Several people have asked about this particular blog. Originally, I said it was fact based fiction. That is not exactly accurate, I guess. The characters in this story and the events described are real. The names and some of the character descriptions have been changed or altered slightly.
I have been at JUB for over 10 years now and in that time I have wanted to discuss the topic of child abuse/molestation. I would write up my own story, only to not be able to press the submit button.
After my morning class I went for a hike along the river, to clear my head and maybe organize my thoughts for what I would share with Michael.
I decided to tell him the worst part first. Somehow my head and heart did batle with this. In my head I knew I was a victim, but I hated that word. In my heart, I felt ashamed and blamed myself for some things.
Growing up, there was so much physical and verbal violience in my family. Everyday, my parents seemed to be angry and if they weren't
As I sat across the table from him, I wondered what it was like to hear the secret confessions of those who felt guilty or sinful. I imagined that the confessions of the young were different than the older folks. I mean, 13 year old boys must reveal lustful thoughts and frequent masturbation, right? What do the elderly share? Bitterness, unforgiveness...? Were his experiences as a young priest hearing confessions different than an old priest? Were the older ones bored by it? I mean are there
When I started college at 17, with all the usual fears and insecurities, I thought I knew myself somewhat well. I soon discovered I had many hard and painful lessons to learn. Aside from the typical guilt and shame of knowing I was gay, there was terrible sadness at the thought I would never have children of my own. I always loved children and grew up in an enormous family where there were always babies and toddlers. I did a lot of babysitting in those days.
So, when I accepted that children
He was in a city far from home, in the kind of bar he visited only when out of town. Something about these kinds of bars excited him, made him feel free to be himself. Other than his nightly visits to the internet, this side of his sexuality was unexplored, for the most part. On the net, he enjoyed watching the young men and getting acquainted with a few in chatrooms. He had never met then in real life, however. Not because he didn't want to, however. He had taken good care of himself, was fit