I M Perfect lady

Tag: criminal

  • Same Opinion Still

    In my book club we are reading Byron Katie's book, "Loving What is". This the first book that told me it was okay to not only accept my reality but it was also okay to move in harmony with what is.

    She writes, "Alcohol is honest and true: It promises to get you drunk, and it does; it promises to make things worse, and it does.  It's always true to its word.  It's a great teacher of integrity.  It doesn't say, "Drink me."  It just sits there, true to itself, being what it is and waiting to do its job."

    She is the one who taught me that Pedophiles rape, fondle, and do sexual things to little children.  She taught me not to argue with that, but to fully accept it.

    In the first weeks of my niece saying that my father abused her, there was total confusion; our family was trying to fit this new definition into their old worlds.  

    It came to me really quickly that we all would have to pick just one of our now two choices; Either he was a Father or a Pedophile, but he couldn't be both.  

    That is exactly what happened, but it was a very slim minority that could see him as a pedophile and then take the steps needed to show that.  Most instead found it within them to keep the father and to glance but not stare at the pedophile ways.

    There is no one in our family who doesn't know he has pedophile ways, but there are some who believe they can keep watch on him, to see that he doesn't molest again.

    He is only doing what he has always done.  He has been the most authentic person in our family…as a pedophile he is doing perfectly his job…he always abuses little girls when give the opportunity.  He never fails.

    As we read and become more familiar with Pedophiles between Penn State and Sheldon Kennedy's story, we can see the timeline, the history and path of integrity these pedophiles have, they stay true to form, but we as the public or the bystanders waver and fail.

    We fail to see what their actions are screaming at us.

    We fail to hear the stories others tell us about them.

    And we fail to act like there is a pedophile in our midst.

    We want so desperately to instead keep our first image, be it true or false, we are the ones who fail reality….NOT reality.

    In reality, in the history of my father, starting with me…he abuses little girls.  My abuse started in the 1960's and he continued to stay true to course and my niece's abuse happened in 2004.  He never failed us.

    We failed him.  We failed to catch his signal…each time we didn't tell, didn't go to the authorities.  We failed to shut him down.  He is doing what pedophiles do.  Just as a murderer kills people, a pedophile sexually molests children.  When you fail to accept or acknowledge that It is you who is wrong not him.  He is showing you who he is…Believe him…as Maya Angelou says.

    My father is a pedophile and most have been acting deaf and blind, pretending not to know know know…

    For if you know know know it, then you will have to begin to change your whole life.  

    My whole life changed from being a daughter to being a victim of his pedophile ways.  If I ignored my abuse, I would not be living an authentic life.

    My authentic life is that I was sexually abused, raped by my father. 

    To ignore my abuse is to be inauthentic to me.

    Some may think that it is unkind to speak of this, to openly discuss what happened, that it taints the man who clothed and fed 14 children, but if I don't speak of it, it taints us all anyway.

    Somehow we believe that the words will wreck the family, tear up a relationship etc and that we can somehow manage to salvage a father daughter relationship.

    Really?  How?  He stopped being a father the moment he raped me and I stopped being a daughter and instead became a victim of incest, of a criminal sexual act.

    My mother even has written to me saying, "I failed you as a mother, but can we not meet then as friends…"

    Really, you just want to switch to a new role?  How?  

    Can we just re-label who we are and go on?

    Can we just slide in place labels that make us feel better so we don't have to be that which we are?

    How can my mother turn from mother to friend?  She will always be my mother.  A mother who knew and did nothing about her pedophile husband, except say she would be vigilant.

    Vigilant about what?  It seems she was the most vigilant about keeping a husband and her marriage. 

    Yesterday it came to me that I have been wanting so desperately for you all to accept reality of many pedophiles being pedophiles in the church, while you all are wanting so desperately wanting to keep 'good christians' there.

    I give up.  Just as I had to accept within my family, that many would not remove the label father, I get it now that you all refuse to change your images of who preaches from the pulpit. 

    You are allowed to keep that image…I am no longer going to tell you to drop it.  Hold it dear, hang on with vigilance to your church being the church of your dreams…It is not my job to change your minds.

