The Face of Suicide II
One of the major problems with priest rape victims is our ability to trust. As I stated before, I grew up in the Roman Catholic Church. To me a priest, nun or any other official of the RCC were god to us. It was as if god himself was talking to us through them. You also obeyed these priests, nuns and church leaders without question or backtalk. They wanted you to do something you did it immediately without question. If you argued with the priest or the nun, then you normally found out even when they were wrong, you just allowed them to be right if you know what I mean.
Because of this, I was truly unable to trust anyone, especially in any relationship I found myself into. With the mother of my first son, she was incredibly abusive. That is something else I have learned in therapy. We sort of attract these kinds of people into our lives because we believe these are the kinds of people we only deserve to have in our lives.
We broke up because she smashed me in the face with a cordless phone so hard she cracked the casing of the phone. I got up and slapped her in the face, the first time I had ever hit a woman in my whole life. I became totally distraught. That night was the end for us. After we broke up the nightmares started coming back from the priest. My life really started going to hell in a handbasket. The old tapes came back. I was evil. I deserved this. God hated me therefor I hated god. It was a viscous cycle of “evil” return. I deserved this because the priest called me an evil child, a child of the devil. That I disobeyed god’s commandments about my parents and therefor for the rest of my life I would be punished for it.
December 17th, 1991 was one night in which I will never forget. The next day was my birthday. I missed my son so much. I had not seen him in months. His mother and maternal grandmother were making my life a living hell. I started drinking that morning almost as soon as I got up. I then went to take care of the guy I was working with who was a paraplegic. I stole all of his darvocets and some other pill I knew he used to stop the pain he was going through.
I went to a restaurant/bar to have what I believed would be my last meal. Fried shrimp, french fries and drank six Molsons. I ran into a friend outside the bar and we went to toke a joint. He told me he would stop by tomorrow and we would do something but I believe I told him that I would not be around after tomorrow, that this was my last night on earth and told him good bye.
On my walk home all the old evil tapes kept running in my head. I was actually looking for a reason for me to continue living but I couldn’t. I came to the conclusion the priest was right all along. I was evil, a child of the devil. No matter what I did to correct this, I would always be evil. I would always lose what I love the most and my son to me was my life, my will to live. It finally came to me that he would never be in my life because god did not want my evil in his life.
I got home and I lined up all the pills. I also poured me a shot of Crown Royal. I remember taking each pill. I looked at each of them before I popped them into my mouth. I would tell each pill to do their work. I remember taking almost all of them. I drank another shot and waited for the pills to take their effect. About a half an hour later I started taking the last ones I had because I had not gone to sleep yet. All of a sudden I heard a knock on the door and it was two police officers. My friend had called the cops because he was worried about me. I saw the cops and I walked over, took down the picture of my son and ran into what would have been his bedroom. I know I was sitting there crying my eyes out hugging the picture screaming how I wanted to just be allowed to die. That I was evil and I did not deserve to live. The police were incredible though. They waited til I semi-passed out, picked me up and bought me down to the waiting ambulance. I remember they had to walk me down the steps because the gurney would not fit up the stairs. As I was laid down on the gurney I remember looking up and seeing the mother of my sons police officer uncle and I thought he was laughing at me being a failure.
I woke up in the ICU. My stomach had been pumped out from all the pills I had swallowed. When I talked to the psychiatrist I did not tell him that what happened with priest was more the catalyst for what I had done than anything else, but I just told him this was all about my son. They gave me a choice. Either I check myself in or they would do what is called a Baker Act on me so I checked myself in because then I could check myself out whenever I wished to. I stayed til almost new years in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. I knew the whole time as soon as they let me out I would do my best to kill myself again. I played their game just so they would let me out.
About three days after they let me out I purchased a whole bunch of Valiums. I bought 10 val 10 grams and 3 val 15 mg. I also bought a pint of smirnoffs 100 proof vodka. I bought a small bag of pot too. I went to the store across the street and bought me my last dinner. I made me a meat loaf but did not eat it. I had already drank the pint of vodka and went and bought another pint. I then got home, took out a highball glass, put all the Valiums into the glass and poured vodka over it, letting it dissolve all the pills. I then drank it down in one drink. There was a little sediment left in the glass so I poured some more vodka into it, swirled it around and drank it down.
It did not take long for it to start to take effect. Yet there was a knock on my door. This time it was Angie, a female friend of mine. I do not remember much from that night, except for what she told me about a week later.
She told me she felt she urgently needed to come to my place, that something was terribly wrong. She said when she got to my place, I was almost gone then. She said I was crying and screaming how evil I was and how I just wanted to die. She told me I talked about the priest, how he was right and I was a child of the devil. That no matter what my life was going to be crap so just let me die. When she bought up my son as the biggest reason to live, she told me that he was not my son cause the devil would not have such a good son as he was.
She told me I passed out numerous times, but she would bring me to the shower, turn it on ice cold and toss me in. At one point I got so angry with her interference that I slammed my head on the coffee table as hard as I could so apparently I could split my head open. She said I ran to the kitchen to get a knife but she knocked it out of my hand.
The next day I woke up on the couch, still alive. Angie was gone.
To this day I still cannot understand why I am still alive. I should be dead. The first pill suicide episode should have killed me but it did not. The second should have definitely killed me, but Angie the Angel showed up. Many other times I have attempted suicide should have killed me but did not. I remember one time attempting to hang myself and the damn rope breaking.
Why am I still here? I have come to realize that it is because I must be here. I must stand up and take back the life this priest stole from me. That I must learn that what this priest drilled into my young head is an out and out lie. I am NOT EVIL, I am NOT a child of the devil. This priest put that into my head and it does not belong there.
The way I look at it now is, these perverted priests do this so we victims would in fact eventually kill ourselves. They in effect are murderers in my book. Any of their victims commit suicide because of these perverted priests actions are just as guilty of murder as if they pulled the trigger or fed the pills to their victims themselves. So is the Papal Bullshitter, his High Unholiness the Pope and all those who covered this up. All of these victims deaths are on your hands, heads and souls. YOUR actions killed these people.
I am one of the lucky ones. By all rights I should be dead. My life was saved for some reason. No, to me it was not god, jesus christ or any of that bullshit that saved my life. It was the Universe and the Gods and Goddesses of Old. It was my Godmother who continues to watch over me from the other side. I am here for a reason. To take back my life, to take back my soul, to take back my mind and heart, from this evil priest, his perverted bosses and most especially to reclaim that which was stolen from me from this perverted church and it’s leaders.
Posted on March 18, 2012, in Christianity, Guilt, Hatred, Hell, Nightmares, Religion, Roman Catholic Church, Roman Catholic Church Sex Abuse, Shame, suicide and tagged Frank J LaFerriere, Frank Laferriere, religion, roman catholic church, St Thomas More, St Thomas More Durham NH, St Thomas More Parish, suicide. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.