august 15, 2022.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I woke up this morning to these barrages of public tweets sent from my ex-husband/perpetrator’s live-in girlfriend who publicly identified herself as Stephanie (so I have no fear saying her name), spastic and all over the place. I was a bit confused at first because not once, in almost three years of publicly speaking on the crimes committed against me, the abuse I endure(d), and the hell I’ve paid since leaving, have I ever, EVER, publicly given any information that would lead anyone to figuring out who my ex/perpetrator is, nor any identifying information about all of the flying monkey’s over the years sent after me to do his dirty work.

 

*flying monkeys*: another way of saying ‘abuse by proxy’ or having someone else do the bidding of (an anti-social personality disordered person). The term flying monkey was coined after the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz that were under the spell of the Wicked Witch of the East, to do her bidding against Dorothy and her friends.

 

Holy insecurity was my first thought after reading her tweets to me, followed by anger – I AM NOT 41! (what a weird thing to be angry about, amirite?), ultimately ending up in a place of feeling dual pity for her and legit fear for me (and my children’s) well-being, a fear that has been building for some time.

 

The story starts over a decade ago when I met my ex, who lived with his best friend in the home my ex had purchased a year or two prior. This best friend had a girlfriend and when I came into the picture, the four of us spent a good portion of our 20’s together, eventually marrying our respective significant others and beginning our families. We were close, as couples – them coming to the hospital after I had my twins, me taking Stephanie’s birthing and maternity photos for their second child, birthdays, Sunday night football games, and random weekends spent together with both families and children.

 

The summer of 2018, when I found the hidden tablet my ex/perpetrator was using to secretly record me nude in the bath/shower, I turned to Stephanie and her husband (my ex’s best friend) for help. I could tell the husband was distraught and didn’t know what to do/believe, but Stephanie took a different approach. Her response was to shame me and guilt me – I have texts from her after I tell her I’m being abused and was going to divorce my ex saying, “but you’ll wake up and he won’t be there to kiss you or hug you”.

 

I was in the throws of being traumatized psychologically, spiritually, physically, financially, desperate for help, and the help she offers is to tell me I’ll miss his kisses and hugs? She made sure to invite the kids and I to one last birthday party of her child’s (birthday gifts > compassion) a month after I filed, and that was the last day her and I have had any conversation whatsoever and I was completely okay with this – nothing positive was coming from the “friendship”, I cut my losses.

 

That next month, quite literally hours before my first hearing for the divorce, I found another video my ex/perpetrator had taken of me, inconspicuously labeled “test” on the laptop. By now, I’d found/discovered at least half a dozen hidden videos of me, the first one beginning only 4 months after marriage. The video I found the morning of my hearing is what I ended up pressing charges on.

 

The charges, so bad, my ex/perpetrator had a laundry list of conditions to abide by – I was protected, my children were protected, the charges passing a Texas Grand Jury & him being officially charged with a Texas State Jail Felony for what he did to me. Unfortunately, as I’ve spoken on before, the prosecutor made a fatal error and took the case to grand jury 3 weeks past the statute of limitations, bringing the case to a halt and leaving my children and I with zero protection.

 

That summer, the summer my ex/perpetrator was having to wear a GPS monitor and report to a probation officer because of the horrific crime he did to me, he was also fucking his best friend’s wife while the best friend was working two jobs trying to provide for Stephanie and their children.

 

It was mid-December, 2020, a week after mediation for my divorce, that I picked my children up from the weekend at their father’s, and they told me they met Stephanie and her kids with their daddy at a trampoline park.

Weird, I thought to myself, maybe (redacted) is working so she brought the kids to get together and play.

