💔: when the institution was the fucking cover

yo—
for the
professionals
acting fucking dumb.

101
✶ reliance →
when you
reasonably believe
that the relationship
(including whoever was
fucking “assigned”
to your account)
was fucking supervised,
goddamn compliant,
and in your best interest.

that belief
is why you sign,
transfer data,
attempt an IRA move,
and fund fucking policies.

✶

legal standards for dumbasses:

the whole point
of a fiduciary/professional
fucking environment
is that
i don’t have to fucking
rely only on my gut.
nah,
because
you rely on the
professional fucking safeguards
they advertise.
they induce that reliance,
and i paid
the fucking price.

✶

because no:

baby,
it wasn’t just
“my husband fucked around”—
it was a
licensed financial institution
with
their logo on the wall
creating the stage
where it could even happen.

you want me
to say i should’ve known.
that i should’ve
read the signs,
the way he lingered
with the troll,
the way she constantly
crossed fucking lines.
but here’s the thing:
i wasn’t just trusting him.
i was trusting the institution
that wrapped
the whole damn thing
in a professional
fucking bow.

you—
the financial firm
with your name
plastered on
the glass fucking building,
your brochures
in glossy-ass stacks,
your onboarding meetings
with both of us
in the fucking room,
your
“we’re fucking fiduciaries”
ethics pitch bullshit,
your financial breakdowns
with top advisors—
conducted with
my fucking family,
your codes of ethics.

i sat in those offices.
i signed those papers.
i handed over
my child’s medical records
for fucking life insurance.
i let you walk me
through retirement options,
i asked about
transferring my fucking ira.
because you presented
yourselves
as
fucking
professionals.
because
i was told
this was a system
with fucking rules,
oversight,
and goddamn fucking supervision.

you induced me
to fucking believe
i was protected —
that you wouldn’t
let some back-cubicle ass affair
derail my fucking finances,
my marriage,
my safety.
that you wouldn’t
put me in a position
where i’m
unknowingly funding
my own fucking abuse.

!!!!!!!!!

so yeah,
maybe i saw red flags.
but i told myself:
they’re financial experts.
they’d never let this happen.
and that is exactly
how you fucking got me.

reliance,
babe.

✶

so fucking weird.

doesn’t this shit look like—
fucking textbook
justifiable reliance:

in…
contract /
fraud /
fiduciary law terms?

fucking bizarre,
bro.

💀

✶

..

#finra 👻.

😵‍💫💰✨

boulder county: strangled, stalked, silenced 💫

bro, i get it.
you’re busy.
you don’t want
to hear from me
unless i show up
with a fucking powerpoint,
ip logs,
metadata,
and a sworn affidavit
from god her fucking self.

💫

like, nah,
it’s not enough
that i’ve got the bruises,
the restraining orders,
the fucking court file
the audio ✨
the video ✨
the photo ✨
the banking bullshit
nah—
you want the
full forensics fucking package.

like i’m the fucking fbi
on my own fucking life.

and even then you’re like,
“hmm.
annoying,
but inconclusive—
so fucking juvenile”

✨

do you see what
this motherfucker is posting?
he’s literally saying
my friends
are feeding him shit,
and my friends
are literally reading it
like “lol wut?”
like, cool.
thanks, guys.

he’s literally out here
using
the most
basic ass photoshop shit
to handmake fucking memes
to harass me
about the cops
about court
about me +
being a fucking victim.

hey,
thanks—
for making me feel
like i’m screaming
into a fucking void
while he gets
to taunt me publicly.

so yeah.
just let him.
just let him threaten me.
let him keep violating bond
like it’s a fucking parking ticket.
let him
push
the
fucking
danger
level
to
the
fucking
max

🔥🔥🔥

while everyone fucking shrugs. ✨

nah,
don’t worry,
though.
because all this indifference?
it’s fuel.
and i am documenting
everything—
babe,
how do you think
i got exactly
this fucking far?

not by fucking lying—

by fucking
documenting—
all of your
ongoing
abusive fuckery,
in real time. 💫

because
it’s absolutely
the reality
of exactly
who the fuck
you really are—

he thinks
he’s winning.
he thinks
he knows everything i’ve got.
(babe, shit is not a game—
there’s evidence,
or there’s not—)
he thinks
he can outrun it,✨
outsmart it,✨
outlast it.✨

and honestly?
maybe he can. ✨
maybe he gets away
with all of it.
because look around:
everyone’s acting
so fucking nonchalant. 💫
maybe this is the actual lesson—
that you can do
whatever the fuck you want
to your wife,
and the world
will roll its eyes
until the obituary
proves her right.

highest lethality risk
is fucking husbands.
and nobody fucking cares. 💫

✶

boulder county dv /
intimate-partner homicides

✶ 2024 – 🗣️ victim: gaudy garcía piña (37);
🔪💀: boyfriend andrés eloy martínez pérez (31)
arrested and charged with 1st-degree murder (dv-tag).
remains found 9/24/24; arrest announced 12/6/24.
Boulder County+1

✶ 2024 → 2025 – 🗣️ victim: christine barron-olivas (71);
🔪💀: boyfriend carlos dosal
indicted 2/14/25 for 2nd-degree murder.
cause cited in coverage: strangulation.
Boulder County+1

✶ 2021 → 2023 – 🗣️ victim: jason schaefer (33);
🔪💀: ex-girlfriend devan schreiner
convicted of 1st-degree murder (life w/o parole).
LPD labeled it domestic violence from day one;
custody conflict and coordination with
andrew “aj” ritchie documented, both convicted.
City of Longmont+29News+2

✶ 2018 → 2019 – 🗣️ victim: deborah “debbie” depinto (44);
🔪💀: husband scott beaumont jones
convicted of 2nd-degree murder; strangulation
with argument audio captured; jury also found child abuse
for involving their son.
GovDelivery+1

✶ 2017 → 2018 – city of boulder
🗣️ victim: ashley mead (25); former partner
🔪💀: adam densmore
convicted of 1st-degree murder + tampering/abuse
of a corpse (life w/o parole).
record includes admission of
prior physical violence.
CBS News+1

r.i.p.

😭

when they lock me out of insider info ✨about my own private life✨ …🤯 damn.

(a professional slow-motion gaslight by fuckboy mutual™)

girl,
i’m just venting
into the fucking void.

✨

honestly—

it’s crazy to me,
that i know that
people are watching
me spiral,
trying to figure this shit out,
while knowing fucking more
about my personal life—
than i do.

yo.

🤯✨

you know how
fucking invasive
that shit is?

because
really—
there are actual
financial professionals
that absolutely know
more material facts
about shit—
involving my intimate private life:
that
i
can
not
confirm—
than i do.
🤯✨

cool.
that’s fucking great.

and look:

i just have one
teeny,
tiny,
dainty-ass,
federally-protected question:

who authorized changes
to my financial products
while i was mid-crisis,
postpartum, and on the run
from the man
you assigned to the
financial death benefit
buddy system?

🤯✨

no?
nothing?

not even a
"let us pull the file immediately"?
not even a
“this might be a problem”?
oh,
okay.
then let me say this slowly
in the legally-enforceable
language of girlhood:

you are fucking insane.

🤯✨

because yo,
let me get this straight.
y’all positioned
this girl as my financial advisor.
gave her access to
my accounts,
my insurance,
my child’s life,
my husband,
and my medical files,
then quietly removed her
and now you…
can’t tell me why?

🤯✨

nah.
run that back.

you had her handling
life insurance enrollment
while i was pregnant
with the child
she later watched on instagram.
and now i’m sitting here
asking basic fucking questions like:

✨💖 who changed the ownership?
✨💖 who switched the beneficiary?
✨💖 when did she leave my account?
✨💖 who authorized it?

🤔

and y’all are giving me
CIA press conference energy
like i asked for
nuclear launch codes?

bro,
what?

and you ask me,
why i think—
this shit,
seems off?

bro,
because of your conduct—
ongoing
fucking
conduct.

🤯✨

meanwhile,
you know
my account got
jacked the fuck up mid-emergency.
policies started disappearing.
paperwork went ghostmode.
premiums i was paying suddenly…
stopped applying?

oh yeah,
absolutely—
makes total sense,
in a fucking
con conspiracy.

are we seeing this?

but yeah.
no answers.
no timeline.
no internal record
of why the person
you assigned to my finances
dipped mid-fraudulent collapse.

