mattie-bo-baddie - Tumblr blog

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Fuck right off America.

With today’s horrific news, I need to share my story. 

I have been open about many of the things that have happened to me; the abuse I suffered, my mental health journey, but there is one part of the story that I haven’t shared publicly.

I have had an abortion.

In 2017, I found out I was pregnant. This was of course during the height of the abuse suffered at my spouse's hands. I missed my period, and while my cycle was never perfect, I never had missed it entirely. I waited until a day he was at work to take the test, and I watched in horror as that second line appeared. 

I was scared for so many reasons. I knew that he would first be furious; this was during the time we were in the title circuit, and I would be “ruining” his opportunities, because of course, it would be my fault for getting “knocked up.” I feared for the fetus inside me. This potential child had nothing but a life of abuse ahead of it. After his anger subsided, I would have no doubt that he would’ve ‘loved’ the child, but that would not stop the abuse that child would see and likely be a victim to. His claimed love for me never stopped him from abusing me. 

Even if I had found the strength to leave him, I would’ve been forever connected to him if I had had his child. I would be dealing with his anger, abuse, narcissism, and manipulation for the rest of my life. I would not allow myself or another to deal with that.

In a fit of desperation, I googled methods of inducing a miscarriage. I went so far as to attempt an “herbal remedy” used vaginally to no effect. Thankfully, I suffered no medical side-effects, unlike so many that try to induce miscarriage on their own.

I sought out the help of Planned Parenthood. I made my appointment. I went, telling him I had a doctor’s appointment with a dermatologist, cause he cared more about my ‘disgusting’ acne than any other health issues I may have had. I was right at 9 weeks, which is the cut off for a medication abortion. To have an aspiration abortion, I would’ve had to have someone there to take care of me afterwards, and I felt I had no one that I could go to, so I made the decision to go with medication despite the risks.

I will not go into the details, but I will let you know this; it was painful, it was scary, and I bled more in that next week than I have in total in my entire life. 

But most importantly, I do not regret that decision at all. 

I have no way of knowing how life would have been different now if a child had entered my life at the time, but I do know this, I would not be happy. In addition to all the reasons mentioned above, there is also the glaring fact that I do not want to be a parent. Not since my early childhood playing with dolls, did I ever want to have kids. I was just told that I should, so I thought I did. I barely have my own life in some semblance of order, and you’d have me inflict that on a child?? Fuck right off.

I have been crying today, thinking of the abuse victims like myself, caught in these horrible situations, now without access to facilities that can see to their medical needs. While my situation was horrible, and I hate that I had to sneak and lie, I still had that access, I still had a way. Current and future victims will be forced to deal with abuse and misery because they do not have rights to their own body, they will be further subjugated by abusive partners. I never thought I would see a world in which our rights, which were so valiantly fought for, are being stripped away.

Possessing a uterus does not make me, or anyone else, less. A person’s choice to have an abortion should be made by them and them alone. It is an essential reproductive health care procedure. There should be no special clause, or exceptions, no asterisks on our rights. 

[mattie-bo-baddie]

The Truth

**TW**

Domestic violence, sexual abuse, suicide

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Please bear with me, because the story I am about to tell is not easy (trust me, y’all have no idea how many versions of this I’ve started) and it certainly will not be easy to read. Many of you may get upset or emotional reading this and you won’t want to believe me, but I assure you, every word is true.

Many of you know that I lost my husband, to suicide in 2019. His influence was felt throughout my Community, and the outpouring of love and support after his passing was beautiful and bittersweet. Our friends honored him by helping us in ways that we will never be able to repay. We honestly couldn’t have gotten past those early dark days without the support of that community.

Unfortunately, the man that was by so many loved - the man everyone saw in public - much of that person was a complete fabrication. What they saw was a very carefully crafted façade.

For nearly the entirety of our 18 year relationship, He was my abuser.

First and foremost, he was a controlling narcissist, especially prone to anger and violence. He didn’t have an “anger-management problem,” he usually managed well enough in public. At home though, the physical violence he committed against me has left me with dislocated joints, broken bones, scars that will never fully heal, and chronic pain that will never go away.

He abused me mentally, using any and all of my weaknesses against me. We met when I was still young, only 21; he was an older, more mature man, six years my senior. I was a young woman, desperate for affection, plagued with undiagnosed ADHD and depression. He groomed and conditioned me, shortly leading me to believe that my life, whether figuratively or literally, would be over if I were to ever leave him.

He regularly withheld affection as a form of punishment for whatever imagined atrocities I had committed; a tactic common for narcissists. It was so common that I had come to a point, early on, where I took it as my lot in life that I would never be kissed again, never cuddled or held with love. He isolated me, only allowing me to talk to our common friends; always subjecting me to interrogation-style questioning when I talked to anyone without him present. He constantly reminded me that what happened in our home was our business only. Early on I learned the rage I would have to endure if he got word that I talked to someone about any problems or issues I felt, so I kept my mouth shut to keep the peace. I kept all of my problems, my worries, my fears, and my anger to myself.

