My last rant for 2016. I don't think my writing has been better, richer, or more prolific, so thank you for reading. I have taken advantage of my natural talents to unload a lot of rubbish that I have been carrying around for a lifetime. As humans, & so many of us sleepwalkers, it is easy to accumulate a lot of lies, deceit and bullshit, and I have spent MANY years trying to untangle it, challenge it, and dump it like so much toxic waste, so I can move on. Enough lies...and enough complaining. My book is about to hit the 1000 page mark, and I think it covers just about as much bullshit as I can tolerate, which leaves me with a fresh slate. Now all the work is done, I can write pretty much what I want. I can stop bitching about things I never found a way to come to terms with, because now? I have. This year will the year of redemption. But there is one more job on my list, before I die. I want to confront this...lousy piece of work.
This is the priest who molested me when I was a little boy.
I think this was taken outside the courthouse...I don't reckon they got his best side.
His best side was behind us, as he bent us over an old tea chest.
Where we couldn't see him.
I didn't see him again for years after that.
Until it all went to trial.
It was curious cops, concerned counsellors, and a mute Vatican.
I'm not asking for sympathy...I don't believe I deserve it.
Allowing myself to be raped by a priest is basic...cowardice, I guess.
It's...hard to explain.
I would say a couple of things in my defence...I was a very scrawny kid.
Also...I had already become used to violence and torture at home at the hands of my father, so actually...I know it sounds weird...but I thought this was just the way the world worked.
I really believed that everyone got raped and tortured.
I think the head injuries from my father's beating might have made my brain a little bit soft.
But...I thought this was just the way humans lived.
To be quite honest...my childhood was like a dream.
A fog.
I am told this is a symptom of ptsd...
but I thought all children were raped by priests.
I assumed it was on the syllabus.
As I got older...I realised this was not the case.
I'm lucky...I have my brain related issues, but I never turned out to be a rapist, or a murderer, or torturer, like many victims do.
The only person I tortured was myself.
There is a strange kind of guilt that comes with being raped as a child.
I still think it is my fault.
Abuse in childhood scars you in very strange ways.
This loving servant of the god of horror in the picture was charged and sent to trial a few years back.
I remember at the time when I gave my evidence, people asked,
'why didn't you do something sooner'?
Unless you have been used as a sex doll by a priest in a dungeon under a school...
don't ask this.
you know nothing.
Some people...don't WANT to dwell on such horror.
Why did we not say something sooner? We do not want to dwell on this crap.
We just want to get on with life, like everyone else.
But sadly...as the saying goes...
'you may be finished with the past, but the past 'aint finished with you'.
I knew it would come and find me one day, and it did.
The matter was heard, the priest found guilty...
I was offered lawyers to get me money in exchange for my sexual favours...
I mean, how do you put a price on this?
I couldn't...so I didn't.
I just wanted it over with.
This is not pleasant shit to have to deal with.
Like the Vietnam Vets say, 'unless you were there...shut the fuck up'.
even if we did try to explain what it does to you...your mind...
you will never understand. '
feel free to call me gutless...don't think I haven't said it of myself.
My father used to call me a coward from a very young age.
I thought it was my name.
'Coward'.
It turned out to be 'John'.
But 'coward' still sticks more.
It is woven into the fabric of my subconscious, where you can't see it.
Like a lot of things.
I have a hard shell now, so you can't see these things.
I write about them and it helps...
But I still can't feel properly.
Or love properly.
But I also don't hurt in the same way you do.
So...you can't hurt me with your judgements.
Nothing can hurt me anymore.
I can't feel...
no, that's not true.
I DO feel things now.
Compassion.
Love.
Empathy.
I also still have nightmares.
I get the horrors, most nights.
Nothing I can do about that.
I don't hate anymore.
Actually, that's not true either.
I hate god. If he exists, then I hate that sadistic bully so much, and I want him to suffer for the evil he created, and seems determined to do nothing about, even though he keeps threatening us with the return of his son to wipe everything clean again.
He could stop it with the stroke of his cosmic wand...
But we won't.
GOD is the coward.
Hiding behind his cruel deeds, and his failure to act.
To put an end to cruelty.
Well, I will hate god for this til my dying breath.
For allowing what happened to me, to happen.
Frankly...I don't believe I deserved it.
Nor do all the other children raped by priests, by anyone, all the children, tortured and abused & murdered...there is no excuse for this kind of horror.
God works in mysterious ways' my arse.
'Suffer the children' my arse.
Not on my watch.
My mission in the new year, is to confront the priest who raped me, if it can be arranged.
Although I imagine he will want to hide from me, just like his boss does.
I don't blame them.
There is NO excuse for what they do.
But I will try to make it happen.
Then I will devote my remaining years on the planet to serving the needs and requirements of those young children who are raped, tortured, abused in any way by these servants of god.
I will work tirelessly to raise money for support services for the children god has inexplicably neglected.
& I will publish my book myself, tell my story, and MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL...
I will offer strategies for working against this insidious evil.
I can't stop god and his evil sadistic ways, because I can't get to him.
But I can try to clean up after him.
One day, I will die, and I will have my revenge on this god, if he actually exists.
He can hide...but he cannot run.
My time here on earth, I will show him what love really means.
It is NOT a priest dripping sweat on a young boys back.
I will die, and I will find that bully god, and I will have my revenge.
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