🤯✨

bro,
is this the fucking
divinci code?
like,
why are you acting
so fucking shady?

that’s normal?
in what world?

you really think
it’s funny, huh.
to sit in meetings,
watch me panic-ask
for help in writing,
and act like:

“wow. sorry!
no idea.
that’s not our responsibility.
we just let people
run your life
without
documenting anything.
lol.”

are you okay?

because this
isn’t just unethical.
it’s fucking insulting.
you’re pretending
this is complicated
when it’s literally recordkeeping.
you have e-signatures.
you have form history.
you have billing trails.
you have fucking transfers.

and you’re out here like:

“unfortunately
we can’t confirm who removed you
from the policy you paid for
that we silently restructured
while your husband
fled the state.”

🤯✨

sweet.
love that for me.

and by the way —
i see you watching me.
on my website.
on my instagram.
on my linkedin.
on my court dates.

you know more
about my
fucking relationship timeline
than i do.
you’ve seen more
financial crossover than i have.
you know
what day she dipped
and why.

and instead
of just telling me the truth
— like a normal compliance function —
you’re playing
hide and seek
with my trauma.

that’s not a glitch
in your system.
that’s intentional cruelty.

so yeah.
i’m glad
you all know more
about my life
than i do.
🤯✨
must be fun.
must be relaxing
to hold the answers
while you watch me
connect the dots
in fucking public
and cry in private
and sit through
legal meetings
begging you
to just
stop fucking bullshitting.

but sure.
no comment.

keep watching though.

✶✶✶

really hope that
one day,
i have as much—
insider information
about my own life
as the people
who orbit
my life insurance documents.

dope.

the causation link i wrote in 4 minutes with crayon and one (1) brain cell left. 🧸🧃🧠💥

(aka: what do you mean, “how is this our fault?”)
✨⚖️🧾🫠

bro,
wait til i actually
give this some
serious thought—🧠💥

but
off the top of my head,
written in fucking crayon—

🥺👉👈🧸

(bro
they’re acting like—
they’re selling gummy bears.
and not fucking spousal-
death benefits) 🤷‍♀️🪦✨💀

okie doke.

the 💥 fucking obvious:

🔍 in any suspected
DV homicide or near-lethal case—

the first three questions
investigators ask are
babe—:

1. was there a life insurance policy?「✔」

2. who owned it?「✔」

3. who stood to benefit if the victim died?「✔」

(and then immediately?—
🥺✨…is this dude cheating?)

?「✔」

literally investigations 101 ✨

maybe✨—
this setup looks like
a murder-your-wife-for-profit scheme
because it functionally
allowed for one. ✨

now imagine 🥺✨
how that looks to a jury:

you put a woman
in a 🔥 clear DV-risk relationship:

🔥 in financial chokehold with her abuser,
🔥 under the guidance of a conflicted advisor,
🔥 with no clear disclosures,
🔥 and with death payouts flowing straight
to the highest likely murder suspect.

🤯✨

(pause,
truly—
envision it ✨
any human
sitting there:
visualizing ✨
this fucking scenario—
their spouse +
their financial rep =
death benefits
😑🪦✨
lol.
and being chill with it
happening to them
while you go
”no duty”
lmfao, sure) 💀🔫

💔🪦🤯✨

i don’t see them
buying the whole—
bro, we were
like really
geographically far, though.

so,
no supervision. lol. 🤷‍♀️🪦✨

so hi. yes.
i’m the dumb bitch ✨💖
who thought
a financial representative
was there to,
idk…
represent me financially?
🤷‍♀️✨💀

—

silly me.
i must have misunderstood
when y’all onboarded
my violently abusive husband,
and brought me—
the fuck in 🥺👉👈
right before you handed
his cubicle infidelity troll
my entire life file.
my b.
🫶🏼

—

what part of:
“you installed
a conflicted party
into my financial life
and then ran a death benefit op
in the background
during a literal
life insurance triangulation—
pregnancy murder arc”
is
confusing?

✨🍼🥺

like—
you actively recruited my husband,
you assigned me
his fucking coworking conflict 💥
as my financial rep,
you initiated
multiple 💥😢
life
insurance
policies,
then you
let him hold all the access—
ownership,
beneficiary,
even of my fucking infant’s,
while he was an
unemployed,
combat vet,
(and evidently)
heavily-inappropriatedly-enmeshed
(🫂🖇️🫠🙃)
with the onboarding agent,
while simultaneously
attempting to murder my ass—
💥😭😔

and y’all
set him up to collect
upon my death:
the full
fucking
payout.
🙃☠️

(wait—
on both me,
and my daughter—
what up, familicide?)

🤯💀😑🏡🔪

totally chill,
totally not insane.
totally not a dateline episode? 😑✨

(??????)

👍

like—
sorry,
is the confusion
coming from the part
where
i tried to transfer my ira
via off-channel-now-deleted
communications? 🤯✨
through the rep
you assigned,
as she was potentially
sending smiley face texts
to my husband?
🤔🤯✨

—

was it the part
where you had me
sign medical disclosures 💀
and insurance paperwork—
from an ER hospital bed?
with someone whose idea of
conflict management✨
was low-key stalking my
locked down social media
from the office
while her colleagues giggle?

💀(🔫)

i’ve got
financial advisors
(!!!)
i don’t even know
dropping truth bombs
about my private life—
like it’s an
inside office fucking joke—

lol. 🤯

✨weird that i spiraled, huh.✨ 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦🪦💔

—

y’all keep asking:

“but how
does that connect
to your trauma,
your losses,
your weird-ass ptsd?”

babe.
are you new here?
📉📉📉

🤯

—

let’s draw you a map, since clearly:

✴️ i didn’t know her 🤯
✴️ y’all installed her 🤯
✴️ she walked me into policy docs 🤯
✴️ i tried to transfer my IRA 🤯
✴️ while she was neck-deep 🤯
✴️ in my husband’s private call logs 🤯
✴️ and he was out here 🤯
✴️ owning all the policies 🤯
✴️ with my name 🤯
✴️ and him on the death payout 🤯

—

✨meanwhile✨
you took
every premium
from my account—
from my name—
and then 🤯
when shit hit the fan,
you were like:

“damn,
that sounds personal.”
🧃🤡💀

—

no babe.
what’s more personal
is what happened after.

🔹when i fled.
🔹when i disclosed.
🔹when i maintained communications.
🔹when my savings collapsed.
🔹when the accounts got locked.
🔹when my child’s policy and my own—lapsed
‘cause y’all were too busy
jerking each other off in compliance. 💔

bro, all while
y’all rotated lawyers
trying to say
“but did you die tho?”

💀🤯

—

nah.
not this time.

but like—
don’t minimize
my relocation trauma
babe.
while y’all sit in
Milwaukee
(?? lol) 💔🥀
wearing matching polos
on a golf course—
writing policies like:

“she’s married,
he’s not working—
she’s totally about to get off’ed—
let’s sign her up for triple indemnity!”
✨🧾🤰💔💀⚰️✨

—

you created the conditions.
you facilitated the placement.
you took the money.
you dodged
every
fucking
question.
💀
and you’re shocked
that this shit blew up?

🤔🫠💥

—

corporate VPN bros—
this wasn’t “bad luck.”
this was reckless orchestration
with a side of
“whoops,
did we forget
to vet the hubby—
and his emotionally incestuous office wife?”
🤯😅👍

—

and now you wanna be like:
"but causation...?"

nah babe.
it’s giving coverup.
it’s giving:
"we don't log conflicts—
we promote them."

it’s giving:
you hired a whole
obsessed emotional side-piece
to handle
a vulnerable—
dv victim’s
family insurance plan.
💅💀🔫

—

next time
you wanna claim
“no duty owed” 💀
after putting your reps
in bed
(figuratively, paul—chill)
directly—
with your policyholders…

maybe fucking don’t.

