about
about
My Story
How Betrayal Became Documentation
Not long ago, the woman I planned to marry blindsided me with a level of betrayal I didn’t know a human could survive.
It wasn’t physical.
It was emotional.
And it was devastating.
A hidden relationship with a married man, moved to Signal, buried under secrecy, wrapped in gaslighting and polished answers she repeated like scripts.
I felt the shift long before I had proof. My gut was screaming, but I loved her too much to believe what it was trying to tell me.
We were planning a home.
I had the ring picked out.
I adored her.
And behind my back, she was hiding truth she knew would destroy me, and us.
Betrayal didn’t just take the relationship.
It took the future I was holding, the identity I built around it, and the version of myself I thought was safe.
The Collapse
The night everything cracked open, my body broke with it.
Chest pain.
Sweating.
Shaking.
Tunnel vision.
Like something in me had been torn out in one violent motion.
I drove to the ER believing I was dying.
Hours of tests.
Hours of terror.
My nervous system was in a state I didn’t know the human body could sustain.
The nights after were brutal.
No sleep.
No appetite.
No clarity.
Just a looping mind trying to reconcile lies, love, and reality all colliding at once.
Betrayal trauma isn’t heartbreak.
It’s psychological destruction.
A collapse of trust, self, safety, and truth.
The First Shift
In the middle of that collapse, one thing cut through the chaos.
I wrote a song from my journal entries.
I listened to it on repeat. It didn’t fix anything, but for the first time, something inside me moved.
My nervous system responded to the music in a way that therapy couldn’t reach.
It didn’t heal me. But it gave me breath.
And sometimes breath is the first step back to life.
That’s when the idea formed:
What if I documented everything?
Not after healing…
But from inside the collapse itself?
Why I Decided to Document Everything
Most people talk about trauma in past tense, wrapped in insight, softened by distance.
I didn’t have that.
All I had were:
- Journal entries written from every emotion imaginable
- Audio notes recorded while trying not to fall apart
- Texts I reread until they burned into my brain
- Thousands of pages of trauma research I devoured trying to understand the unimaginable
- Nights where staying alive felt like a choice I had to consciously make
- Moments where I fought the trauma bond with everything I had
So I made a decision: Document the truth in real time.
Not polished.
Not inspirational.
Not healed.
Just the raw, unfiltered reality of betrayal trauma as it happens.
18 Days of Creative Descent
For 18 days straight, I went through everything… journal entries, audio notes, screenshots, trauma research, and the emotional wreckage I was drowning in.
Some days I worked five hours.
Some days eighteen.
Some nights I didn’t sleep at all.
Sometimes I wrote lyrics while shaking. Sometimes I screamed into pillows between lines.
I stayed in trauma states for hours because the only way to extract the truth was to fully feel it.
The trauma bond hit constantly.
Dozens of urges a day (and especially at night) to reach out and fall back into trauma loops.
I trained AI models as emergency coaches I’d use to keep me from breaking no-contact. It saved me.
Creating the music was its own war. Some songs took over 100 attempts to match the emotional reality behind them. I deleted entire tracks and rebuilt them from zero over and over.
Two days before submitting the album, I woke up at 3 AM with a flood of words.
This Is What Betrayal Feels Like was finished, the nine-minute centerpiece the album demanded.
That was the truth I hadn’t spoken yet.
How I Use AI (The Truth, Not the Marketing Version)
I don’t hide from how this music is made. I use AI openly, intentionally, and with complete transparency.
Not to replace emotion.
But to translate it.
Every lyric is mine.
Every experience is mine.
Every line is born from real entries, voice notes, and thoughts written in my notes app written in real pain. Real confusion. Real collapse.
AI is simply the instrument that lets those emotions take form.
I prompt the music with precision to turn what I am feeling and what music I feel fits the track with:
- genre
- sound palette
- emotional intensity
- vocal tone
- pacing
- chaos
- stillness
- energy shifts
- texture
- mood
- the psychological state behind the words
- and more…
Some songs require 100+ attempts just to get a single section right.
Then I edit, refine, rework, and rebuild until the sound matches the truth.
This isn’t random AI music.
This is precision-crafted emotional architecture built from documented trauma.
AI doesn’t write my story.
It just lets my story breathe in ways I never could alone.