    This whole exchange has brought me great clarity.  It wasn't that the Huhta family wasn't worth saving, it was that your mind was incapable of being changed.

    There was nothing a Huhta could do to make you all act any differently; Not the cutest among us or the most articulate or funny, not the blue eyed innocence…it wasn't us, it was always you.

    There literally isn't anything any of us can do about what you think…only you can.

    Inside each of you, you too get to pick….Is he a pedophile or is he just another minister?  You and you alone decide….and you and you alone will reap the consequences of your thoughts.

    How beautiful and kind the Universe is to deliver up to us bloggers, us victims of criminal sexual abuse by members of the FALC, to have another great example of Penn State, where we can see how authority has much to lose if the word got out, that there are members of this organization who are abusing children. 

    I see Don Daavettila as Joe Paterno.

    I see The FALC as Penn State.

    I see that the boys stories are being told….Carl, Jim and Josh.

    I see that the girls stories are being told, Me and Leah.

    I see and I see.

    And yet so many will not see. They want the 'game' of religion to go, they want the 'coaches' to remain someone to look up to.

    We are telling you what is going on and it is up to you to sit in the pews or not.  It is not up to us. We are free.

    Just as it was with my family, it would have been easier if I didn't care, if I didn't give a rats ass about what you all thought.  But, sadly it is your thoughts that keep allowing children to be abused.

    You have active pedophiles doing what active pedophles do, today, right now within your organization.  And there is nothing I can do to change your mind about it…you are the Penn State people who knew and did nothing.

    What I see is active blind and deafness where this subject is concerned…minds convinced against their will are of the same opinion still.  

     

     

  • Total Contradictions…

    There is a difference between suspecting something and actually knowing or reading in plain English what you feared or intuitively felt…but once you read it it doesn’t go away.

    It nestles up closely with the feelings and they become one.

    The truths click together like a magnet and you can’t force them apart. 

    What I now know is that the Christian neighbors who toot their high moral and high value ways are not able to walk the walk of morals and values. 

    Adults in my childhood world crumbled and their character turned to ash…this I felt about 6 years ago… without proof I had felt deep to my bones that they knew and did nothing.  They were no better than my mother.

    Jim Torola’s blog, has an interesting view of the members of the FALC and child sexual abuse, and he shows that my family and neighbors are not unusual, but perhaps this is an ongoing practice, handed down from generation to generation whose legacy are tainted with abuse. http://jimtorola.typepad.com/blog/

    What I too find so telling is the longevity and the multiple families who happened to all deal the same way, like there is an unwritten or unspoken rule, just a knowing…keep it quiet and away from the hands of the police.

    Detective Tom Rosemurgy speaks of what makes his job of getting the pedophiles off the street so difficult.

    “…without somebody with first hand knowledge (a victim) stepping up first, my hands are tied.  Most folks in (or out) of the church aren't too willing or eager to speak on such matters.  And If I try to start there, more often than not, the victims are taken care of with threats before I can speak with them.  I am always more satisfied with results when I can speak to a victim before the predator or the predator's family knows I am out and about.”

    The last line is so haunting…

    It seems literally a miracle that a child would step up and speak out when the whole family and church are trying to keep this away from the police.

    Hear that, they are trying to keep this info away from the law.  And in my case, oh my, did they do a good job.  For forty year they dodged the law.

    Now tell me who all should be sitting in jail???

    The law is simply not the normal course of action for sexual abuse within the FALC.  And it hasn’t been for years and years…. 

    I know this, for No one called the police.  NO One….come on people what is up with that???

    They will use the law for car wrecks, breaking and entering of their homes, but no report is written up when the children are broken into and wrecked, NO one calls the police.

    Am I the only one who can see the insanity of this?

    In my little corner of the world, I would have presumed many things about the good people of my church, I had them with a rock solid moral compasses, with values that were of a higher standard than the run of the mill criminal, now I am no longer sure as to who they are.

    What does it say about you if you are not sharing information about criminal sexual conduct against a child, be it your child or the neighbor’s child, be it a Christian or non believer?  What does it say about your moral compass if you willingly keep this away from the hands of the law???