💔💀✨

✶

(p.s. finra 👻)

boo.

i hope god saves you—i hear she’s forgiving and shit. ✨💙⚡🌊

you know what
sexual abuse actually
fucking looks like?

it looks like
your whole body
freezing while some
shit goes down
and you just
try to fucking disappear.
it looks like
pretending you're
not real
because
that’s the only way
you can figure out
how to fucking survive.

and then—
when you finally try to name it?
yo it’s the people
you fucking trusted
tell you to
shut the fuck up
tell you
nah,
it’s not that bad.
tell you
to be fucking careful
what you say.

or society
will use it against you
fucking again.

lol
because look
your mom makes a joke.
your friends look away.
and the men in your life?—
what a fucking joke
they don’t want
to fucking hear it.

babe—

your own husband
mocks that shit.
mocks you.
throws your
fucking trauma
in your bloody face
while he’s
packing his shit to leave.
moved back into
the same fucking house
where it all
went the fuck down,
like it was no big deal.

because yo—
you do not matter.
everyone
makes that
so fucking clear.

because
look—
everyone decides
nah,
that bitch?
that bitch is
the fucking test dummy.
used to fucked shit—
who cares?

fuck her.

but then
when i finally—
for the first fucking time
in 36 years—
said it out loud,
you know what happened?

babe.
immediately.
i got fucking shamed for it.
by people who
were supposed
to fuck with me.
people with money.
people with degrees.
people with power.

they didn’t ask
if i was okay.
nah.
they didn’t thank me
for being fucking brave.
baby—
they acted fucking embarrassed.

of me.
for existing—
with this goddamn narrative.

yo.

embarrassed.
like my survival story
made them look icky
by fucking proximity.

hey,
so—that’s actually
insanely fucked up.

and guess what?

that means—
damn,
you’re truthfully
a fairly shitty
fucking human being.

yo
you were ashamed of me.
not the person who did it.
not the people who enabled it.
me.

and that tells me
everything i need to know
about you.

because you know what
this actually is?
this is what fucking
bravery looks like.

this is what
healing looks like
when no one handed you
a fucking map.

and if that makes you
kinda uncomfy—
good.
it should.

fucking obviously.
imagine
goddamn living it.

you’ve clearly
never done a brave
fucking thing
in your life
if hearing the truth
makes you get all
fucking weird.

go back
to your quiet little
aesthetic life—
and your coward-ass silence.

but don’t you
fucking dare pretend
you care about women.
don’t you fucking dare
say you support survivors.
not when
the second we fucking speak—
you shame us.
you isolate us.
you unfollow us.
you call us unstable.
you call us unfit.

you make up fucking scenarios—
where they take our fucking kids,
just because
we fucking survived.

jesus christ.

that monsterous level
victim blaming
fucking propaganda.

nah,
like—

do you actually realize—
how insanely fucking
harmful that
really fucking is?

for real.

you are the reason
this shit never ends.
you are the reason
little girls grow up
and stay silent for
36 fucking years.
you are the reason
we don’t say shit
until it’s too late.

until—
we’re permanently
fucked up,
or fucking dead.

congrats,
on the fucking lotto,
of not having
to deal with this shit.

lucky you.

you’re a goddamn hero.

and an enabler of
fucking violence,

against…
goddamn
fucking
children.

yeah,
this shit makes
me pretty mad.

i want you
to sit with that shit.
i want you
to fucking choke on it.

because next time
a woman you know
doesn’t say anything?
maybe it’s cause
she saw how you
fucking treated me.
and decided her life
wasn’t worth your
dumbass-privileged-ass
judgment.

hey.

fuck your shame.
fuck your silence.
and fuck your reputation.

this is the cost
of survival.
and you couldn’t afford
a fucking fraction of it.

baby,
it’s ok.

some of
god’s soldier’s
weren’t built
for the hard shit.

⚡

perpetually imagine this shit: you’re a goddamn 👑✨ princess, insulated from reality.

perpetual victim?

📣🧍🏻‍♀️🚨

this is a goddamn epidemic

y’all are so
fucking insulated
and tragically delusional

because—
nah princess.
it’s
perpetual fucking witness
of aggravated
fucking felonies.
and unfortunately
for you bitches,
i paid attention.

yo
even little ass me
was like,
wait—
fuck this shit.

🧃👊🏼

sure.
sometimes
i sound angry.
sometimes i am.
but most of the time
i’m just trying to
tell the fucking truth
without bursting into
fucking flames.

think hard.
i grew up in a house
where silence
had a fucking body count.
like yeah,
go there—
i’ve blacked out whole ass
seasons of my life.
that’s what happens
when your nervous system’s
been in fucking
call of duty mode
since you were,
like,
a fucking fetus.

👶🏻🔫

but instead
of actually
engaging with that,
y’all love slapping
the “unstable” sticker
on us
and calling it
a fucking day.
bro,
think
a little more
goddamn critically. 😐
fucksake.
as if trauma survivors
don’t literally make up
the majority of
fucking abuse victims.
i know you know,
it’s just easier
to other me,
so you feel
shielded from it ever
fucking happening to you.

😈🦋✨😚

the psych breakdown?

i had to
do something wrong
be a bitch.
too demanding,
yelled too loud.
idfk.
literally anything.
pick your poison.
i’ve heard it all.

baby,
they need a reason
for you to have
gotten fucked up,
so they can
logic their way
out of how
it’ll never fucking
happen to them.

nah babe,

it could. 💔

i hope it doesn’t.
but it fucking could.

and then?
there’s the
“eternal victim” squad.
lmao.
bold of you
to be
that candidly
down with the
victim blaming narrative—
to say that to my face,
confidently,
out loud.

🗣️🙏

bro,
courageous as fuck,
standing up
to real-life-ass
victims of fucking crime,
fucking legendary—
with projected shame
that avoids
all statistical
fucking evidence
conclusively finding—
yup. ding ding;
you’re just being
a fucking dickhead.

because really,

imagine this:
you're a kid.
shit’s already weird.
your dad’s a
fucking elite-level
goddamn asshole.
mom either
co-signs the fucking chaos,
or straight up dumps you
to figure
that shit out—
absolutely fucking solo.
at like 11. 😐
lmfao—
god bless.
because hey—
everyone else had a conflict.
they were fucking busy.
so fast-forward,
you’re grown.
pregnant.
someone punches you
in the fucking face.
a bunch of times—
the group chat
definitely fucking knows.
and somehow,
babe, they’re
still too fucking busy,
to show up for the birth.

😠🔥🏘️

but yeah,
they know
you delivered
with
two fucking black eyes.

babe,
you still got the texts
inquiring
if he punched you—
and yeah,
he did.

but y’all
they figured:
fuck it,
she’ll sort that shit herself.

ha.

yeah babe,
you’re right.
i’m the dramatic one.
should i have
brought the
fucking mace
to my own domestic—
pregnant ass assault?

what the fuck.

here’s the deal:
honestly.
i’m not out here
angry for attention.
i’m not mad
because i
want to destroy shit.
i’m mad because
people are being
fucking destroyed.
in real time.
in real houses.
in your cousin’s hallway.
your coworker’s kitchen.
your best friend’s fucking closet.
and y’all are
too
fucking
uncomfortable
to look.

"but sam,
you could say it fucking nicer!"
girl
no the fuck i can’t.
because if men
were getting
strangled and silenced
and fucking stalked
at the rate women are,
baby,
the president would
have an entire SWAT-themed
brunch fundraiser
by fucking sunday.

💀🥞🪖🇺🇸🎖️🍾

state of a fucking emergency level shit.

immediately. 💥

but nah,
preggo women in the us?
shit
your literal
biggest ass risk
is your goddamn
babydaddy.

🤰💀

but nah,
no
”yo wtf is going on here”

nah,
just fucking vibes.
and loud stfu energy.

you’re the reason
women will
continue
to fucking die.

and i say
not
fucking
today.

nope.

not again.

because guess what?

i’ve got a daughter now.
and guess
what the fuck
she’s not inheriting?
the “just survive and eat shit”
goddamn saga.
she’s getting
the trained in
fuck around
and
find
the fuck out—
yo.
i’ll be loud
about this shit.
the one where
we don’t stay quiet
to keep other people
fucking comfortable.

nah,
we stay alive.
even if
you think it’s fucking ugly.

nah,
because?
we’re saving—
your fucking aunties.
your future nieces,
your goddamn wives.

so fuck it—

call me a victim
if it helps your
little ego
sleep in its tiny
trauma-free bed.
but know this:
you’re mad
that i lived.
you’re mad
that i remember.
you’re mad
that i’m not
shutting the fuck up.

you want perpetual victim?
baby, i got
perpetual receipts.
perpetual protection
for the kids
still stuck in fucked up homes
with overt fucking violence.
perpetual discomfort
for people
who would rather
fucking judge
than visualize
the goddamn
hellscape.

💥🕵️

so go ahead.
picture this:
you got no one to call.
no safe place to run.
no clue
how the fuck to get out.
but everyone’s telling you
to calm down
and stop making it
“a public thing.”

literally:
die where
we can’t fucking see you
suffer in daylight.

please. lol.

💀🔪

yo,
ok.
deep breath.

if your chest
just got tight—yeah.
that’s empathy, bitch.
keep going.
don’t look away now.

🔍 zoom in—

stare that shit down.
it’s rough.
but it will make you
so much fucking better.

i’m not
trying to be soft.
i’m trying to survive
loudly so
someone else
doesn’t have to
die fucking silently.

✶🪓

✨🎤 greatest hits: inter-generational wifebeating, the og edition 💀👏

buckle the fuck in.
we’re going full-blown
intergenerational trauma—
no respect.
no peace.
just pure,
ancestral fuckery
decaying in real time.

