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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Sunday, September 20, 2015

Have to get back to this story have a file half finished, it is LOOONG and coming soon but

i have this weird malaise, so tired, pain everywhere, wonder if others in our little crime victim universe are having same experience  as Pope arrives and corporate media goes gaga. mind-body connections are not easy to control even if you are conscious they are going on. Grateful for our times. Imagine what being shut in and sick was like before Netflix et al...

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Dang PTSD. I didn't make the stuff happen, I didn't want it to happen, I just get to live with the dang repercussions the rest of my life.

So glad I can finally type again, not great, with this cast on i have to be careful, but typing, so I can write about what happened when I fell and broke my wrist.

I had a PTSD reaction and I've spent the past week trying to figure out why.  It finally hit me that the trauma of breaking a bone, and the connection of the nervous system to everything in your body, could have triggered the emotional episode I had.

I was alone when I fell and had no one to call for help.  My involuntary isolation has been dominant in my life now for so long, then to have this experience, it made the fall so much worse to be alone and have no one to call for help.

So when I went outside next day in my homemade splint and ran into a neighbor, one who I thought was becoming a friend, and he told me that the evening before people from the building had gathered around the barbecue and it had turned into a spontaneous party.  This while I had been in my room in tears after going out and spending four hours out at a place and not talking to one person. (My apartment is the only one that does not face the front, so I could not see from my window that a party had developed.)

I freaked.  It became a situation where they were all against me. 

And it ticked off a PTSD episode that lasted a couple days running and running this stuff in my head about me being left out of things.

I'm trying to find the connection.

The woman who stole all that money from my dad, and probably caused his death, used that technique.  She kept the rest of us out.  Twice lizzie and I were packed to go visit and we'd get these mysterious phone calls from her saying, "Don’t come," for some illogical reason that I had no way to contradict.  I later found out she did the same thing to my sister when she planned to come visit. 

Then after his death when she was determined to keep me from finding out what she did, she had said to me, "I have now joined the rest of the family and become a member of the I Hate Kay Club."  She repeated that then to me several times.  "the I Hate Kay Club" convincing me that everyone in my family was in the club with her. 

When I start to tell people the story of my life, I see their eyes glaze over when I get to item two or three.  They stop believing me.  I probably wouldn't believe me either.  What kind of karma do I have that I've had decades - DECADES - of bad experiences, each of which would make a Lifetime two-hour movie on its own.  People don’t believe this much can happen to one person, but

I was raped by a priest when I was five years old. He dumped my sister when she turned nine and got too old and he started on me. He got to us by banging my mother. The whole sequence of events apparently skewed my life and indirectly my whole family. 

Go figure

For example, thinking about going to the place in story below for help when it is connected to an Archdiocese with all those buildings and priests walking around, one a molesting one - 

Got Me Sexually Aroused.  

Clergy abuse victim, abuser want to create resource hub

ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) - A woman who was molested by a nun is teaming up with a priest convicted of sexual misconduct to create a resource hub for victims of sexual abuse.
The St. Paul Pioneer Press reports (http://bit.ly/1Nz5vQW ) Susan Pavlak and Gil Gustafson are raising funds with hopes of buying the chancery building of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis. The building has been assessed at $6 million and is on the market as part of the archdiocese bankruptcy proceedings.

That's how screwed up I was in the beginning, still am, and will always be.
Kay Ebeling
Producer, City of Angels Blog
The City of Angels Is Everywhere

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Worst part about being a pedophile priest victim seeking justice. (More from 2013 journal, Chicago)

Read a quote in a news story about St. Peter Damian Church from 2002, when two former priests at my perp parish, were removed from ministry. 

The parishioner says, ‘It hasn’t shaken my faith,’ or something to that effect.  Here I am eleven years later reading that in the archive at Bishop Accountability thinking, ‘Good for the parishioner’ then I realize, that's the worst part about being a pedophile priest victim seeking justice.

The bad guys are connected to the parishioners at way too high a level for me to reach them from down here on the ground. That's why it did not work when I went to the Church here trying to find other victims of Father Horne. 

Even I don't want to interfere with a person’s faith. 

That one small town church housed three pedophile priests, including my perp Father Horne-y, the parish founder.  The 2002 article was the one and only time that Bartlett parish outside Chicago had been in a pedophile priest news story, when Bernardin removed 20(?) priests all at once in one week.

Makes me so conflicted myself, can’t imagine how conflicted it would make a person who was inside the bubble of prayer and total belief when confronted suddenly with the harsh truth of pedophile priests. 

So now they all get to go on with their faith, in bliss, while I'm on the outside with no foundation at all.  

To me Catholics are attractive zombies. I wish I could be one of them.  That rote repetition of gospel twisted in with thousand year old religious tract seems like something I too would like to do.

But I can’t. 

"The ones who seem not to be counter agents are actually the ones who are counter agents. Or both!" (Quote found in 2013 journal to be used in future post on how paranoid I got doing CofA Blog)

Perennial Other-Ness

More Stuff Found in Old Journal

January 22, 2013

Once again my strangeness compared to the rest of the world is rubbed in my face by one of my loving neighbors. 

I'm at Mikey’s house having a smoke and he comments that I seem to be a person who has been through a lot. Out of my mouth pops the story of when I was raped by nine Shasta Indians and left for dead in the woods on their Northern California reservation in 1970.

About halfway through my story I realize that the other person in the room, Mike’s latest flame, has very blank eyes as she stares out at me from behind thick glasses. Still I feel a need to keep talking, so I continue the story. I was a na├»ve and entitled upper class hippie girl who hitchhiked to an Indian reservation, camped by their river, and swam in the nude in the middle of the day.  I ended up being gang banged by nine drunk Natives one night. 

It was my fault, I say out loud, trying to elicit some feeling from my listeners but now both Mike and Flame are just staring at me.  I want to add that I finally escaped the Indians and made my way down to Highway Five where I was picked up by a couple from Oregon, then, continuing my total sexual dysfunction, I ended up in bed with the husband, while I was staying at their home recuperating from the gang rape by nine drunk Indians.  When I saw the blank looks on their faces, I realized I had to leave out that part of the story. 

Everything about me is so way out there, no wonder I have only a handful of persons who I can even talk to now as I near age sixty-five.  
Posted by Kay Ebeling
Producer, City of Angels Blog
The City of Angels is Everywhere

Post Note: 

The sexual dysfunction was the result of being molested by a priest when I was five years old. I write these posts today to document how these crimes by the Catholic Church who kept these men in office, messed with the lives of victims like me.

Thing is, when the Indians entered my camp site, at first I wanted to do it.