Thursday, October 30, 2014

Being Tossed Under The Bus

Thursday, October 30, 2014


Yesterday was a memorable day.  I had a major breakthrough.  I also experienced a major letdown.  What did the two experiences have in common?  They both had an implicit theme of trust as subtext.  The Catholic Church came through for me in a big way.  And my family of origin did not.  So I experienced something of a healing.  And I also experienced something of a re-wounding.

To understand what the betrayal of your trust can feel like I invite you to read an article about the issue of police corruption.  It can be found on the Politico website here.  Frank Serpico, a former New York City police detective, recounts a horrific trauma from his own life that took place in the line of duty.  Who ultimately came to his aid?  It wasn't his fellow officers.  Not only did they not call for assistance (other police officers) they didn't even call for an ambulance.  The person who may ultimately be realistically credited with saving Serpico's life was, according to Serpico's own recounting, an old Hispanic man.

According to Serpico no investigation was done regarding the failure of his police officer colleagues to provide him back-up let alone call for medical assistance to prevent him from possibly losing his life.  Serpico is now 78 years old.  He still carries bullet fragments in his head from the incident that could easily have claimed his life more than forty years ago.  Some might consider him one of the 'lucky' members of that population of people who have experienced the horror that can result when others fail to come to your aid.  He actually survived an experience of trauma and what any objective person could realistically call police misconduct.

Police misconduct strikes a special spot within me.  Why?  Because I was indirectly (and yet profoundly) impacted by police corruption.  As I have recounted elsewhere here in my blog I nearly lost my father to the horror of attempted murder when I was an eight-year old boy.  And the trauma of this horrifying event was further compounded when my stepmother was never prosecuted for attempted murder.  And this failure of justice was intimately connected to corruption in the local municipal police department.  Only in the most recent year of my life did I come to fully consciously recall the terrifying worry and fear that filled up my mind for a long time: I was skeptical I would live to the age of nine.  For those of you new to reading my blog you can see how I focused on that summer of 1982 during this past summer.  Thirty-two years may have passed but I am still working through what that time in my childhood did to my sense of self.  Just like the story of Frank Serpico I felt nobody had my own back.  This trauma became the source of much of my cynicism and skepticism about the value of entrusting my safety in others.


Yesterday, for better or worse, I confronted some of my family of origin regarding some of what I endured when I was a kid.  And what I referenced in that communication isn't even listed in what I have recounted above.  Instead I referenced the issue of volatility with my father.  I'm convinced some of my own father's difficulties in expressing anger or frustration in a healthy way is due to the fact that (as I understand it) his own father did not model such skill very well (if at all?).  Like many a teenager I had my moments when I engaged in a war of wills with my father.  But my father's anger could be so off-putting.  And so yesterday I referenced a time when my father had been genuinely verbally abusive.  And now, years later, I can't even recall what provoked his upset.  But the what of the matter is not so important anyhow.

I made my recounting yesterday using the medium of e-mail.  The response from one of my uncles was swift and blunt.  I didn't even open the full e-mail.  The first line of his response which was visible in my in-box made it clear what the nature of his response was.  The quality of his response was the same it has been previously.  His response was suffused with anger.  As has happened before he has refused to engage with me in any authentic discussion whatsoever regarding the issues of past abuse and trauma I experienced.

My question as to how such good Catholic people can simultaneously play silent witness to such needless and preventable suffering thus continues to go unanswered.  That is nothing new.  What is new is that I will no longer tolerate it.  If my questions are to go forever unanswered and my queries even met with blistering anger and even rage then I will take the business of my life elsewhere.  It saddens me immensely to do this.  But then again what should I do when members of my family of origin will not accord me the dignity of compassionate listening devoid of defensiveness and reactivity?

......

I am convinced nearly all of my cousins (in my father's family) have no idea what I endured.  And why should they?  It would not have been a healthy choice for my father's siblings to tell their own children about the horror my father endured...and which I involuntarily underwent with him.  Scaring children with such frightening and true tales isn't a good thing to do.  And yet I was caught in the middle.  I felt I was metaphorically tossed under the bus.

......

I find corruption so incredibly sad because its impact can be so far and wide.  Here I am a grown man some thirty years after these horrors came to pass and I still am working out the impact of this trauma in my own therapy.  I am cleaning up the psychic trauma that I experienced due to the bad choices of others.  And those bad choices were made by members of my family as well as institutions such as law enforcement.  I learned very early on just how fallible human beings can be.

I am convinced my father and his siblings will never substantially change their perspective on how to live and how to deal with trauma, abuse and other horrifying issues.  I chose to part ways and not spend my time among those who would live in such a way.  In my opinion it is deeply irresponsible to ignore such deep suffering in your own family.  I also believe it isn't ethical.  And I certainly don't believe it aligns with those who are truly following the teachings of Jesus Christ.

It wasn't until my forties that I began to find my own voice.  That is better late than never.

......

And yet yesterday was also an amazing and healing day.  I allowed myself to trust and reach out to an institution I have previously had a mixed experience of.  I found help from the Basilica of St. Mary.  And this would never have happened if I had not asked for help.

If you are suffering there just might be a way out of it.  Don't give up!  You may be going through something profoundly painful.  Many humans do.  But there may be a solution to what ails you.  Don't ever give up!  And remember to enjoy the sunshine the next time the sun shines on your face.  The sun lit up my face once while I was writing this entry.  It was a lovely reminder that warmth and love can be found.  It's learning to believe this is indeed true that can be so difficult.


Post Script

Fifty Day Challenge, Day #35

Healthy activities for my day:

  • I maintained my focus on writing despite recent significant levels of stress
  • I decided to finally and decisively walk away from trying to resolve issues I have with certain members of my family of origin by attempting to engage them in conversation
  • I went to the YMCA and exercised

















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I invite you to accompany me as I document my own journey of healing. My blog is designed to offer inspiration and solace to others. If you find it of value I welcome you to share it with others. Aloha!