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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/808862-The-Bastard-is-Dead
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by Joel Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Other · Adult · #808862
A man's look back at being molested by his Priest.



The sorry bastard is dead. Finally, after all of the
pain and suffering we have been through the bastard is
dead. I can still feel his hands on my body and feel
his hot breath on my face. I trusted you as my priest
and as my friend. I looked up to you as a man of God
and, instead, you turned into the Devil. Why me, dear
God? Was it because I was orphaned
at the age of three and left in his "caring" hands? Or
was it because I was weak and vulnerable and in
desperate need of love and stability?
For over twenty years I harbored "our" secret. But all
of those years of pain and mental anguish took their
toll on me and I had to try and stop the nightmares.
Little did I know, Father, that my soft gentle voice
would open the floodgates to the downfall of the Roman
Catholic Church in Boston and incite turmoil around
the globe. Now I see that over 130 others have come
forward as I have. Those poor
tormented souls.
I looked up to you, Father. When I needed support you
were there. I respected you, Father. When other
children teased me about all the time that I was
spending with you I stood up for you and defended you.
You were my love AND my life, Father. For when nobody
else wanted me you were there. If only I wasn't so
needy - maybe all of this could have been avoided.
Yes, I know, I am fooling myself. For I was only one.
One of many yet one of a kind.
I threw-up the day they took you to
prison. While others cheered and applauded I was in
the men's room puking my guts out. Why? I cannot
decide if it was because of the relief of all of this
being over or if it was because of the pain I could
see in your face. Yes, Father, I recognized that look.
I have seen it in the mirror thousands of times in the
past.
Today is August 23 in the year 2003
of our Lord. And today I am crying. Because today I
lost someone that meant everything to me and that I
loved very much. The memories are rushing at me now:
the ice cream cones, the trip to Coney Island, and the
many many hours we spent alone. And now you are dead.

I am sorry Father. I love you and may your soul
forever burn in hell.


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© Copyright 2004 Joel (freefalling4us at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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