Easter… A holiday that, for Christians, is centred around the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Jesus as a Phoenix: destroyed, rebuilt.
For survivors of sexual assault and abuse, it is the same process. A world is shattered irreparably, the fragments jagged, hands bloody as they try to piece it all back together into the semblance of strength. It becomes a war with the self to try and stay afloat, when memories press upon you like perhaps the body of a violator. There are wounds on the outside, but they are nothing compared to the ragged scar tissue in the psyche. Don’t cry. People don’t want to know. People don’t want to hear.
And when your violator is a representative of a faith that you feel has abandoned you in your darkest hour, the spirit is shattered further. The denial and dismissal by the highest powers is just the icing on the toxic cake.
How long must we sing this song? How hard is it to offer a simple apology? Why do we permit rampant abuses to continue due to systemic ignorance? If God made us – and made us imperfect – then why deny humanity’s failings?
Day 206: Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2