⭐️⭐️⭐️
The first message came while I was in class.
“I have your snaps. Send more, or I’ll share them with everyone.”
At first, I thought it was a sick joke. Then I saw it—a screenshot of one of my private photos. The kind I’d never meant to save, let alone share.
Panicking, I opened Snapchat to check my account, and that’s when I saw it. My username wasn’t mine anymore. It had been changed to TheSnapGod.
My stomach dropped. Whoever this was, they wanted me to know they were in control.
I typed back, my hands trembling: “Who are you? What do you want?”
The reply came instantly. “More. Same type. You’ve got 12 hours.”
My heart pounded as he sent another message: screenshots of my saved snaps. My private moments, stolen. I felt sick. Exposed.
I tried logging him out. Tried resetting my password. Nothing worked. He’d locked me out of my own life. Every new notification felt like a punch to the gut.
I wanted to give in, to do what he wanted just to make it stop. But instead, I called Sophie.
Her voice was calm, her certainty the only thing keeping me from falling apart. “You don’t send him anything,” she said. “He’s trying to scare you. We’ll fix this.”
Together, we reported the account. We contacted Snapchat, reset my emails, and locked everything down.
By the next morning, my account was gone—deactivated by Snapchat. His threats stopped. TheSnapGod vanished.
But the fear stayed. The shame, the helplessness—it lingered. I deleted Snapchat that day, but I’ll never forget what it felt like to be owned by someone who called himself a god.
Now, every time my phone buzzes, I wonder: could it happen again?
✨✨✨
#0500
The first message came while I was in class.
“I have your snaps. Send more, or I’ll share them with everyone.”
At first, I thought it was a sick joke. Then I saw it—a screenshot of one of my private photos. The kind I’d never meant to save, let alone share.
Panicking, I opened Snapchat to check my account, and that’s when I saw it. My username wasn’t mine anymore. It had been changed to TheSnapGod.
My stomach dropped. Whoever this was, they wanted me to know they were in control.
I typed back, my hands trembling: “Who are you? What do you want?”
The reply came instantly. “More. Same type. You’ve got 12 hours.”
My heart pounded as he sent another message: screenshots of my saved snaps. My private moments, stolen. I felt sick. Exposed.
I tried logging him out. Tried resetting my password. Nothing worked. He’d locked me out of my own life. Every new notification felt like a punch to the gut.
I wanted to give in, to do what he wanted just to make it stop. But instead, I called Sophie.
Her voice was calm, her certainty the only thing keeping me from falling apart. “You don’t send him anything,” she said. “He’s trying to scare you. We’ll fix this.”
Together, we reported the account. We contacted Snapchat, reset my emails, and locked everything down.
By the next morning, my account was gone—deactivated by Snapchat. His threats stopped. TheSnapGod vanished.
But the fear stayed. The shame, the helplessness—it lingered. I deleted Snapchat that day, but I’ll never forget what it felt like to be owned by someone who called himself a god.
Now, every time my phone buzzes, I wonder: could it happen again?
✨✨✨
#0500