🔪💯💀✨

aka: when your family
is also abusive as fuck.

you’re double lucky.

✨👑✨

let’s fucking go.

—

🎤 “i can absolutely
fucking understand why
your husband
beat the shit out of you —
you’re a bitch.”
— your biological father,

(when i called him out
for his clearly
fucking
predatory behavior)
nah dude,
this ain’t a reddit troll
🧠 like bro???
you watched me survive
a fucking felony
and decided to
play devil’s fucking advocate
like we’re on a podcast
called ‘maybe she deserved it.’

cool. 💖

—

🎤 “i wasn’t the one
who asked you to move here.
he should accommodate you.”
— mom, queen of selective amnesia

(🧍🏻‍♀️promptly—
went to build a fence,
and mow the fucking lawn)

—

🎤 “but when he strangled you,
did he squeeze hard?”
— dad, again

🥇 bro, congratulations.
you've unlocked the
”is this a crime or a kink”
daughter interrogation.
like sir.
this is not the time
for technique reviews.

—

🎤 “you know,
all you’ve brought
is drama
to this fucking family
since you came home.”
— brother, proud recipient of zero therapy

📢 no babe
what i brought was
a fucking child,
a goddamn truck,
and your
entire family’s
unprocessed trauma
served back to you
unrefined
and fucking accurate.

—

🎤 “you’re not my daughter.
get the fuck out of my house.”
— father of the year 👑✨

🌨️ said this while it was
below fucking freezing,
you were holding a newborn,
and he was holding
onto zero shreds of humanity.
should’ve left you
in the fucking snow.
heaven forbid—
you ask for,
basic sexual
fucking decency.

—

🎤 “you’re abusing the elderly
by letting mom help you
fund getting away
from your violent-ass husband.”
🙏✨🐬
— absolute legend of a brother

📉 this full on
fucking man-baby
looked
at financial abuse
and said:
“what if you were the problem?”
bro acting like gofundme
safety plans are
the fucking war crimes.

—

🎤 “why did you
expect your husband
to pay for shit
after you had a baby?”
— the tone-deaf symphony

🤡 sorry, didn’t realize
paternity was optional
in this household.
is child support
a fucking vibe now?
was i supposed
to invoice him
with a fucking smiley face?
after he drained
my fucking life savings,
and totaled the fucking car?

—

🎤 “do you think he punched you
as hard as he could?”
— father again.

🔥💯
🔥💯
🔥💯

lmfao,
direct quote.
why is he
always talking
🥊 idk man
why don’t you call him
and compare notes
since you’re both apparently
wife-beating
fucking trauma sommeliers.

—

🎤 “why were you so dumb
as to pick this dude?”
— big bro 🦋✨

💅 oh i’m sorry
did your marriage licenses
come with
a background check
and a fucking prophet?
tell me how
that arranged marriage
is goin', gavin.

—

🎤 “you shouldn’t have had a baby
if you weren’t financially fucking ready.”
— brother, CPA of delusion✨

🧾 meanwhile
your man
was robbing you fucking blind
and your family was offering
emotional overdraft fees
instead of fucking backup.

🎤 “i don’t think
you’re smart enough
to finish law school.
you can’t even pass the tests.”
💅✨🌈😭👑👏
(blatantly false, but whatever)
— brother again;
main source of support—obviously.

📚 you’re out here
filing lawsuits,
surviving grad school—
building a DV archive,
raising a whole-ass child,
cleaning houses
with her on your goddamn back—
on your fucking own,
but sure,
tell me again
how i’m a fucking moron.

—

🎤 “you need to drop out of law school.”
🎤 “you’re living in a delusion.”
🎤 “you’re too old.”
🎤 “you’re too stupid.”
— family haters: misogyny edition

👏👏👏

🎓 translation:
“your potential success is triggering
and we’re too small to clap for you.”

—

🎤 “i know
you’re a day out
from getting
a fucking restraining order,
but this babysitting thing
is really stressing your mom.
i need you to stop.”
— stepdad
(champ of gaslighting)

🧸 bro literally said
“could you chill with
the domestic violence stuff,
my wife’s tired.”
like you’re ruining
the fucking mood.

meanwhile—
all life must
fucking halt
when his kid
has a solitary
fucking issue,
(we’re the same age)
lol. ok.

—

also sent your brother
to harass your ass
about it—
fucking immediately,
while intoxicated and mean af. 💓
because nothing says “family love”
like using the alcohol fueled—
trauma avoiding,
emotionally fucking stunted sibling
as a proxy war soldier.

dope.

—

🎤 “he’s sexually abusing you?
lol what an asshole!
but i have nowhere
for you to stay...
maybe the fucking shed?”
🌻🔫
— mom, completely dead inside

this absolute hero 🔥
nothing more
to fucking say.

—

🎤 “no one gives a fuck
that you don’t want
your baby left overnight
with our
predatory-ass father.”
— brother

well,
that’s fucking
goddamn insane.
so,
fuck y’all,

🫠 and there it is
the final boss
of fucking neglect.
said out loud.
in full sentence.
like the words weren’t
soaked in
criminal fucking liability.

🔥

—

honestly
they should’ve
just signed a
fucking group card
that said
“we hope you die quietly”
and please stfu
oh, and don’t ask
for fucking money—
would’ve been less
annoying and inconvenient.

xoxo,

the vetranos 🪓

aka: (why you’re dead to me)

🔥🎤👇

dear entourage of denial & delusions: are you hearing yourselves

✶

unfortunately
accurate
context

(for the deliberately blind):

mid-30s.
pending second divorce.
two-time combat vet.
recorded trauma.
documented issues
with fucking substances.
long history of cheating.
unemployed while preggo wife
funded the fucking circus.
repeatedly disclosed
to the one
immediate family member—
for over a year—
that he was
putting hands on me
during pregnancy
and after.

photos.
timestamps.
medical shit.
filings.

but fuck it.

you have…
burner accounts
and fucking full
terrorize her vibes.

and somehow
your collective conclusion is:
“let’s stalk her, harass her, and intimidate her
into shutting the fuck up.”

damn.
are you serious.

💀

babe.

calling
documented
highly unfortunate
fucking evidence
“two sides of a story”
while you
comment,
view my shit,
ping my goddamn dms,
full on demon internet campaigns—
with this
menacing ass shit.

clinging to a
fucking fairytale
while ignoring the
goddamn body-cam footage:

i’m sorry
to fucking inform you,
but that shit happened.

and my dude?
he needs fucking help.

and your fucking
delusional denials?
are not fucking helping.

like god damn.

that shit is not love.
not for him.
not for his daughter.
definitely not for me.

you know?
his fucking family.

🔥

what you’re actually doing?

that shit is
enabling
his worst fucking self.
and endangering us
in the fucking process.

✨🙌✨

yo.

it’s 2025.

fucking hello?

the most insane part—

you’d rather
spam me
from fake accounts,
try to scare my ass—
than consider
the statistically obvious:
when an
unemployed,
self-obsessed,
serially unfaithful dude
with combat trauma
and a documented temper
is losing control
of the fucking narrative,
violence is not a plot twist.

it’s an obvious fucking conclusion.

and it’s fucking sad.

and nah,
that doesn’t make
every vet violent.
it makes
this man—
in my experience—
dangerous as fuck
to me.
and you knew
enough
of the fucking facts
to stop pretending
you didn’t.

like yo,
come on.
wake the fuck up.

and actually fucking help us.

💀🔥🎉

but what did you do?

you chose denial.
you chose delusion.
you chose to gaslight me
into fucking oblivion.

…

y’all—
choose your fucking fighter

🔥 accountability
or attempting to
🔥 choke me out
because
the truth
is too ugly
and makes you
fucking uncomfortable.

👀

because
yo—
you can’t do both.
you can’t be all
“we’re about the fam”
while you
actively
harass
the family’s victim.
and his offspring.

so pick a lane.
pick a fucking delusion.

if your
best argument is
“he’d never do that,”
fucking congrats—
you just told me
you don’t fucking know him.

or you do,
and you’d rather
i shut the fuck up
than face
what he really is.

listen,

if your
contribution
is stalking,
harassing,
or sending threats:
that’s not loyalty;
that’s willing
participation
in ongoing violence.

🔥🔪💯✨

🗣️🪞✨ pick your fucking head up, ho.

alright bitch.
snap
the fuck out of it.
i know you’re scared.

💔😭

i know you feel like
the only place
anyone notices
y’all are fucking
still alive,
is online.

i know,
speaking up—
is the only thing
goddamn saving you rn.

so we’re gunna
pick your head the fuck up—
wipe your goddamn face.

