Journal Entry  9/6/2018 #2

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Men in black, together.

Do they talk about me

and lick their fingers and touch themselves?

Waiting to get me alone.

Waiting for my daddy

to bring me.

Little lamb, to the slaughter.

Journal Entry, 9/6/2018

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The Shadow Man

There’s a shadow man

he lives in the shadows

appears; disappears

you don’t know where he is

then suddenly, silently, he’s there

and pulls you in.

 

You can’t get out

like in a nightmare when you try to wake up

you try really hard

but you can’t.

 

And no one comes to save you

because they haven’t noticed you’re gone.

No one misses you

you just disappear.

And when they think they see you

it’s not you at all

because you are gone and only a shadow remains.

 

 

 

 

PTSD the Return!

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I am being so triggered by the Philadelphia revelations.

Nightmares. Hyper-vigilance. Tremors. Dissociation. Intensified startle reflex. Insomnia. Anxiety. Irrational fears.

Not fun.

I write Letters to the Editor; I journal; I read newspapers, then wish I hadn’t. It feels strong to respond and challenge people, but it makes me more paranoid about the Church sending priests in black cars to “come and get me,” to kill me for telling their secrets.

I keep telling myself, “I am safe. I am safe.” But then I journal and don’t feel safe any more.

 

Finding Hope after Abuse

traces of hope

How do I process my grief?
Does suffering have any meaning?
Do we live in a random chaotic universe?
Is it time to re-evaluate my understanding of “God”?

This book is for anyone who has suffered a loss – of safety, of one’s home, of health, of a loved one or a relationship, or of one’s faith … and found themselves asking, “Why?” And then wondering, “Who am I asking?” and hoping they were not alone.

http://www.amazon.com/Traces-Hope-Surviving-Grief-Loss/dp/1937943275

“The Wrath of God” A fictional story of a victim who becomes a murderer

postman pat“Postman Pat, Postman Pat,

Postman Pat and his black and white cat,

Early in the morning,

Just as day is dawning,..”

The children’s tape player sang the words through its red and white face. Primary colors for a baby’s room. The tape was a distraction for me, and it covered my cries – but his hand usually sufficed.

People ask, How could a man, a priest?  It’s popular to ask, now, those taboo questions. Safety in numbers for those who dare to criticize God’s men.

But that night, so many nights, no safety. No one questioning. Not even the mother. And the father? He was around.

My face hurts now, as I tell you this. Pain in my jaw like after a long session at the dentist. As if it had been stretched wide beyond its comfort. And my throat is tight, golf-ball sized anxiety, so I can’t catch my breath. Give me a minute, here!

…..

…..

It was always hard to breathe during story time.

And now the inevitable pain in my rectum. Even though I am telling you this over 50 years later, the pain memories are so near. They live in my muscles under my skin.

In prison there are similar pains for many of the inmates. But I am separate. Solitary. Suits me just fine! Dangerous, they say, to myself and others. A sociopath by nature, or a victim whose violation of his body caused an irreparable tear in his soul through which all feelings escaped. Which am I? Maybe you don’t believe in souls or God. That’s fine. I’m The Wrath of God … and no one wants to believe in me.

I sought out one of them, one of the owners of those bodies that stole my breath and my sanity. One of the Men in Black. I burned holes in his body where he had torn holes in mine. Pathology or justice? Am I a righteous man or a criminal?  It’s up to you to decide, my twelve peers. But let me ask, first, that you take my place for just one night in that child’s bed, just one, and then you can judge me.

Cold

cold

cold, cold, hard, damp tiles

bare feet

they didn’t care

with their thick shoes and heavy clothes

pale legs above bloodless toes

the cold hurts

before it numbs

but fear is hot

insides shaking

lips trembling

don’t cry, she warns

don’t whimper or weep

it will be worse for you

stand strong, little mona

stand and stare

see what they point to

see it and know

there is no safety

for little girls

who don’t do what they are told

tears fall silently

on downy cheeks

please don’t notice

i promise i’ll be good

i won’t make a sound

i’ll be daddy’s good girl

you’ll see

Cardinal Law leaves Rome!

“The Vatican says the Pope accepted Law’s resignation from Saint Mary Major Basilica.” Did his birthday party upset the leaders in Rome? Was it too much bad press? I would have thought that Rome was immune to bad press by now. But maybe not?  Read the whole article here:

http://boston.cbslocal.com/2011/11/21/disgraced-ex-boston-archbishop-cardinal-law-leaves-rome-job/