My husband abused me sexually. He was my rapist. He committed acts against me without my consent, without worry of my health or sanity. Even within the context of a BDSM/kink relationship, what he did to me was rape and vicious sexual abuse. Though he hardly ever had actual sex with me (the sex-god he proclaimed to be probably only brought me to orgasm a mere handful of times over the years), I was forced to perform with strangers for his amusement. I was frequently forced to be under the influence of a substance I had very nearly OD’d on years prior during these encounters. He forced me to perform sexual acts on him for hours on end, while in extremely sleep-deprived states, no concern for my obligations or work schedule. Any consent I gave during these acts was made under duress. When your choice is to perform or be forced to sleep naked on the front porch in the winter because he’s physically removed you until you “consent,” it's no longer a matter of consent, it is a matter of survival.

That’s what daily life was, a game of survival. I found myself doing things I never thought I would, simply in an effort to keep him placated, to keep his anger at bay. I learned to lie with confidence if I ever “messed up,” like a child trying to avoid getting in trouble, only I was trying to avoid black eyes. I learned the makeup techniques to best hide those black-eyes. I convinced everyone just how klutzy I was to have those bruises all the time.

I played my part as the proud slave in public, because I didn’t, I would be thrown out to the streets. He used the world of kink and Leather to hide his ways. He knew exactly the right things to say to the right people, even if he didn’t practice an ounce of what he preached in the seclusion of home. He talked about lovingly caring for your slave - bathing them, inspecting them, etc. While he did do this on occasion, it was never lovingly done; it was another way to pinpoint every flaw I had, every disappointment he had with me physically. He talked about open communication with your bottom; in our house, communication only mattered if you agreed with him. If he was mad about something, I could never point out that perhaps he was in the wrong (which he frequently was) or else that rage would be directed at me instead.

He knew who to charm, who he could befriend to get his ways. He stood up, giving classes and demonstrations to our community as a means to an end. He sought to gain influence and a sense of superiority. He used us. He used me, under the guise of a master/slave relationship, to have me do all the work for any of his grand ideas. I am the one that did hours of research and prep work, I was the one forced to juggle our finances to make things happen, make the trips happen, the classes, the competitions. His ideas, my work.

Even more disturbing is how two-faced he was about his public persona. In public he spoke about Community - being true to yourself, acceptance, and fighting for the rights of the underserved, while at home, he was nothing but a misogynistic, racist, homophobic, transphobic asshole. While I definitely acknowledge that, in my ignorance, I have said problematic things in the past, I am trying so very hard to be better. He was frankly proud of his “old-school” way of thinking, often preaching for hours on his views. He truly believed that being a “White Man Born with a Penis” made him a better person.

His final act was not one of regret; it was not a mistake made in a drunken state. The narcissist had made the mistake of introducing another person he thought he could manipulate and groom into our home. What he did was find me my best friend, a person I could finally talk to, someone who saw and experienced the abuse herself, but recognized the red flags that I couldn’t. I knew that the nightmare I was living wasn’t right, but I truly thought I had no way out. I now had my Sister, someone I could trust and talk to, and I had finally started to realize that I didn’t deserve this pain and I started to fight back.

My husband saw this, and I believe, with all my whole heart, that his final act was one of a narcissist who had realized that he was losing control over his victims. We learned that he had spoken to a co-worker in the weeks leading up to his suicide, about "leaving us" on June 1st (the date he killed himself). This person had no idea that he meant by this, but obviously he had this planned ahead of time. He planned out how to ensure that the last thing he did on this earth would leave us traumatized for the rest of our lives.

His final words before pulling the trigger were, “Well, let’s see how you feel about this.” These are not the words of a man who felt remorse for breaking his wife’s nose yet again, but the words of a narcissist trying to get the last laugh.

What I don’t think he planned on, was me finally being in a place where I can no longer keep this to myself. I think he believed he still controlled me enough that I would “honor his memory” for all-time. But as I have finally learned in therapy, I have no fucking obligation to honor my abuser. I am not “ruining his reputation,” he ruined it himself when he first made me feel less, when he gave me my first black eye. He ruined his own reputation when he raped me. I am simply finally telling everyone the true story about the man he was. I no longer live by his ridiculous rules. I finally have the chance to be a whole person.

Now the hard work begins. Part of why I am coming forward about this now is because I can no longer stand by seeing others in situations like this. The thought of another person feeling that kind of pain and helplessness makes me physically sick.

To everyone reading this, if you need an ear, or help getting out, I am here.

Also, a few things I would like to mention, that I’ve learned as I’ve made this journey:

If a person trusts you enough to come to you for help, you have no idea how much strength that took. It took me months after his suicide to even say the words, “My husband was my abuser”

Please never say “I know” when someone tells you they have been abused, even if you *did* suspect. PTSD and C-PTSD survivors have big issues with intrusive thoughts, and the intrusive thought that came when that was said to me, “Then why the fuck didn’t you help me?!?” followed by, “No, you have no fucking idea what the hell I went through and if you did and did nothing, you can fuck off.”