 

Next visitation with my children’s father and I pick them up, same thing – they’d met Stephanie and her children at some place, without Stephanie’s husband and father of the kids. By this point, my what the fek radar is going off so I gather the courage to call my ex/perpetrator’s best friend, husband to Stephanie, someone who ditched me, the victim, for the victimizer (couldn’t blame him, I fell for the lies, too). He answers and is the kind man I remembered but sounded very hurt, angry. He tells me he caught Stephanie at my ex’s house late October/early November 2020 after becoming suspicious and subsequently filed for divorce.

 

I know. Take a breather or a shot. It’s a lot.

 

So I’m sitting there with the husband of Stephanie on the phone, in absolute shock. Last thing I’d ever expect but then I start thinking back on our “friendship” – there was always something “off”, her mimicking me – I get married, she forces an engagement and marriage follows 5 months after mine. I get pregnant, she follows 4 months after me.

 

This desire of hers to overtake my life, become me, hasn’t stopped. It’s only ramped up since her and my ex/perpetrator have officially become a couple, co-habitating in some disillusioned utopian Brady Bunch twilight zone.

 

I’ve spent thousands of dollars on attorneys regarding Stephanie and her overstepping of boundaries (documentation, I’ll include). I have spent time and energy un-fucking my children because of her antics and desire to usurp my role as their mother. I have had to endure over a year of her taunting me as I pick up the children from my abuser’s home (thx family court). I have had to endure over a year of her taunting me by getting out of the vehicle at my home when the kids are picked up by my ex, waving at me, squawking like a chicken to my children “ byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye guyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyys”, even waving and saying bye to me, by name, not caring about them but wanting to hurt me.

 

And so,

 

Stephanie, or takestwototang3 as you go by on Twitter,

 

Let’s talk bitterness, insecurity, jealousy, BOUNDARIES.

 

You see, YoU’rE BiTtEr is a tool used by abusers to invalidate a victim, like chopping down a tree – oh, that tree, that tree is just bitter it got chopped down. However, I don’t expect you to understand this analogy, so I’ll break it down more.

 

What you project on to me, and see as bitterness, is absolute justified rage and anger at what was and is being done to me. Anger IS the appropriate reaction to injustice. You, nor anyone else will use this tactic to bully me into silence, because that’s what you’re trying to do.

 

Further, the utter lack of self-awareness in you is astounding. To be on some high horse calling me all sorts of vulgar names, things that my children will one day see, while fucking your husband’s best friend is a bit much, yeah? Pot calling kettle black type of thing, my dear, and you should really recalibrate that internal moral compass of yours because it is broken.

 

I’m pretty bored with this and starving, so I’m going to wrap it up by saying

 

Stephanie, I am publicly asking you to stop harassing me in real life and online, else, I will seek help from law enforcement.

 

There will be no more getting out on my property, no rolling down your window recording me, no waving at me, no nothing.

 

You will never replace me as my children’s mother, as hard as you try. Our bond will never break and they’re already starting to see through you as I do.

 

Always remember, they will be able to read everything, eventually. Your batshit slanderous tweets to me last night, the other batshit ramblings you have sent me posing as my ex, all of it, and my graceful responses.

 

And so, just stop. You’re scaring the kids and me.

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august 22, 2022.

I have too much pent up - the silence is about to kill me. So, journals are making a comeback. It is the only way I can stay sane.

 

I knew it was inevitable, the lid eventually blowing – me, being the pot, the lid, the water that has been boiling slowly, so slowly, and all happenings relating to cause and effect.

 

My mother used to tell me a watched pot never boils and if she weren’t six feet underground, I’d tell her, “but, oh! mother, it does!”

 

Metaphorically, anyways.

 

She’s not here anymore for me to get real deep and explain to her on a metaphysical level that I, the pot, the substances, and all reactions starting internally, expanding externally, will eventually cause a spectacular grand finale, my lid catapulting like a rocket, farther than any red pill dork can throw his lambo, an intense pressure released,

 

because I am being watched.

 

I sometimes imagine this is what it must feel like to be a lone wolf scouring the mountainside for safety, the hidden caves for companions, the silence and fear in the journey of survival; real survival.

