storytime

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My parents didn't just film our lives - they sold them. By age eight, I was working sixteen-hour days creating content while my baby brother was given sleep medication so he wouldn't cry during "peaceful family moment" videos. What subscribers didn't know was that we were making them rich while we slowly disappeared.

They started small, but when the money got serious, so did the abuise. I wasn't allowed to eat unless it was filmed. Every bathroom break was timed. I had to ask permission to drink water because it might ruin my makeup for the next shot. When I got my period at eleven, they filmed a "growing up" series without my consent and sold the footage to educational companies.

The house became a prison with ring lights. Motion sensors tracked when I left my room. If I tried to sleep past 4 AM, alarms would blast until I got up for "sunrise yoga" content. My parents installed locks on the outside of my bedroom door and told neighbors I was a sleepwalker for safety.

But the real nightmare started when they began the "punishment series." When I made mistakes during filming, they'd create elaborate punishments and film my genuine reactions. Eating spoiled food, ice baths, standing outside in winter clothes for hours - all while they narrated about "natural consequences" and "teaching responsibility."

At thirteen, they sold my first kiss to a brand deal. A boy from my school was paid to ask me out on camera for a teen romance series. When I said I wasn't ready, they threatened to send me to boarding school. The kiss was filmed from six angles and turned into a week-long series about "young love."

The breaking point came when my little brother, now five, started having seizures from the stress medication they'd been giving him for years. Instead of getting medical help, they filmed his episodes and created a "special needs awareness" campaign. Sponsors paid extra for the emotional content.

That night, I heard them planning his funeral video series - discussing camera angles, outfit choices, and which sponsors would pay the most for grief content. They were hoping he would die because dead children generate massive sympathy views and donation money.

I realized they weren't just exploiting us - they were unaliving us for content.

I started recording everything with a hidden camera I stole from their equipment room. I captured them forcing medication down my brother's throat, staging fake emergencies for content, and discussing how to make our suffering look more dramatic for better engagement.

The final piece of evidence came when I recorded them meeting with a life insurance agent, taking out million-dollar policies on both of us while joking about "accidents" that could happen during extreme challenge videos.

I knew I had to get help, but I also knew no one would believe me without proof. So I waited until they left for a brand meeting and called 911. When the operator seemed skeptical about my story, I sent her photos of the medication bottles, the insurance documents, and screenshots of the footage I'd recorded.

She stayed on the line while police and paramedics rushed to our house. When my parents came home to find squad cars in the driveway, they tried to play the perfect family act, but I had already shown the officers everything.

Medical exams showed my brother had permanent brain damage from the medications, and I had stress fractures in my ribs from punishment videos where they made me carry heavy objects for hours.

My parents got life sentences for attempted unaliving, child abuise, and conspiracy. Their channel was deleted, but not before investigators used it as evidence.

I still can't tell you the channel name - they made me sign a contract that if I ever created a social media account or revealed this story, I'd get arrested.

My brother and I live with our grandmother now.