Bedtimes and Headlines

This will be the most candid of anything I've written so far, in my life.

My Google Reader is my best friend, the introvert that I am. As I sifted through the headlines during lunch today, I drank from the articles of industry rags, news wires, history and science associations and special blogs as if they were an alixir to problems I wanted to cure. Good 'ole rock n roll buffered me from my main distraction, letting it drown out the voice that commands my heartbeat.

One headline I scanned quickly among the news items was this NY Times's one about sexual abuse cover up by the Catholic Church.  Moving quickly past it, I thought I had left it behind, at least until I saw it on the news or in another headline later.  But, no, it had attached itself to that part of my brain that processes things unconsciously, or subconsciously, (guess it depends on if I've been drinking), to flash across the iPad inside my eyelids when I was ready to go to sleep (yes, at 8:30pm). 

The flash of fury had been there when I first saw the headline, but having mastered the skill, I pushed it aside to keep company with the rage of a sexual abuse survivor.  The fury still burned and would not let me sleep.  I opened up my laptop to find the story and write about it. 

Fully understanding the influence and authority of the Catholic Church over its people, finally reading the story made me want to vomit.  Even though I'm not Catholic, this is my confession:  the last three years have been the worst years of my life save for my 5th year as a child.  When I was a little girl, a young man thought he'd teach me a thing or two about life.  Suffice it to say, I learned enough. 

Stories of child abuse, church or organizational cover up, family cycles of abuse, they all get to me not because I went through it, but because most incidences can be prevented if the first one is reported.  I never opened my mouth until I told my Mom when I was 22 years old.  After all those years of crying in the dark, the tears still would not betray me after words had told the tale.  Shame, fear and uncertainty were my childhood friends but we don't stay in touch much anymore.  If children are told not to be ashamed, to tell us of any uncomfortable situations with anyone, including relatives, maybe first time predators will be one time predators. 

The current Pope is culpable for continuing the Church's policy of sweeping ugly truths under papal robes and pointy hats.  The bishops' red robes are now visibily stained with the blood of the children they have damaged for life.  I feel the hatred of the same papal power Queen Elizabeth I felt during her reign.  No omnipotent supreme being in existence would allow innocent children to be defiled in their name.  But that's another post and now I must sleep if I can.

(hesitating. hesitating. hesitating. Can I really post this?  Yes. No shame, no fear.)