Speaking of Suicide...

When a sexual abuse victim commits suicide, people pay attention.  Funny, because 24 hours ago, they didn't.

You feel helpless and enraged.  No one cares, even the people who listen.  No one really knows, or really cares.

You start to hate them all. 

No one can help you... no one can stop the pain and no one can fix the problem.

And the bastard goes on, living his pathetic life, the ultimate coward.

When you want to believe

I want to believe that the Bishop is a good man.  A man who cares about children first of all.

But I fear he cares about peace more than anything.

A peace that is not a just peace-

is no peace at all.

If

If a man, a grown man, covered your young daughter's face in kisses and whispered he loved her like a father, then kissed her again,

what would you do?

Why do you pray

I pray.

Every day.

It's not the Church I hate.  It's not God.  It's not priests.

It's lies. 

I am a faithful daughter of the Church.  How difficult to look at one's own pain and admit that the first one hurt has been God.

His suffering is greatest.  He isn't happy with men who lie.  God is always on the side of truth.

Truth.

"Justice can't serve everyone."

I told them.  I told the people I ought. 

A few years too late it seems.

Damn. 

I write when I must.  When I must.  And I wish someone would listen.  I wish someone could make the world a right place.  An honest place.  People who ought to uphold the truth instead lie; people who ought to die in defense of the innocent, instead rob the innocent of their innocence.

Priests should never lie. 

I told who I ought and they told me:

"Justice can't serve everyone."

What a nice way for the Church to say, "Fuck off."