And I refuse to pretend otherwise.
Because if I didn’t have this outlet and AI to help me turn my words into the sounds I imagined, like I did in BETRAYED, I don’t know if I could have made it through this.
Why I'm Healing Out Loud
I’ve created art for years. Paintings, music, other creative work, but never like this.
This time, I didn’t create to escape the darkness.
I created from it.
I’m not offering “it gets better.”
I’m not selling a timeline.
I’m not pretending I’m healed.
I’m still in the fire.
Album 1 (BETRAYED) is the shattering.
Album 2 will come from where I am now.
Albums 3 and 4 will come when I reach those places for real.
Nothing before its time.
No bypassing.
No rushing.
Just truth.
If this work helps even one person feel less alone, every ounce of pain I poured into it was worth it.
If You’re In It Right Now
If you’re in betrayal trauma right now, I’m not speaking to you as someone on the other side.
I’m still in it.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
Writing all this activated my nervous system.
My chest tightened.
My nervous system lit up.
Part of me wants to delete this page and walk away because even describing it feels like ripping open stitches that haven’t even started to heal.
But I’m leaving it here because someone needs to say this plainly:
You’re not broken for still hurting.
You’re not weak for not “getting over it.”
And what someone did to you reflects their character, not your worth.
Some days I still drown in memories I don’t want.
Some nights I still wake up in panic.
Some nights I can’t sleep because of the memories and deep pain associated with them.
Some moments I feel like the floor disappears beneath me.
This isn’t over for me.
I’m walking this path in real time… shaking, exhausted, trying to breathe through walls collapsing that no one else can see.
If you’re here too, I’m not speaking from a mountaintop.
I’m beside you.
In the dark.
Trying to survive long enough to feel something other than collapse.
Neither of us has to pretend we’re okay.
Not here.
Thoughts on Betrayal
Betrayal trauma has its own category of pain.
It isn’t heartbreak.
It isn’t loss.
It isn’t disappointment.
It’s all of them. Amplified. Layered. Relentless.
It breaks identity.
It rewires the nervous system.
It destroys your sense of safety.
It collapses your world from the inside out.
No one understands it unless they’ve lived it. Survivors know exactly why I say:
Betrayal is the deepest wound a human can inflict on another.
It’s not one act. It’s a sequence of hidden choices, repeated violations, and devastating realizations.
Trying to understand why will destroy you.
Some questions will never be answered, and that’s a form of mercy.
Your only job now is survival.
Breath by breath, moment by moment.
Find anything that makes you laugh, even for a second.
Find help when you need it.
Find movement when you can.
Find something that reminds you that you’re still alive.
You’re not weak.
You’re wounded. Wounds take time.
Don't Walk This Path Alone.
The Vision for Feelshift
Feelshift is dark right now because betrayal trauma is dark.
BETRAYED was born from collapse, and Album 2 steps into the aftermath, the part where you’re still alive, but nothing is recognizable.
This phase reflects exactly where I am… Still navigating the shadows, still battling the nights, still documenting what healing actually looks like in real time.
But this darkness is only the beginning.
As I work through the trauma (slowly, unevenly, honestly) Feelshift will evolve with me.
This entire project is a personal dark night of the soul, and every song, every page, every piece of art is part of the climb out.
I’m creating from where I actually am, not where I wish I were.
My vision is to create from every stage of the journey, not just the collapse.
To document healing with the same honesty as destruction.
To turn everything I survive into language, sound, and meaning for people living their own silent versions of this.
What Feelshift looks like today won’t be what it looks like in several months or in a year.
As I heal, the work will shift into music, books, courses, tools, practices, and new forms of expression.
I’ve spent years studying meditation, ancient healing methods, sound frequencies, and trauma integration.
All of it will eventually find its place inside Feelshift.
I don’t know exactly what this project will become, but I know it won’t stop.
Even when I’m fully in the light again, I’ll keep creating from every version of myself, so others can find the words, sounds, and honesty they couldn’t find anywhere else.
This phase is dark.
The work will change as I do.
And this is only the beginning.
Music and art created inside the collapse. Documenting the real timeline of betrayal trauma through human truth and AI-assisted music creation.
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Music and art created inside the collapse. Documenting the real timeline of betrayal trauma through human truth and AI-assisted music creation.
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