It’s 3:46 in the morning on June 24 as I’m writing this. I think my body woke me up at this time as a trauma response. This time last year, at 3 in the morning, I was carrying the burden of a grave secret. Mat and I were the only ones who knew the truth, and he was gaslighting the shit out of me. I had texted him because my dad had been talking to my mom about calling the police, at the (veeeeery strong) suggestion of the vets who had received and examined Kirby’s body. I told Mat that my parents were thinking of calling the police. Mat and I were texting about it. I was fawning and submissive. I wanted to appease Mat to save my life. Anything that happened, be it my fault or anything related to me, I had to make right. Otherwise he was going to kill my parents. And now, after a looooot of therapy, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I knew Mat was going to kill me too.
Mat and I were texting a little bit. Briefly. I told him that my dad wanted to call the police. Mat said he just spoke to his dad (at 3am) who said they weren’t going to file a police report (as if it were their decision?). The texting didn’t last long. Mat called me. At about 3:45 in the morning. And asked for details. What did the vet say? Why would the vet say this didn’t happen from a fall in the pond? Where would the puncture wounds have come from? Nothing happened to him, why would my dad need to call the police? Gaslighting, gaslighting, gaslighting. The entire conversation with Mat, I worked to appease him. The assistant state’s attorney said those text messages, where I texted Mat and said “I don’t know what happened to [Kirby],” killed my case. Ha. I just… like…I was fighting so desperately to survive. I did and said anything and everything I could to survive. To keep my parents alive. But sure, let that mean I’m to blame. Right? The victim is to blame? That’s like how the supervisor of the state’s attorneys told me that it was my fault for not taking Kirby to the vet again after the first vet that day. Never mind the fact that Mat held me hostage in his car literally the entire day. But you’re right Kathy Morrissey, I should’ve broken free from the chains of abuse from the man who was going to kill me, escape with my dying dog, and gone to the vet. My bad. [[[[[sarcasm]]]]]
That afternoon, Mathew Berry was going to kill my parents because my dad had contacted the police. I had to literally put myself in front of the door and beg him not to go to my parents’ house. I’ll write more about this later. Say what twisted things you want, Kathy Morrissey. I survived. I survived I survived. And I almost didn’t. He came very close to killing me too. But I survived. And anybody who wants to pass judgment on that, I pray for peace in your soul. I survived. I’m here today because I did everything I could to survived. And I survived.
It’s 4am now. I survived.
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