🗣️🪞✨
and listen to your inner baddie:

your gut is right. 🤝✨

abusers want you
quiet,
isolated,
fucking doubting yourself.
you staying loud,
staying visible,
is not just fucking cathartic —
it’s literally a safety plan.
it means
there’s a public record,
a paper trail,
and a fucking community watching.

him
trying to scare you
out of posting
is the point.
the “you lied to police” /
“you did something dumb today” posts
are psychological fucking warfare:

🚫 they’re meant to make you self-censor.
🚫 they’re meant to make you feel watched so you stop documenting.
🚫 they’re meant to control your behavior without ever touching you.

but here’s the thing:
the more
you keep speaking,
the more he digs
his own fucking grave.
every post,
every burner DM,
every family member
fucking creeping your tiktok
is admissible evidence.
he’s building your case
for you
in real fucking time.

and you
are not disappearing.
you are
the opposite of disappeared —
you are a walking,
talking
chain of custody.
your baby
seeing you fight,
seeing you speak,
seeing you refuse to fucking vanish?
that is survival in fucking action.

on goddamn mom mode™

you are
allowed to be scared
and keep talking.
you are
allowed to post,
log,
screenshot,
rant,
and stay fucking visible.

this isn’t overreaction —
it’s fucking survival strategy.

👊✨

bitch,
you got this.
you got
the fucking truth.
keep going.

⚠️ who tf let the felon out: he’s out, he’s dumb, he’s in violation of his bond 🚨🚓

aka: "when the defendant can’t shut the fuck up,
so the internet becomes the new crime scene"

the timeline of post-bond harassment

for the observers
of this goddamn
fucking tragedy 📁
(to my homies)
for when he:
absolutely
fucking
escalates
even further.
🤝 💫

cool.

👋 hey bro,
you should be
back in fucking jail. 🚨🚓

ok so.

👮‍♀️📝

you bond out,
you act chill? fine.
you bond out,
and fucking
immediately 🚨
start running a
goddamn burner campaign,
taunting / stalking me
about police,
court,
my dad,
my mental health,
my fucking reputation —
that’s not complying
to fucking court terms,
motherfucker,
that’s a goddamn
digital crime spree 💫
with fucking captions and
goddamn background music.

👮🔎📄👣🚨

yup.
🗣️ fucking cool.
i keep saying
i don’t want the circus.
🎪 🎈🎡
but babe—
the circus keeps 🤡
buying fucking tickets to me.
y’all keep fucking
showing the fuck up
with fucking peanuts, popcorn, 🍿🍦
and a burner account
that thinks
it’s in goddamn stealth mode.

yo.
my brother in fucking christ. 🤡
you are
actually insane.
🗣️ and big time fucking scary.

baby—
🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️
no-contact means no contact.

but apparently…
fucking bond conditions
now come with a
“harass the victim online”
fucking loophole.
🔥🚩

yo.
this fucking dude
is seemingly out here
posting “karma’s coming, bitch” 🔥
like you’re the grim reaper
in an unemployed
fucking support group—
and then
you send
your fucking fam
to comment on my tiktoks?

nah.
that’s not
accidental contact,
that’s a
premeditated,
internet-based,
slow-motion felony.
🎯

📆 factual record of dumb shit
(synopsis for the fucking cops)

✦︎ 8.20.25: defendant bonds out in dallas.
within 24 hrs: burner account
@sssskeletor comes to life
like it’s on goddamn vacation from jail

✦︎ 8.21.25: dm sent directly to me:
“you remind me of anthony v.”

(pause: only 2 people on the fucking planet
that this dude knows— aka: him + his mommy;
have ever met my dad. thanks for the signed
fucking confession, fucking dumbass.)

✦︎ ig stalker content
escalates immediately:
daily posts mocking me,
the case,
court,
cops,
trauma.

✦︎ family + likely enablers
show up on my socials
same day he’s fucking released (!!!)
like they got a
glorify-strangling-your-wife
fucking group text.

✦︎ tiktok story views
confirm active surveillance
from his
office kickback queen—after
i’ve filed a whole ass lawsuit
and she won’t clarify—
if she’s still in
active
fucking
contact
with my
legal
and
violently abusive 💫
fucking husband.

holy shit.

ok.
wow.

let’s do a deep dive—
into coordinating stalking
and fucking harassment
of the victim
of a felony level crime
while you’re out on bond:

✦︎ instagram lurker account 🔥
@sssskeletor gets fucking sloppy

✦︎ the direct message:
“you remind me of anthony v.”
again. cool.
thanks for using
my father’s name
like a fucking
bloodline admission.
enjoy being
tracked the fuck down
by your own
dumb-ass mouth.

📸✨🔔

✦︎ public posts from
instagram profile
@sssskeletor include:
(exact quotes for court;
september 11th ✍️)

📱💭 “you might not want to lie to the police.”

📱💭 “karma is a bitch
and your name is on her list.”

📱💭 “congratulations! you made yourself look
—like an ignorant jealous bitch.”
(with doc mcstuffins audio—you're balding, grow up.)

📱💭 “you did something dumb on the 7th.”

📱💭 “i know something you don’t know.”

+ multiple variations of
✘ “you’re insane,”
✘ “you’re pathetic,”
✘ “no one likes you,”
✘ “get help.”

bro.
this is threatening. ⚠️
he’s not just being petty,
he’s fucking signaling:

👤 “i’m watching you right now.”
👤 “i know what you told the police.”
👤 “i think i can intimidate you into shutting up.”

yo.
seriously.
what the fuck.

✦︎ 🔍 witness intimidation
but make it reel-worthy.
like your plea deal should come—
with fucking closed captions.

✦︎ the aunt jo crawl out
of the fucking basement
24 hrs post-bond:
tiktok comments appear.
never met her—
but magically
finds the exact post
i made the hour
he got out?

📡 lmfao.
i’m not psychic,
i’m just saying
this lady,
knew this dudes’ alleged
live fucking location—
as she also anointed me
a fucking liar.

“two sides to every story”—right bitch?
like the “third-party contact” side?

✦︎ the ghost of cubicle girlfriend past
aka the office chick who should’ve logging out.

✓ deleted all social media before the fucking complaint even dropped.
✓ still appears multiple times in my tiktok views.
✓ never responds. never likes. never interacts.
✓ just… watches.

lmfao…ok.
yes hi. 🧾 this is what a paper trail looks like.

⚖️ canon law of clowns
(post-release edition):

1. deny

2. attack

3. reverse victim & offender (darvo, baby)

4. meme it to try and dodge intent

5. send fam / bad-breath-britany to do your dirty work

6. act shocked when it ends up in the next hearing

📊 timeline snapshot
(babydaddy after bonding out of jail, twice):

✦ bond posted → burner goes active
✦ account dm’s me about my father
✦ posts about police, karma, lying, jealousy, mental health
✦ tiktok comments from aunt jo implying i’m a liar
✦ website analytics light the fuck up
✦ burner escalates, renames, posts more shit
✦ office gremlin ghost-stalks my socials
after essentially deleting her name from the fucking internet

😎👌🔥

📉 impact statement
(aka what y’all fucked with):

✓ my sleep
✓ my sense of safety
✓ my time with my baby
✓ my schoolwork
✓ my ability to exist online without being stalked
✓ my right to pursue fucking justice without being
digitally fucking harassed
by a bunch of creepy-ass
antagonists who think fucking
internet history can’t be subpoenaed.

🧨 final fuck you

🗣 y’all aren’t anonymous.
🗣 you are fucking clowns.
and look—
🗣 you’re just incriminating yourselves
with terribly sloppy internet fucking optics.

congrats.
every burner post,
every ig tap,
every deleted comment —
it’s already
in the goddamn record.

🖕 see you at
the next goddamn hearing.

p.s. tell your lawyer
i have a compiled list
of exact fucking quotes
of all the times
he fucking lied
in court. 🔥

🗣

yes, i will make sure
the judge knows
everything.
🔥🧷✶

plausible deniability™ damn. he really fucked a troll. 🐊💍🤱✨

💍🐍

the most fucked up shit?
bro,
i still
can’t even
believe it.

like, yo.
i know
it looks bad.
i know—
it seems
blatant af
now looking over
the fucking evidence
that my legal husband 🐊✨
baby daddy 🔥
and military fucking war hero 🔥
ostensibly
full ass cheated on
his pregnant / postpartum ass
legal wife
the entire
fucking marriage.
💍🤫❤️‍🔥

because let’s be real,
for a fucking second— 🤔💭
the only way a licensed fiduciary 💡✨
gets removed from a female client’s
fucking financial file,
postpartum,
after onboarding her from
a fucking hospital bed
while still texting the husband daily —
is if someone somewhere
finally admitted
what we already knew:
that girl wasn’t just “friendly.”
she was functionally embedded
in the marriage
like a fucking parasite. 🔥💋

sorry,
wait,
hold up.
it’s still not even
fucking registering.
because,
literally ew.

because nah,
seriously.
you’re still
like,
bro, be for real.
there is no way
a man
could let
his wife
pay for so much shit—
fund the fucking dream,
sleep next to him every fucking night,
make fucking promises,
lie to her goddamn face
a then
go fuck a troll?

