I lived with PTSD for 40 years, after molestation by a Catholic priest at age five. Read my story as I write it here through 2015.

This is a True Story

**See the R-Rated Version of This Story at CofA16**
Read ongoing coverage of pedophile priest crisis at CofA12
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Thursday, May 1, 2014

Pt3: That Spider Bite Could have Killed Me

Here is the rest of it, all copy and pasted from a 2012 journal:

(Below is Part 3, Part 2 is here and Part 1 is here ) 

 WV backyard 2012
For a small town in West Virginia, Berkeley Springs was really pretty cool.  And since my only access to food was the organic grocery store, I started to eat a lot healthier while I lived there, well, there was also a Seven Eleven that sold alcohol, so I did not have to take healthiness to too much of an extreme. 

Somewhere in that period when I stopped raging at the trees and started listening to them, and I realized that my own temperament was main cause of how bad I felt, somewhere in the middle of all that, I started healing. 

Now today, I don't give a damn.  Now I can tell my story objectively because I don't expect anything but greed and manipulation from the Catholic Church, and I don't expect anything but distrust and misplaced resentment from people in the pedophile priest “survivor community.”  I don't expect anyone to even believe me. 

I don't give a damn, I'm telling my story. 

After I survived the spider bite, I started getting diarrhea and these weird rashes.  One time I found the building manager in my room leaning over my computer.

Mailboxes for the building were in the lobby right outside the manager’s door, in unlocked containers.  One month my paycheck disappeared from my mailbox and reappeared three weeks later.  Lucky for me I'm a money manager and was still able to pay the rent.  The landlord appeared surprised when I paid it. 

Another time I opened my door and a West Virginia state trooper was standing there asking if it was true that I had threatened to burn down the building. 

Soon after I moved in, an electrician had a job that had to be done, which placed him in a position along the wall near the roof with a perfect beeline view into my living room where I was writing at my computer with the screen facing him. 

But then the weirdest part of all

That guy who was supposed to pick me up in West Virginia and take me to Chicago but instead disappeared and his calls went to voicemail for more than a month leaving me stranded there.  It's an interesting story how he entered my life and the role he played in this whole scheme, which will be detailed in an upcoming Chapter of Faster Than the Speed of Life.   

In 2011, I was left on my own in a small town in Appalachia with no one to call or talk to.  I’d attempt conversations with my neighbors, but face it, people from L.A. aren't even welcome when they move to Portland, Oregon, so you can imagine how we're received in small town Appalachia. 

So there I was


Oh God, I wish I had never stumbled onto my own crime experience and never filled my head with this garbage.  Now I don't know what to do with it all.  The pedophile priest justice “movement leaders” have siphoned me out, in keeping with their work to rescue the church first and foremost, the wellbeing of pedophile priest victims being just their public image, not their real agenda. 

I read now about a national demonstration going on tomorrow to protest the beatification of John Paul the Second and I'm thinking, who gives a flying fugazi if he’s named a saint.  None of that is real, it's only the diehard Catholics who even care if he’s named a saint or not. 

(Update 2014: Why don't their protests demand the bishops be indicted? What happened to the International Criminal Court filing in The Hague?)

There they are in the news all the time, the diehard Catholics who run our “survivor movement” now heading to cities across the country to agitate churchgoers as they're coming out of Mass, claiming to represent the hundred thousand pedophile priest victims to whom they never speak. 

I'm so cut off from everyone.  And my head’s filled with this garbage, and no good has resulted in my life from any of this.  I'm just walking around my head filled with garbage.  
That's it for Spider Bite, more Faster Than the Speed of Life, here plus the R-Rated version at CofA 16, coming soon.  

POST SCRIPT 2014: I know now they used SNAP to learn everything they could about pedophile priest victims, as well as control us, and manage the message. 
Please click my PayPal button with Hive Fives as my story is my only asset.
CUT paragraphs, more to come on all this: 

Let me take a moment to describe Arianna (not her real name), my friend who was supposed to put me up for a few months and instead dropped me off at the antique rooming house in West Virginia.  She was shorter than I am and I'm not five foot two.  She was wider than I am as well, but somehow on her it looked better.  She had a quality that was both regal and country funky. 

In the years since the L.A. settlement she’d spent lots of cash on herself so her skin was perfect and she had nice new dental implants.  The way her hair dragged down long way past her waist gave her a pixie quality, especially if she was a little drunk and happy walking alongside a guy, as if her feet weren't quite touching the ground.


To put it simply.  The Catholic Church, once they realized what a potential threat City of Angels Blog could be around mid-2008, went into full tilt boogie putting people in my life, tapping my phone, messing with my head, messing with my daughter’s life, and when I still would not stop blogging, getting me stranded in a small town in Appalachia for a year.  Still I found my way up to Chicago in summer 2012, where they were Not going to let me get anything done either.  So I came home.

My Favorite, A Note that shows up often in my journals:

If you want people to think you are crazy, tell them you're under attack by agents from the Vatican. In my case, it was true. 

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