 

Nobody knows what real survival looks like, anymore. And this is what I have been most ignorant about – assuming other people can really back up their claims of honor, brotherhood, friendship, loyalty, respect, wanting America to retvrn to what it was founded on and will do whatever they can to see that this happens (your savior can be seen shit poasting 24/7) because claims, right?

 

Claims are claims – a pissing contest, essentially.

 

i am angry, clearly.

 

I’m probably a bit bias, but I do really believe I have (many) reasons to be angry, and I think my anger is good. I know me. When I’m not angry, I am in despair – hopeless, ready to give up.

Ok, I lied, I’m angry and hopeless. I’m angry because I’m hopeless? I’m hopeless because I’m angry?....my brain, always going in circles, trying to figure out the why.

 

anywho, I have to unpack on this – my anger.

My anger, MY ANGER.

 

Let’s dive into why I’m angry, shall we?

Because every time I ask for help, I’m ignored, denied, blamed, shamed, guilt-tripped, manipulated, abused.

 

Because all I wanted to do was help others – and I think I have? However, for every person I’ve helped, there have been 10 others that have used me, sucked out my soul for their benefit, and then abandoned me when I needed them most.

 

Because I am told at least weekly I should basically just suck it all up – the abuse the kids and I are subjected to that *I haven’t told the whole world about* - abuse that would have killed most humans by now. Abuse that is in real time harming my children. Abuse that SHOULD HAVE NEVER been given the chance to occur. Abuse that keeps me locked in a constant state of fear, unable to heal and get the peace I so desperately desire. “Let go of the anger, Cake, it’s better for the kids”…. I got one real doozy of a dm on Twitter last week as my ex’s live-in girlfriend was publicly harassing me, unwarranted, that said something along the lines of “maybe she really does want the best for the kids… have you thought of giving her a chance?” – referencing the woman who not only had an affair on her own husband with mine, but has psychologically tortured my children and I, as of last week, for the whole world to see.

 

Because I want to tell these people that offer their opinions on matters, they know nothing about, FUCK YOU. You think that man and woman actually give a fuck about my children? Starts with giving a fuck about their mom – not nearly killing her with the abuse, stalking, harassment and dehumanization done to me IN FRONT OF MY CHILDREN.

 

Because I’m supposed to just smile at the abuse… for the kids.

 

Because I have been screaming for years that I need help and two people helped me, one is dead now, but one is very much alive, and they are the only living person that can stand up for me as I’m being beaten to a pulp. But they won’t, because reputation? Because I’m not a worthy human? Because my kids aren’t worth a good, peaceful, abuse-free life? Because he lied to me? I don’t know, but I do know, that of all the times someone has needed to do the right thing, now was that time and he is a coward.

 

Because that coward who once thought I had a lot to give this world and supported me, my art, has not only abandoned me, but has watched me take beating after beating. My art revenue is at zero now because of the lack of not only support, but HONESTY from him - my biggest supporters through him abandoning me, as well.

 

Because I've been privately begging that coward to help me, for weeks now, only met with silence while he saves North Dakota from China; just like the criminal court system treating me as a number - my case wasn't big enough to give a shit about and keep it from getting screwed up by the DA, I wasn't a murder victim... I am no North Dakota, either.

 

Because they'll believe everyone but the person being abused, taken advantage of, used like a piece of trash.

 

Because I have finally accepted, I’m not, and by extension my kids, worthy of any kind of help. This world sees us as a waste on this society and how motherfucking sad is that?

Because this country is watching in real time a really good woman, a good mother, screaming for help, for her and her children, and the screams echo on hollow walls.

Because all that matters to this sick society is your egos.

 

I have so much more to say but I’m exhausted…

 

From having to be on defense 24/7 in a war I want the fuck out of but take hit after hit,

for my children.

 

Disappointed in every single one of you and quite frankly, want nothing to do with this world.