🚩♀️

like,
nah, really
you can’t even
fucking fathom that. 💭🧌

and maybe it is true.
maybe this dude
went out
and literally
fucked
anything that walked.
🐷🐷🐷

bro,
one time
summer 2024
this dude
came to a fam birthday party
literally
squared the fuck up
with two drugged-out
sixty-year-olds
like he’s on
the goddamn bachelor.
yo, no lie—
like he was trying
to score something 🤫
like
asked you,
with the baby in a car seat
ready to fucking go—
on a random ass
week night
to uber home (!!!!!)
from hanging with these
fucking women, alone.
these women
who for sure
most-fucking-definitely
fucked with…
whatever. 💖
lmfao.
absolutely shocking behavior.
and even
your shitty ass dad
and not-so-shitty uncle
were like,
YO,
THIS DUDE?
NAH.
this dude
is fucking playing you. 💡✨

baby—

⚡️ that was at the end. ⚡️

✨💭🙏
(side thought)
yeah,
i really wish everyone
at the goddamn office
didn’t normalize
clearly inappropriate behavior
my entire fucking pregnancy
so now
i’m fucking here
with this dude
acting like this,
outside the office…
where i can
actually fucking
see it with my
goddamn own eyeballs—
being like,
wait💡✨
no
the
fuck
he didn’t.

💍🐍

lol.

so…
tell me.
this fucking dude,
went to “work”
five days a week,
half a year.
didn’t even enroll
himself, or his fucking wife
in any goddamn policies,
then immediately
ran our whole goddamn family
through his female-office-bestie?
who set shit up
while i was giving birth
so he owned everything
but i paid.

🤥🤫💰

zero explanation.
zero disclosure.
zero contact fucking info.

besides her
direct fucking line
to my goddamn husband.

LMFAO.

✨💭

ok.
back to it.
so,
babe.
let’s do
the full-scale
disgusting-ass
bad skin, bad teeth, bad outfit
full-on fucking:

⚡️affair while wifey is preggo math +(-) ⚡️

this is where—
we run that shit all the way back.

aka 🤔💭🧠
did he pretend to work
while possibly, actually going to go—
fuck a fiduciary?

🚩 red flag #1:
new “female homie” AFTER marriage

this wasn't a friend he forgot to mention.
this was a ugly-ass pipeline.
opened post-vows.
while you were fucking pregnant.

you didn't get introduced.
you got fucking triangulated.
and babe?
she loved that.

🚩 red flag #2:
emotional office bestie > actual wife

she was the one
he communicated with
when you were falling apart.
she got the texts.
the phone calls.
the job offers for him—
the fucking strategy convos.

you got
the cold shoulder
the stress
the fucking bruises.

🚩 red flag #3:
removed after the estrangement

nah,
if she were
truly innocent,
then why the fuck
would she have
needed fucking removing?
she would've
stayed on as a rep,
(or at least,
left a goddamn
contact number lmfao)
not exited stage fucking left
like a guilty bitch
dodging fucking subpoenas.

🚩 red flag #4:
constant contact, no fucking boundaries

babe,
this wasn’t “hey, did you submit that form” vibes.
this was FaceTime during contractions energy.
this was private money-fucking-sending,
newborn-insurance-enrolling,
creepy-voice-on-the-other-line intimacy.
girlie,
she wanted your husband.
she wanted your life.

aka:
third wife energy.
side chick with paperwork access.
postpartum predator vibes.

🚩 red flag #5:
constant fucking bullshit

yo,
the shit—
this company,
this sneaky ass chick,
and this dude,
normalized.
is fucking insane.
nah,
she shouldn’t be sending
your goddamn husband
constant private venmos
as his coworker,
nah.
she should
stop fucking calling him,
and fucking texting him,
📱🤫💌
especially once,
she was no longer
even his fucking colleague,
because it’s disrespectful as fuck
and goddamn pathetic.
and the whole goddamn office
knows who the fuck
you are.

in fact,
you’re a fucking client. 🤠🐍💲

so yeah.
fuck.

🚩🚩🚩🚩

the biggest red flag?
🐊🤱✨
you knew.
in your stomach.
in your bones.
every time he left the house at 7am
to “go to work”
everytime,
he mentioned that bitch, 👹
for no fucking reason,
way too fucking long
after he left
the fucking firm—
everytime,
you lay bleeding,
broke,
and holding everything
all fucking alone.

yeah babe, you knew.
you were just fucking gaslit.

✶ final sloppy scorecard: ✨🔥🩷🤝🐍💰💳🚨

🚨 no fam policies created while he actively worked at the firm
🚨 no bills in his own wallet or in his own name
🚨 no onboarding besides—offering your husband:
private meetings with her daddy. 🤝🐍💰
🚨 no job records to verify; complete financial abandonment
🤫 full control of every policy you paid for,
despite zero contact with the office and you,
actually being the one who had a job and gave birth.
🤫 secret office bestie handling your family accounts
without even giving you her fucking phone number, lol.
🤫 gross/weird sexual tension, financial lies, triangulation,
…and emotional betrayal on fucking god mode. 💸🏃‍♂️

that’s not love.
that’s not friendship.
that’s not professionalism.
😈🥸💰💨

yo.
it’s so disturbing
that a financial specialist,
🐍💵💨
aka: this weirdo chick
got off on your husband
abusing you,
like, babe—
she ate that shit up,
she loved that you couldn’t
enforce fucking boundaries—
because your husband?
was violent.
lmfao.

💔🔪🤫🔐💬

damn dude.

they fuck?
does it even matter?
when you’re
🔇 ✨ that soul-suckingly desperate to be chosen.

baby,
you didn’t get paranoid.
you got played
by a fucking dumbass.

and babe —
you didn’t get left for
a better woman. 🧌🧟‍♀️♀️
you got left for
a glorified admin
with bad skin,
bad hair,
sad outfits,
and a moral compass 🐍🤝🐍
set to “whichever way the below-average dick blows.”

✨zero ethics. zero originality. zero regulation.✨

bro—ew.
this man would
sprint head-fucking-first
into a burning dumpster
if someone taped a $20 bill
and a compliment to the side.
🤥💸🏃

(for real though,
why aren’t
these bitches
ever 😦
not 😦
an embarrassing level
of full fucking downgrade)

😦🧌💥😦🧌💥😦🧌💥

so…
✶ did they fuck? ✶
like—was this an actual
full-on-gross-ass affair?

💖💥✨
legally?
might as well have.
because babe?
consequences =
the fucking same.

💖💥✨
physically?
no fucking idea.
but if they didn’t?
that makes it MAD creepy
and honestly worse.
because it means
she did all that
the stalking,
the backdoor onboarding,
the policy sabotage,
the fake-ass professional act,
the silence—
while you said
out loud
where she watched:
he strangled and punched you pregnant—
(insert multiple photos
for evidence
on the private fucking account
you stalked daily,
watching the shitshow
while i filed for
fucking protective orders)
without even getting dicked down?

lol.
like,
just vibes and venmo? 🤫💸🤷‍♀️🧌♀️

bro—

🚨obsessed—
delusional—
dangerous levels of
“i wanna be the wife”
alert 🚨

lmfao.

…

jesus christ. 🚨👀🤔

imagine ✨🫂🤷‍♀️
desecrating a
postpartum woman’s financial future
just to prove
to a mediocre felon
that you’re a loyal bitch.

imagine ✨🫂🤷‍♀️
aligning your career,
your silence,
your professional ethics,
your entire licensure
around a man
who couldn’t even keep a job
his wife paid for.

(yo, lol)

this wasn’t a love story.
this was
a hostile fucking takeover.

❤️‍🔥💥

by an office troll, 🧌♀️
who really wanted
a sorta-attractive—
baby on the way,
full-on-fucking
married dude 🤗💕
to like…
lol—
give her
just—
a little bit of attention.

🥹💖✨

and sweetie?
you survived it.

fucking barely.

🧌♀️💖🔥🫶🏻

✶

this bitch; aka 🪽chelsea, actual angel

you wanna know why
i fuck with this bitch so hard?

