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Gods Or Demons
A catharsis of a Catholic childhood
I was never sexually abused by a priest.
Hours and hours of my childhood were spent in churches and church halls, at mass, prayer meetings and youth groups. I resented the expectation that my sister and I had to attend, show piety and unquestioning faith. My passive-aggressive mother and father (who possibly has a dissociative personality disorder) made it clear that not attending, not being pious or faithful, was not an option. We gritted our teeth through homilies, confessions, and lessons about original sin.
Throughout my teenage years, I questioned the church more and more but I was my parents’ child. I did not voice my opinions. A diary was my passive-aggressive outlet. We were taught not to question the church or God; God is perfect so cannot be questioned. The priests were placed on a pedestal; no one asked questions of them either. Men, in general, were in charge. This was a lesson that was so ingrained, that when I was sexually assaulted at the age of thirteen, I was briefly dumbstruck, unable to ask the man who was assaulting me to stop. The worst part of the assault, though, was being told afterwards that if I had been wearing my Blessed Virgin scapula, I would have been protected. Apparently, it was my fault.
Later on, when I thought back to that day, I remembered that neither my parents nor my…
