He Built His Life into an Enchanting Fairytale Castle (48th Post)

Dear Reader, be advised, this Post discusses subject matter that may be unsettling for you to read. The Post deals with sexual assault. If while reading this Post you become unsettled, please cease reading, close your device, take care of yourself, and/or seek out your support systems. Throughout my childhood, I experience and/or witnessed traumatic events. Consequently, in addition to undiagnosed TBI, unbeknownst to me, due to the traumatic events, I developed Post Traumatic Disorder. Both PTSD and the TBI negatively impacted my developmental stages and personality. PTSD and TBI also severely complicated my attempts to solve the puzzle of me. Please keep in mind the events in this Post took place in the early 1960s. At that time PTSD and TBI were hidden phenomena.

Growing up I knew my strange and challenging undiagnosed TBI symptoms were detrimentally impacting my daily existence, sense of self, and relationships. What I did not know was like Rob, (Dear Reader see previous post), I had undiagnosed PTSD. Unknowingly, I had followed in his footsteps and struggled with my past trauma constantly invading my present experiences. 

For example, my first boy crush, Michael, happened in 8th grade. I met him at the catholic school I had attended. Michael and I had a mutual attraction for each other. And, as a result, we began spending time together. However, regarding our now public relationship, the school it turned out, would have none of it.

Micheal came from a large catholic Irish family. Unbeknownst to me, he had been designated as “the son whose destiny had been to become a priest.”  When the nuns and priests learned of our budding relationship, their misogynic attitudes raised their ugly heads, Later I learned, at some point, Micheal began to rebel against his pre-planned destiny. The nuns and priests targeted me as the ‘femme fatale” who inflamed his defiance. 

The truth was, whenever Micheal and I were together, he had never shared his doubts with me. Neither of us ever suspected the church was plotting against us. We were just normal kids doing normal developmental stages of life stuff. One afternoon, at school, the principal - a nun - requested I meet with her in her office. Being that I had been sitting in class taking notes during a lecture, I was puzzled and concerned as to why the principal wanted to see me. To the best of my knowledge, I had done nothing wrong at school. Upon my arrival, I immediately noticed the nun was in a state of agitation. She had said she knew I liked Michael. She then went on a rant and stated I had been an evil influence on him. Once in a calmer state, she directed me to go immediately to the rectory, as a priest had been waiting to speak to me there.

 All alone and filled with dread of the unknown I slowly walked to the rectory. I felt bewildered and confused. I had no words to express or even find my feelings. I felt like I was in some terrible nightmare and actually prayed I would wake up. Once at the 

rectory, I was directed to the “Inquisitor’s” office. My own personal Salem Witch Trial had begun. I felt abandoned by the whole world. As I walked into the priest’s office I was perplexed by his presentation, so much so my fear had morphed into curiosity. My parents rarely drank and had forbad my sisters and me from attending any of the neighborhood parties. Therefore at that point in time, I had never seen a drunk adult.

 The priest’s face was bright red, his eyes bloodshot, and he was unsteady in his movements, and slurred some of his words. I concluded he must be physically sick. He accused me of ruining Micheal’s life. He called me a prostitute. Alarmed, I told him Michael and I had not even kissed - we did nothing wrong!  He commanded me to stay away from Michael. He said if I did not I would burn in hell. My mind and body felt frozen. I wanted to run away, but, could not move. My heart was racing so fast I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my chest. Suddenly, this deranged demon stopped yelling at me. The man got up from behind his desk. He staggered towards me. I unfroze enough to cringe in fear. I thought he was going to hit me - just like the nuns always did. 

However, it was far worse than being hit, he molested me. He was a predator priest. Darkness had taken over my mind. To this day I have no memories of leaving that dungeon of hell. I do not remember going back to class, walking home from school….. anything for many days after the physical and emotional trauma. I did not know he had just ruined my spirit, heart, and how I would go on to live my life. All I knew was I felt damaged and numb from the neck down.

I had no one to tell. And if by some miracle I did - I would not of known how to tell them. It was the 60’s. I knew some things about how the world worked at that time. Women were not equal. And it had been well known “this is just what men do.” “It was always the women’s fault.” I knew telling would just make it worse….for me.  “I was just a girl.’

I did what most victims of trauma by men do. I buried the heartbreaking pain deep - very deep - inside me. By that time in my life, I also knew how to play the “let’s pretend game. I was good at it. I had come to believe there are no white knights in the world of men. Micheal and I did as we were told and stayed away from each other. 

At the end of 8th grade, to my great dismay, I could not convince my parents to let me attend public high school. Instead, I was forced to attend a catholic high school. More pretending entered my life. The church meant nothing to me. I lived for the day when I would be 18 and free to walk away from the church. For 9th grade, Michael was sent to the seminary. Another fairytale hits the dust and evil wins.

By the end of 10th grade, I had FINALLY convinced my parents to let me go to public school. My life changed 180 degrees for the better. I also stopped going to church. For the first time in a long time, I was happy…freedom is just the best feeling ever!  I still had no feeling from the neck down, however, I had learned how to ignore any traces of the traumatic event. Near the end of my now rocking senior year in high school, one late afternoon, I was home alone. There was a knock at the front door. When I opened the door, to my complete surprise there stood Michael. 

I was stunned to see him, and, stunned that he was wearing clothes of the same style he wore in 8th grade. For a moment I wondered - had time really passed? I was speechless and just stood and stared at him. The first thing he said was that he had left the seminary and was never going back. He said his family relented about his destiny,

He said he had had an emotional breakdown. I knew my parents would be coming home from work soon. I sensed something was deeply amiss and thought it would be safer for Micheal - and me- to talk elsewhere. We went to a nearby park. In the shelter of nature and a nearly empty park, Michael shared a very horrifying and tragic story of his existence at the seminary. I listened to one traumatic event after another. His story is his not mine to tell.  

The story was hard to hear, however, honestly, it was not at all hard for me to believe after my 10-year experiences with the catholic church. After he finished talking I was filled with rage and felt so broken-hearted about and for him. Micheal calmed my distress by reassuring me his therapy and other support were helping him to resolve the trauma and rebuild his life. Alas, it was the 60s and no one confronted the church. In later years, magazines and newspapers would run articles about the mass exodus of people from the catholic church. I had been more than pleased to hear about the migration. Tragically and shamefully, even today the church resists holding predator nuns and priests responsible. 

Michael did the hard work one always encounters in therapy, and as a result, he now has a happily-ever-after fairytale life. He resolved his trauma and rebuilt his life into an enchanting fairytale castle. He married an amazing woman. Together they raised three wonderful children. He has had several very successful careers. He is such a good person with a very good heart. He works to bring justice to the people and places where justice does not exist. I am so happy for him and feel proud and blessed to call him my friend. 

Many years later, when trauma treatment was invented, I too resolved my PTSD. I only wish PTSD and treatment of traumas had been invented before my first serious relationship that began the night after I graduated high school in 1969.