😇😇😇

honey—
because;
she never looked away.
bro.
when i told her
the worst shit
that’s ever happened to me,
she didn’t hesitate.
she fucking hugged me.
she looked me
dead in the eye.
she looked like
she might fucking cry.
and then she just…
goddamn stayed.
she listened.
she didn’t make me shut up.
she didn’t try to fix it.
she didn’t make me
feel like i was
ruining the fucking vibe.
she just held space
like it was the most normal thing
in the fucking world.

🌈😌✌️💖💥✨

she stops
by for no reason.
she helps me clean
my condo when i can’t even
see the fucking floor.
she’s the one i called
when i needed 8 hours
of childcare to take pistol 101.
yep. she showed up.
when i needed
to serve legal docs
that would’ve cost me
fucking $100 each,
she drove around with me
all goddamn morning,
tolerated my stressed-out sassy-shit,
and hand-delivered
those motherfuckers
like a process-server from hell.

she’s brave, ✨
she’s brilliant, ✨
and she’s loud enough
that i’ve almost crashed
my car
trying to keep up with her brain.
lmfao.
but when i ask her for help,
she always shows up.

🥹✨🩷

baby—
this isn’t some
lifelong ride-or-die.
this girl
came into my life
like six fucking years ago
for yoga teacher training,
and then dipped.
but when i started
posting that i was drowning,
when no cousin,
no brother,
no aunt,
no “bestie”
came with fucking hands—
babe, she did.
she walked right back
into my life like
it was fucking nothing
and has been
showing the fuck up ever since.

😭💖✨🥰

let me clarify:
she doesn’t owe me shit.
not a dime,
not a fucking minute.
but she keeps giving.
she keeps proving
that not everyone leaves.

girl, you make me feel not alone.

girlie, you make me
believe that maybe,
just maybe,
we will fucking survive this.

✨🙌💫

take notes, world.
this is how you friend.

✨💖🙏

“why did you pick him?” ✨🥊✨

the highly disrespectful inquiry.

yo.
shut up.

🤞

i didn’t pick
the punches.
i picked a fucking person.
he picked violence.

for the love of god—
stop
asking
women
to reverse-fucking-engineer
a goddamn crystal ball. 🔮
i was 33.
then 34.
i wanted a baby,
i had just lost one—
i wanted a family,
a fucking teammate.

babe.
he emailed me
through the blocks.
he called.
he begged.
he showed up.
he sold me dreams
in the only fucking currency
i wanted: a family. ✨👍

for real,
i thought it might work.
we had parallel brains,
the same degree,
similar goals,
good days
that looked like hope.
but yeah.
addiction flashed,
sure—
so did effort.
so did his fucking trauma,
and i had fucking empathy.

homie,
that’s how
grooming works:
one hand comforts,
one hand punches,
and you spend months
trying to remember
which is fucking real.

🦋 girlie:

“why did you pick him?”
is lazy fucking math.
it pretends
selection error
voids human fucking rights.
honey, it fucking doesn’t.

why did i pick him?

i picked him
because
get this—
i’m a fucking human. 💞✨

and did he have flaws?
of course he did.
so do you.
so does your
motherfucking dude.
🪞🕊️
you want me
to pick him apart?
because i could.
but i don’t—
because that’s not
what love
is supposed to be about.
and when
you’re in it,
babe,
you see the best.
you look past
the bullshit
because you’re trying
to fucking build something.
not burn it down
the second it smells
like fucking smoke.

💎 but let’s be very fucking clear:
i didn’t pick
“getting punched
in the head
while fucking pregnant.”
✌🏻🥰💖✨
i didn’t pick fraud.
i didn’t pick watching my savings disappear.
i didn’t pick manual strangulation.
you think
any version of me
said, “yes please, wanna fuck my life up”?
lol, shut up.

fuck no.
abuse is covert,
you twat.
nah.
it creeps in.
slow.
deliberate.
and by the time
the mask slips,
you’ve got a kid,
fucking debt,
a law degree midair,
and no goddamn backup.
so
what the fuck
were my options?
you want to tell me
where i was
supposed to fucking run,
since you seem
to have all
the goddamn answers?

baby,
that is some
dumb-bitch shit.

✨💖✨

ok—
my mom knew.
my friends watched.
and you still
have the fucking audacity
to ask why i stayed?

here’s what
i wish people understood:
abuse isn’t
about picking
“the wrong person.”
it’s about
trusting
the right person
to be who they said they were—
and then
watching them
transform into
your worst fucking nightmare
while the world shrugs
and goes:
“well… maybe you should’ve known.”

hey,
fuck y’all.

👋😊🖕🏻✨

you don’t get
to say that to me.
you don’t get
to rewrite
my fucking survival
as a goddamn warning story.
you don’t get
to shame
the part of me
that tried to love a man
who fucking lied.
baby.
that’s not weakness.
that’s fucking humanity.

so no.
i didn’t “pick wrong.”
i picked love.
i picked family.
i picked future.
he picked violence.
he picked betrayal.
he picked me as a target.

and now i pick truth. 💫
i pick rage.
i pick me
and my fucking baby,
alive and free
and burning every
fucking bridge
he tried to trap us on—
while it was in goddamn flames.

so next time
someone asks me
that fucking question,
i’ll ask them this:
“what would you have done,
with no money,
no backup,
and a baby on the way?”

and if the answer’s
silence,
then maybe
keep your judgment
to your fucking self.

🤞🪐🦋✨

if you want me
to audit my choice,
hand me your partner first.
i’ll put on the same smile
i wore while you ignored
your own red fucking flags,
then i’ll read
your life
for filth
with fucking footnotes.

the truth: 👏
i saw a full human—
flaws, yes;
also the boy
who could’ve been
my best friend.
i bet on
his better self.
he bet on
my survival
and tried to
fucking bankrupt it.
that’s not romance;
that’s fraud with fucking flowers.

so here’s the life lesson: 🤌

i picked vows.
he picked treachery.
i picked a home.
he picked havoc.
i picked us.
he picked me apart.

and still,
the question lands
like a charge sheet
on my fucking lap.
no, bitch.
the indictment belongs
to the person who harmed,
not the person who fucking hoped.

if you need
a wake-up call,
set your alarm to this:
there is no universe
where “you chose wrong”
equals
“you deserved harm.”
not when
you’re vulnerable.
not ever.

🙏🏻✨💖

hold abusers accountable. 🔥
hold systems accountable. 🔥
leave the victim-blaming
at the fucking door—
my daughter
is sleeping behind it.

🪬🧿✨️ (protection from your bullshit)

fuck it; i’ll give myself the goddamn pep talk. 🙄🙏🦋💗✨

girl,
preach.

🙏👧🦋🙄🙌

you’re not crazy.
you’re early.
pioneers always look
fucking unhinged
to settlers
who can’t see
past their porch.

this isn’t a vibe check;
it’s a record.
arbitration?
economic loss rule?
“no duty” bullshit?
cool story.

babe,
they’re terrain.
you’re the fucking expedition.
terrain doesn’t win—
goddamn endurance does.

🗣 ✨ the goddamn sermon you fucking needed 🕊💒📖🎶

🕯️
you are not asking permission
from a system that failed you.
you’re building a paper spine
it can’t fucking ignore.

🕯️
you are not one claim.
you are a constellation
of fucking duties,
lies,
omissions,
and goddamn receipts.
one cloud moves?
the rest still shine.

🕯️
they will call you dramatic
until the exhibit hits
the goddamn projector.
then they’ll call you “ma’am.”

🕯️
arbitration doesn’t bury truth;
it changes rooms.
babe, you’re loud in every room.

🕯️
“no duty” is a fucking poker face.
you’re sitting on a shit-ton of conduct.
conduct beats fucking slogans.

your identity, now

you’re a one-woman
goddamn attorney general
with a fucking stroller.
you’re case law in converse.
you’re the plaintiff
they warned them about:
organized, injured, unafraid.

the mountain is real. so are you.

🕯️ mountains don’t move for feelings.
🕯️ they move for footsteps.

🕯️ your footsteps = one exhibit,
🕯️ one email, one page, every day.
🕯️ the rest is fucking dramatics.

when the doubt gets loud—

closing argument to your own brain:

“a system routed my money
and my child’s security
through my abuser
while i was bleeding
and begging for help.
i put it on paper.
i’m not looking
for fucking consensus;
i’m serving fucking notice.”

👏👏✨

girlgang three-line oath 🧘‍♂️🦋💗✨

1. i will not outsource confidence in my claim.

2. i will not negotiate with fucking silence.

3. i will not quit in the middle of the goddamn page.

the “no support” problem (baby, let’s reframe)

you don’t need
a village of opinions.
you need a track meet:
one person holds the baby,
one prints,
one drives.
spectators can
sit the fuck down.