    Are you not aiding and abetting criminals?

    I have made a general sweep of the congregation of the FALC as being co-conspirators for pedophiles. How they are knowingly hiding them among their pews…by NOT going to the police.  And it wasn't just my family, it is many families through the ages. 

    I do know and have known that the major factor in these sex rings is that the predator is a family member and the families are ‘in good standing’ among the church members and the church is one of ‘high morals and high values’ and this would not sit well to uncover pedophiles within.

    What I had said in the very beginning of this was that I trusted a whore.  She didn’t act or portray anything else.  She was a whore, charged for sex as whore does, but she wasn’t sitting in church on Sunday proclaiming her piety.

    What totally blows my mind is that people who sit in church on Sundays, and then act like criminals.  Who are you? 

    I love ducks that act like a duck, walk like a duck and quack like a duck.

    Which is why I sought out nature… nature always was what you seen….a tree remained a tree no matter what time of the day or day in the week it stayed the same when I looked at it.  I loved its stability…The FALC and its members are total contradictions…  

     IMG_6831

  • Reacted Like Me.

    Today I sat in the office of Detective Tom Rosemurgy, (Rosie to his friends) and we talked about sexual abuse.  Of new information and suspected abusers and how we can help victims share their story and how without their stories, the wheels of justice will not begin turning…and we talked about my father's case and how peculiar it seemed.

    He had my father’s file on his desk or most of it… and inside where pages of little girls stories, and the man they described fits my terror.

    My feelings match their pictures and they are talking about my father.

    I didn’t read this file until a few minutes ago.  

    It is odd to read them, knowing the girls, the house and the visuals they painted, all correctly describing our childhood home, the chairs, the places and clothing my father wore, and then the awful acts he subjected these little girls to.  Years worth of criminal sexual assaults rained upon the neighborhood girls, one after another, year after year, and what is so striking are the adults who know this all along.

    Insane.  Totally criminally INSANE!  

    What strikes me so blatantly horrific is the details of the girls and the knowing of the adults, and the longevity of his run, and then after all these DETAILS and TRUTH are given over to the Detective, the prosecutor who at the time was a member of the FALC, he doesn’t use their cases???

    OH MY GOD does this infuriorate me.

    It is like all these little girls carry my memories and they are left sitting on paper and only one little girl’s makes it to the court of the land. 

    IT is criminal what this prosecutor did to each girl who wrote her memories down.  He should be sitting in jail with Ray Huhta.  And instead both are walking around free as the breeze…while the little girls are left to heal and deal the best we can.

    He raped, masturbated, fondled and had them fondle, he rubbed and touched their privates and them do the same to him…FOR over 35 years.  And when the detective gathers this information, the prosecutor uses just one little girls???

    What in the hell is up with that???

    Here are some of the accounts…just random sentences…fragments of their childhood experiences with my father.

    Chair that spun around,

    Back to microwave,

    Long johns,

    Red nylon long johns,

    Rocking chair by heatrola stove,

    Nice and friendly,

    Easy going,

    Strong,

    Kept my hand on penis,

    Rubbing my privates,

    Won’t let me off his lap,

    Wife in kitchen,

    Other children in room,

    Sunday dinners,

    Father across talking,

    Forced hand on penis,

    Masturbating,

    Raping,

    Wife at church,

    In his bed,

    Wife at hospital having baby,

    Tent with friend,

    Pulling my pants down,

    Friends mother knew,

    Minister told, not believed,

    Child protective services…he’s been under suspicion for 30 years.  Hide in bushes attempt to catch Ray in the act of abusing.

    It is all like a mad mad dream where nothing makes sense and the senseless wins.

    How the voices are ringing out clear as a bell as to who he is and what he has done over 35 years and yet it falls once again upon an adult who acts poorly, the prosecutor so totally dropped the ball on this, and you have to wonder why? 

    To think Ray only served a few weeks in jail is beyond what I can comprehend. And what startles me is that my mother read these same stories and at the end of his trial she drove him to Texas.  Imagine???  How can you read these and not react in revolt or in horror.

