so begins the story i have not told to anyone except females...it was my fifth year of existence at catechism class...father albert came in to "reward" me with a personal visit with him...i went with him to what i thought was going to be his office and wound up in his room in the rectory...and there proceeded for the next 9 months a series of oral and manual sex encounters with this "man of god"...during that time he passed me off to father anselm - the one who was to anally rape me several times saying each time that "you would make such a nice girl"...my underwear w=had blood on it so i had to go to the bathroom outside the catechism class to clean up and throw them away so that my mother wouldn't see them...these nine months were confusing, hellish, semi-spiritual (lots of comments about how god would be always there for me as long as i did not tell anyone)...i could not tell my parents because they had put the priest role on such a pedestal and these two priests were my father's favorites...my father would always ask after mass with one of them "which one of my sons do you think would be a good priest" and they would undoubtedly point at me...we for some odd reason moved away from my grandmother's house and that church so the rape stopped...

going on now to my grandfather --- he was a glass cutter and very strong - he made his own fish tanks and kept them out in an enclosed place behind the garage. he took me out there one day when we were there to "see the fish"...some fish...he had me masturbate him and this would continue for a few more visits but i could not tell anyone because "god would leave me"

then there was the thunderstorm that occurred one day with my mom and the other kids somewhere else with other members of the family...i would curl up on my father's lap because i was scared of the thunder...now, mind you, he always talked about how special the priests were and how he had wanted to be one so when i felt him get hard under my thighs i did what i did for the priests - i was 6 at the time...only once that i remember at this point...

in a dead sleep in 6th grade and i feel a hand under my pajamas...it was my brother --- just once but enough to leave a scar that only built upon the ones i already had...

before this i was subject to headaches...the explanation was that my hair was too long so my father would then ritually cut me into a flattop and the headache would "go away"...

all this leads to one thing --- i don't have much of a place in the universe, it is not safe for me to be here and, at 56 years old, i once again risk god leaving me because i am telling my story...i have several ruined relationships and am in the process of "ruining" another one...my family and i are not speaking because 2 years ago i wrote a letter telling the story of my life to them...i also wrote a letter to the religious community that i was a part of and that the two priests were members of...the response from my family was "he was always such a good boy; i wonder what happened to him"...the response form the fathers of the sacred hearts was nothing - no response at all...i ahve lost what i thought was everything and am now a willing participant in my own recovery though the journey is a relatively new one...

me ke aloha no to all