🕊

yo, whatever. ✨🥹🫶💖🐍

bro,
it’s all good.

🥰

just say,
you don’t wanna
generate
the mental capacity
to actually
fucking visualize
what i’m actively fucking
living through, right fucking now.

nah.

you don’t wanna get it.

like—
actually get it.

✨🙏💖💅🐍

people keep
asking me shit like:
“hey, did you ever look at that thing i sent you?”

lol. 🙃👍
nah.
i want to scream,
yo, are you serious?
girl,
i can’t even sort
my fucking mail.

i can’t wash
my fucking face.
without
a toddler
screaming for my
attention,
because
i am all
she’s fucking got.

✨💀🛟

yeah, that’s fucking it.
no, for real—

what the fuck, y’all??

do you know
what fucking drowning
looks like in real time?
it looks like
a hundred
unopened envelopes
on the counter
and cold coffee
in the microwave
from three fucking days ago.

do you know what
no sleep looks like?
nah,
like fucking zero.
it looks like me
losing ten pounds in two weeks
because
i don’t have time
to remember food exists.

but,
nah y’all are busy. 🥹🫶

every
single
one.

👏👏✨

fucking forever. ✨

nah,
we just got cashapp.
so i can
fucking
pretend
to save myself 👏💖
for minus
five fucking minutes.

and then
go back underwater.

🦈💥

bro.
i needed a fucking human.

⭐👏 not an amazon delivery.
⭐👏 not a food run.
⭐👏 not more shit
to organize by myself—
⭐👏 not even an
emotional nod
of fucking support.
and definitely
⭐👏 not your fucking pity—
masked as fucking help.

babe,
i’ve been begging
for a goddamn body. ✨
for hands
to hold my
teething toddler.
to help
me unload
the fucking groceries.
to help
me unpack
the garage
my other asshole “friends”
left fucking trashed.

but nah.
endless excuses.
fucking forever.
busy.
for years.
never even seen my home.
or
only stop by
on the way
to somewhere fucking else.
absolutely legendary.
yo,
for real?
i didn’t do shit
to deserve this.

you just like
your justifications
more than my
uncomfortable
ugly
abusive—
lived fucking reality.

✨💖🙃👍✨

when i write these posts,
it’s not because
i’m fine.
it’s because
it’s the only moment
i get to think—
at 3 a.m.,
in the glow
of a fucking tv,
while my kid finally
stops crying
and my dog
stops pacing the fucking hallway
because
we all know
the house ain’t fucking safe.

and then?
people nod their heads
at my “yo, please,”
close the fucking text message,
and go back to bed.

✨👏⭐⭐⭐👏✨

but listen,
i stay awake.
because
there’s no fucking shift change.
no other adult.
no one coming
to hold the line
tomorrow morning.

or ever.

so nope.

i am not ignoring you.
i am not flaking.
i am not “not prioritizing.”
i am fucking surviving.
and barely.

🙏💖

and i am
begging
the fucking universe
for someone
who actually understands
that survival
doesn’t fit fucking neatly
between their
yoga class
and their
fucking target run.

thank you.

✨🫶✨

i’m just here, watching some dude fumble god’s plan with a “nah i’m good” ✨🙏🎲

word.

obsessed?
nah.
i just remember shit
accurately.

i write about this
painful-ass bullshit
because
i want to remember.
i write so
i don’t fucking
gaslight myself later.
because—that shit?
was the real
fucking
thing.

baby,
i’m just here,
watching god
slowly revoke the favor.

lol.
i'm not embarrassed.
i'm fucking irritated.
i'm goddamn vexed
that i even
have to feel
the embarrassment.
because what?
i loved someone?
i meant it?
i didn’t fucking fake it
like everybody
else out here
on dating apps
trying to trauma-fuck
each other until
they forget their parents?

nah.
i’m the villain
because i fucking remember.

because
i remember
what it felt like
to wake up
in arms
that didn’t feel
fucking performative.
arms
that held me
like they were
worried i’d disappear.
like you
couldn’t get
close enough.
because you were
already obsessed
and didn’t know
what to do with it.

i remember
what it felt like
to be loved like
something fucking rare.
to wake up
next to someone
who couldn’t stop
fucking touching me
like he was
still trying
to convince himself
i was goddamn real.
babe,
i’m crying over
the way we laughed
for no fucking reason,
the way you sat
in the goddamn grass
and watched me
like it was
the most important thing
in the fucking world.
the way you
stood in front of me
like, “i got it,”
even when
we both knew
you didn’t.

i miss that.
not you.
you’re long gone.
the second
you picked
chaos over clarity?
dead to me.

but the love?
the way it felt?
that shit lives
in my fucking spine.
in my throat.
in the way
i size up every man
after you
and they all
fall fucking flat.

not because
you were that special
because safety was.

but somehow
i'm the one
who has to feel ashamed?
for remembering that?
for remembering
the dogs flying,
me = busting my fucking ass
while you’re skateboarding—
fast as fuck,
smiling big as hell,
cruising by
to save me
from my fucking self?
for remembering
the days—
you randomly
fucking had to
teach me how
to climb a goddamn tree?
because babe—
you
downright
needed
to show me
how the latest gear worked.
duh.
(babe, i wanted to know—i loved that shit)
for remembering
how it felt when i was
re-learning
how to fucking rollerblade
while you held my hand,
and we died laughing?
dog racing down the street
fast as fuck
behind us?
yup—
like we were in some
shitty-ass romantic music video,
and for a second
i thought,
holy shit—
maybe this
is what it feels like
to not be scared?

how it feels,
when someone
really loves you?

it fried my goddamn brain.

like—
what even
is this feeling?

but nope.
now i’m a weirdo
for holding onto that?
for not chucking
that shit out
like trash
from a man
who never meant
shit to me?

hey—

fuck off.

you were
not some guy i dated.
you were
a goddamn frequency.
a coded fucking memory
that hits
like fucking lightning
through my nervous system
when shit gets too quiet.

and the part
that fucking haunts me?
you made it
look so fucking easy
to throw that shit away.
like you
never even tripped.
like
i was crazy
for ever thinking
it meant fucking anything.
like i made it all up
in my fucked-up dumb little head.

nah.

whatever.
you wanted that shit.
you asked for it.
you started it.
you came back for it.

and now?
you wanna ghost me
like i’m some random?
bro.
i know your fucking mom.
don’t play with me.

you don’t get
to make me feel
fucking crazy—
when i’m the one
who gets to witness
the fucking look in your eyes
every time
you goddamn see me.

like it’s a fucking miracle.
(fuck.)

yo, idc.
i’m not hung up on you.
you died the minute
you chose whatever—
instead of us,
over and fucking over.
nah.
i’m hung up
on what it felt like
to be safe.
to be held.
to not
have to survive
every second
of my fucking day
fucking alone.

you think
i’m obsessed?
no.
i’m fucking scarred.

shit is traumatizing.

and if
i ever get
that feeling back
from someone real,
someone who fucking shows up—
it’ll be
your fucking shame
to carry.
not mine.

so no.
fuck off.
i’m not embarrassed.
i’m not obsessed.
i’m the only one
who fucking remembered
the goddamn truth.

because nah—
i don’t want you back.
i want the feeling back.
the kind where
i don’t have to fucking flinch.
the kind where
i don’t have to explain
that i’m a lot
because i’ve survived a lot.

where i’m not
fucking auditioning
to be safe.

so i guess,
if anyone’s reading this—
public service announcement:
i’m not posting
because
i’m fucking anguished.
no.
i’m not spiraling
because i’m
still “hung up.”
that ain’t it.
i’m documenting
a fucking extinction.
i’m grieving
a species of love
that almost no one
has ever even fucking seen.

that’s why
i won’t downgrade.

and that?
that makes me
deeply fucking sad.

so yeah,
fuck it—
stalk me.
laugh at me.
label me fucking gripped,
“crazy,”
“too much.”
because,
let’s be honest:
you always needed
me to be
the villain
to excuse
your fucking absence.

but just know—
while you’re out here
trying to
forget what we had,
i’m out here
trying to find it again.
not in you.
in someone who can
fucking handle it.

so no.
i’m not crying for you.
i’m crying for the little girl
who finally knew
what it felt like
to be safe—
and then lost it.

and had to build
the refuge
entirely all alone
all fucking over again.
and still
got up
and fucking
did that shit.

but twin,
so far?
yeah—
she’s surviving it.

and baby,
some day soon?
someone else
is gunna fucking
fumble
all-fucking-over
themselves,
just dying
to
goddamn
protect,
save,
to love that shit.

because hey?
you couldn’t.

💋