The Chronicles of Jess - Ep 1

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🎭 CAST LIST

Jess - Me. Chaotic good. 14 personalities and not one of them’s boring.

Cory- Ex-husband. Calm in the chaos. Genuinely decent.

Kyle - Bald ex. Confusing, twin flamey, has main character syndrome.

Jordan - My old lawyer. $4,000 invoice for the square root of fuck all.

Marcus - The emotional MVP. Possibly the only sane man left.

Liss - Marcus’s wife. Handled my breakdowns, bitchfits, and breakdowns about my

bitchfits with Olympic-level composure.

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🎤 OPENING CREDITS

If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t spontaneously combust from stress, or maybe I did

and left this behind as my final act of chaotic brilliance.

This is the first instalment of a wildly unnecessary but spiritually essential memoir series.

You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll say “Jesus Christ, Jess.” And honestly? That’s the point.

Let’s rewind.

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🩷 CHILDHOOD: WHERE THE CRACKS STARTED

Age 8: Got hit with trauma like a brick through a windshield.

After that? No brakes. No filter. No chance.

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I was the kid throwing desks, not tantrums.

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Got expelled before I hit Year 10.

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Every authority figure had me on a watchlist.

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My report cards said “disruptive.” My energy said “feral.”

Fast-forward through high school… oh wait, you can’t. I wasn’t there.

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🧨 TEENAGE RAGE & REBEL STAGE

By 18, the criminal record had begun

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just in time for my villain origin story.

Then came him. The Rebel. Not the leather-jacket-hot kind. The “we’re on the run” kind. One

part bikie, one part trauma blender, and the reason I know what it feels like to flee across

state lines with a burner phone.

He got booted from the club, and I got booted from my sanity.

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👶 CORY ERA: A BRIEF NORMALITY

Met Cory. Calm, steady, nonviolent. A break in the chaos.

We had a child. Built a life. Got married. For five minutes, I was soft. Domestic. A mum who packed lunches

and paid rent on time.

Then the universe remembered who I was.

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💥 KYLE: THE BALD & THE BRUTAL

Enter Kyle.

Twin flame, trauma mirror, romantic Russian roulette with extra bullets.

It was love, yes. But also fire. Chaos. A psychic connection with bonus emotional damage.

We broke each other in ways I’m still trying to unfuck.

We had that insane “I hate you, but also if you died I’d die too” energy.

Fights that’d leave the walls shaking. Then two hours later we’d be ordering platters like

nothing happened.

I tried. He tried. And in the end, it ended. Loudly.

Somewhere in the wreckage: restraining orders, broken trust, and a whole heap of “alleged”

nonsense I’m not legally allowed to comment on

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but just know: it’s fucking rich.

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🚨 THE ROBBERY THAT GOT ME BOOKED

2025: Two men burst into my house. One I knew. One dressed like a clearance rack Bond

villain

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hat, sunnies, covered up like the sun itself was his co-defendant.

They waved a machete. I called the cops.

Here’s where I allegedly sealed my fate.

In the chaos, I told the truth.

“Yeah, I’ve got weed in the house.”

Not a little. 280 grams.

Plus two scales, vacuum sealer, bags. The whole Bunnings starter kit for Herbal

Entrepreneurship™.

Was I living lavish? No.

Was I slinging pounds like Pablo? Also no.

I was stressed. Alone. Out of options. And someone asked if I had weed. I said yes. They

asked if they could buy it. I said yes again.

Apparently, that’s how you get hit with “intent to sell” and suddenly you’re an episode of

Underbelly: Mandurah Edition.

Now I’m facing 1–2 years, with a strong chance I’ll serve half.

Over flowers. Literal flowers.

Flowers I could’ve gotten from the chemist with a script.

Australia: where Panadol’s legal but survival isn’t.

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📣 EPILOGUE: CHRONICLED, NOT CONQUERED

So now I wait.

Court is looming. The bars are calling. And instead of breaking, I’m writing.

This isn’t a sob story. It’s a war cry wrapped in satire.

It’s my way of owning the madness

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loud, hilarious, unapologetic.

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🔮 COMING UP NEXT: EPISODE 2

“The Bender That Baptised Me”

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enough chaos to power a Netflix limited series.

a 72-hour spiral, a Crown Towers breakdown, and

Spoiler: there’s vodka, Ritalin, and a leg I woke up spooning that may or may not have

belonged to Rhys.

Stay tuned. And remember:

If you’re gonna go down, at least go down funny. 🥂