Many years ago, I learned German and was eventually able to work in Germany over summer break. For the last 10 years I have spent 1-2 months working in Essen, Germany and except the first couple of years, when I was still struggling with properly understanding the language, there hasn’t been one year when I haven’t heard of a sexual scandal involving priests of the Catholic Church. I am not Catholic, but in Germany, I worked for a foster home and retirement home complex owned by a pro-catholic organization, where these cases were heavily debated by the employees. I have heard many stories as I worked there, on TV, or told by my co-workers but I cannot testify to their authenticity. The story that I want to talk about is one told to me by a retired Catholic priest that would occasionally drop by for dinner and a chat. During our rare but lengthy conversations, we debated the problem of sexual abuse within the church and what he told me was shocking at the time. I come from an Orthodox…
The day you broke me wasn't the day you attacked me. The day you broke me wasn't the days, weeks or months that followed. The day you broke me wasn't even the hours upon hours I spent crying in my shower. The day you broke me was far worse than any of that... and I can't rid myself of that feeling. I can't take back how small, scared, or broken I felt the minute you came strolling back into my life as if nothing was wrong. As if you had never done all of those horrible things... and I was just supposed to be okay with it. You came, and everyone welcomed you back as a hero, applauded coming home victorious; while I had to sit and watch in fear. While they all saw the prodigal son returning home, I prayed - clamping my eyes shut, afraid to peer into yours. Afraid what I would see would be the same as that day. When I finally worked up the courage to open my eyes once again, even from across the room, I felt the ice in your stare; and my fear returned. I was frozen in my place; I couldn't…
Score: 1.07
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