If you do suspect someone is in an abusive relationship, please say something!! You should fear for your friends’ health and safety more than you fear losing them for saying something that’s ‘not your business”. I know people had suspected his actions, and I don’t mean to say this as an excuse or to make anyone feel bad, but if I had had more people who had said something to me in trust, I may have seen a way out sooner.

That being said, if you do say something, make sure that it is in a way that the suspected abuser doesn’t know. Don’t say it publicly. Those words had been lobbed at him in the past, but it was made on a group chat he had access to, so of course, it became my responsibility to defend him. Afterwards, I incurred his anger for not behaving better; it was *my fault* for acting like an abuse victim, I was the one who made him look bad, I was the one ruining his reputation, etc. I slept on the floor for two nights after that incident.

If I ever hear or read the words “They should have just left” from any one of you for any reason when talking about an abuse victim, you are dead to me. It doesn't matter who you are, what you have meant to me in the past, or what influence you have on the world. When I was young and naïve, I said, “I would never let someone hit me, I'd leave immediately,” yet here we are. You have no idea how easy it is to be manipulated, how easy it is to be pulled in by a charismatic charmer who can read everything about you. You have no idea the absolute desperation you feel, literally fearing for your life on a daily basis, and seeing no way out. Feeling like such an absolute failure that you attempt suicide because the one person is supposed to love you more than anyone else on the planet tells you daily how fucking pathetic you are, that you should be grateful, because no one else would ever fucking want you.

I’ve spent the last 2 years trying to make sense of my life. I am finally learning who the hell I really am. Forty three years old, and I can finally be the real me. I can pursue my own interests, make my own friends, go to the restaurants I want, I can finally be the loud-ass bitch I really am. I’ve learned to be open, how to talk to people, how to trust. I will be on this journey for the rest of my life, but it’s on my terms now.

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Portals to Hell by hrmphfft

[mattie-bo-baddie]

“Those poor boys”

“She deserves to be punished too.”

“I’m not saying I support rape, but-”

“Sorry to say - she deserved it.”

“She put herself in harm’s way”

“But if she was fingered, then that’s not rape.”

“She ruined their lives.”

[mattie-bo-baddie]

IF YOU ARE UNMARRIED, DON'T HAVE KIDS, AND HATE YOUR PARENTS PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HAVE A FUCKING WILL

this has been a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood probate lawyer

[mattie-bo-baddie]

I've never read a phrase that better describes the kind of love I wanna find.

(gif)

(others)

[mattie-bo-baddie]

At least my state did something right this year!

👏👏👏

[mattie-bo-baddie]

the featured article on wikipedia today (october 19, 2020) is stucky. 😌

[mattie-bo-baddie]

In my opinion the key to understanding how to play Sherlock Holmes' character is to understand that his asshole energy is actually pretty low. This is a common mistake made by many great actors. His asshole energy is no higher than the common man's. What he does have is nearly LETHAL levels of bitch energy. Whichever neuron in the brain that senses when the bitch levels are too high and sends out the anti bitch hormone Holmes was born without. Like you're right Sherlock should never just be played as a nice guy but his abrasive and off-putting behaviors are due to bitch energy not asshole energy. It's a subtle difference but a vital one. Don't fight me guys I know a scientist

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Required reblog. Science.

[mattie-bo-baddie]

To donate £5 to the charity supporting the male victims of domestic abuse, text the message: MKDV46 to 70070

Click here to watch the video

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Reblog if you've found friendship because of your fandoms.

(X)

[mattie-bo-baddie]

I literally just finished this fic...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032415/chapters/11658133#workskin

#Stucky

[mattie-bo-baddie]

No stealing my coping mechanisms, Sherlock!!

Sherlock: Self care is drinking 4 monsters and having a therapy session with god on your bathroom floor at 4am.

[mattie-bo-baddie]

hi uh this is just a psa

IM ANTI-PEDOPHILE IM ANTI-MAP IM ANTI-KINDERGENDER OR WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS

PUT ME ON THE ANTI MASTERLISTS!!!!

IF YOURE A PEDOPHILE BLOCK ME!!!! IF YOU’RE A PEDOPHILE APOLOGIST BLOCK ME!!! IF YOU BELIEVE PEDOPHILES BELONG ANYWHERE NEAR THE LBGT+ COMMUNITY BLOCK ME!!!!! IF YOU’RE A MINOR ATTRACTED PERSON OR WHATEVER BLOCK ME!!!!

BASICALLY IF YOU’RE AN ADULT WHO IS ATTRACTED TO MINORS AND/OR BELIEVE YOU BELONG ANYWHERE NEAR THE LBGT+ COMMUNITY SMACK THAT BLOCK BUTTON!!!! I DONT WANT YOU INTERACTING WITH ME OR MY POSTS!!!!!! BYE!!!!

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Oh

Ohhhh....

I'm feeling THIS HARD.

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot give. The more you loved someone, the more you grieve. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes and in that part of your chest that gets empty and hollow feeling. The happiness of love turns to sadness when unspent. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

— As the lights wink out…  (via aishawarma)

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Hey I’m new here, so I thought I’d drop some icons. I hear y'all like Sam Wilson?

Please like or reblog if you save~