I am a female in a motorized wheelchair. This coming weekend the Archdiocese of Chicago will have a Day of Reflection where survivors of sexual abuse by a priest/clergy will gather.
Several weeks ago SNAP, Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests, had their annual conference in Washington, D.C. (Arlington, VA).
I have scholarships/complimentary passes to both. I was not able to go to D.C. for medical/surgical reasons. I may not go to the Archdiocese's Day of Reflection because my family does not want me to go.
It was my father who opined that: there wasn't enough money they could pay and there was too much money they were paying. Yes, initially it sounded contradictory to me too.
He explained that no amount of money could make up for the damage and whatever money they did pay was too much of a burden on the Church. The Church being the congregation of people who donate a portion of their money to keep the Church's community functioning.
This Sunday is a day of reflection for me. Next weekend might be a "Day of Reflection" for me, my family and other survivors and their families.
I asked my family to attend with me. My father, who went to heaven in February, had attended a few SNAPs with me. While he respected and liked Barbara Blaine the sounder of SNAP, he was not a fan of the support group and asked me to stop going. He was a pragmatic man. He was a man who worked Monday through Saturday so he could spend the Sunday with his fellow ex-patriots from Slovenia at the Slovenian Catholic Mission in Lemont, Illinois. He made the 60+ mile roundtrip every Sunday to Lemont except when the weather was bad. He did not smoke, drink (except for wine and beer with a meal, and preferably it was wine made my himself or one of his friends) gamble or carouse. He was a kind man who at age 82, had outlived most of his friends.
He was always there for me, no matter what. He was also my fiercest critic. He felt I had been spoiled by too much money. He questioned my character because he said I lacked self-discipline and was prone to self-indulgence. Those are the words he used, in Slovenian. He said it didn't matter what had happened to me, I still had to get up and do what life required. He often said, "World War II was no picnic."
The Chicago Archdiocese pays for my psychotherapy, they have for many years. My remaining family thinks I should step-up to the plate and let go of the past, once and for all. They point out that I'm using the past as a crutch to hide from life. They want to just get on with life. Continue to practice my balance and walking. Stop being dependent on my motorized wheelchairs, wheelchairs, walkers and canes.
I do from time to time feel well enough to move forward, but then, something from my past causes me to feel ill. Something triggers my memories and involuntarily my mind begins to race ... my blood pressure rises, I get a headache, I cry. Spent and exhausted, I can fall asleep at the dinner table, in the living room, or on the toilet! The bed? I barely am able to stay in it at night. Like an overly stimulated toddler who refuses to go to sleep, I can't get into my bed.
My mother wants me to forgive. Forgive the Church. Forgive myself. Forgive and forget. Just move forward. Walk. Walk. Walk. No more psychotherapy. My mother points out that even though she is a simple woman, she's smart enough to know that my therapist's income depends on my remaining sick. My mother says my therapist will never let me go because of the generousity of the Archdiocese. "Help yourself! You used to be an ice-skater, you rode bicycles, ski-ed, traveled, walked all over the place! Stop taking the medications! They just make you sleepy."
My mother says she does not want to go to the Archdiocese of Chicago's Day of Reflection for Survivors. She wants me to go to mass. Go to confession. Take holy communion. She wants me to forgive and forget.
Tomorrow I have to decide whether to take my electric wheelchair, walker-with-a-seat, walker, footed-cane, cane, or folding-cane with me when I go to the Hospital. I've been pretty good goind short distances, a few car-lengths without a crutch.
I point out to my mother that I see pedophiles everywhere. Everywhere. My mother says "Ignore, ignore, ignore! Give yourself a manicure, pedicure, facial, do your make-up, get dressed up and ignore, ignore the problems in society and then you'll forget what happened to you."
When I listen to certainn politicians I get flashbacks.
Child sexualization being normalized. That's this society's secret and the globalization's secret.
Two tales of child sexualization.
- A young man from Sri Lanka was a patient in the ICU had swallowed Draino (a caustic drain cleaner) after his American lover left him for a younger and whiter boy. The Sri Lankan boy died from the poisoning by Draino.
- An older man from Germany suffering from leukemia, a CEO of a well-known company, had numbers tattooed on his arm from his childhood in a Nazi concentration camp tells me about his childhood. He was first rescued from the gas chamber by a Nazi officer. Then an American officer brought him to the USA and had him educated.
One young boy lay dying after being sexualized by an adult male and another young boy grew-up to become a CEO after having been sexualized by an adult male.
What made one boy chose death and the other boy chose life?
Research may provide some answers. I can't bear to hear/read about the research. Here are some examples.
Block quote edited/deleted for the time being. I have to research the source. Thank you Tara the Antisocial Social Worker.
I am exhausted emotionally. I want to sleep right here at my desk. I don't want to lay down. I don't know if I will go to the Day of Reflection that the Archdiocese of Chicago is offering this coming weekend. If I do go, I'll have to go alone. I don't know if I will have psychotherapy this week, my family thinks it too is a crutch that's holding me back from engaging fully in life and healing.
I don't know what to do. My family wants me to turn off all the noise in my life and just focus on my getting strong physically. Ignore the past. Ignore the ugly in my present. Ignore anyone who tries to engage me in conversation that could potentially make me sick(er).
I don't know what to do.