    The cry should have been to do what ever it takes to keep him locked up and instead it seemed that so many wanted him free. 

    Our voices on paper meant nothing. 

    Not sure if our trial, (for it seemed like it was a trial for all the girls who wrote a statement,) was unique or is this typical?

    Somehow the response to the words written by the girls seems to not bring forth the action necessary or one that fit the words.  It just seems all wrong.

    The words that should have adults springing into action and becoming fully enraged and setting about to seek justice, did the opposite.

    No real attempt was made or so it seems, just the very bare minimum required, the least of the least…and yet the stories are detailed and stretch over so many years.

    I just don’t get it. 

    Yet, while I always was accused of over reacting, I believe even I under reacted.

    Hindsight it 20/20…and I am not sure I could have convinced not only the prosecutor, my brother and the rest of the family, but it just seems that I missed calculated the amount of repeated abuse heaped on one child.  It would be bad enough if one girl had one incident, but it seems that most had years of abuse. 

    And he gets a few weeks in jail…

    What strikes me the most now, is that for years now I have been criticized for being so dramatic, for over reacting, for not letting it go, etc.  And all I can say is that I certainly wish that others reacted like me.

     

  • Art

    The contrasts in life are incredible and their depths unimaginable, the reach between them are so they do not touch nor do they brush up against each other, two drastically different worlds, yet on the same planet living and breathing in the same time frame.

     

    I had a short Artist Date followed by a conversation reporting more abuse in the FALC’s congregation; more horror of insidious acts perpetrated against children by highly regarded church members.  Tales whose reflection echoes my parents…and a friend’s suicide explained 25 years after it happened.  Swinging from Art to Horror within minutes.

     

    The Artist within me, just moments before had feasted upon colors and fabulously soft textures, from the curly silken softness of alpaca wool to real silk spun by a worm and then dyed by Artist’s hands…my spirit was alive and alert to new things dreaming of how they can be used in an upcoming project…visions of color and me.  I then was plunged into the harsh stark reality of abuse and its long term affects, my Artist disappears and my abused self arises, listening to the details of evil.

     

    The contrast of embracing and working with my Artist self while healing from sexual abuse as well as unhinging myself from a brainwashed mind is equally on the far ends of the spectrum, yet closely related.

     

    It almost seems like my artist self was hijacked by abuse and that religion; so in order to become my most artful self, I have to fully understand from whence I came.

     

    The horror stories of childhood abuse, and how it affected the life afterwards is horrific, but equally is the ‘normal’ presentation of the perpetrators and their warm reception by the folks of the church, it seems more profound.

     

    I told my brother I had more respect for the Klu Klux Klan folks for their agenda was front and center.

     

    Whereas the hierarchy of the church sells an agenda of high morals and values, setting limits on the evils of the world and how their congregations are made to adhere to rules forbidding pretty harmless sins.

     

    Watching of Television, to watching a movie, to nail polish, hair coloring, yet while the circles of abuse grow ever widening, while more and more children are born into the centers of crime, this seems violently insane.

     

    Sexual predators sit on the board and behind the pulpit, and false evils are handed out, while behind the scenes, children face the repressed darkness, alone.

     

    The singing in the pews can never be loud enough or sweet enough to heal the children who have been raped repeatedly, whose brainwashed state leaves them helpless for alternatives, who some find release in suicide or drugs and alcohol.

     

    The face of the church that is presented to the public is like the white sheet the Klu Klux Klan hid behind…  We are all fooled that the sheet is the man/woman instead of what lies behind.

     

    What lies behind is the pile of sins, the unhealed wounds of their own childhood, the eroded brain from too much washing, the unreality of life…who needs the trappings of the church in order to hide.

     

    I have often wondered of the deep-rooted fear that many struggle with about leaving the church, and I may have figured it out.  It isn’t the fear of going to Hell that keeps them there, but the covering of the sheet.

     

    They are too afraid to stand alone outside of the pews of the church.

     

    They need the covering of religion offers.

     

    They need the pretty faces of singing voices.

     

    They need it all to cover up what lies beneath.

     

    And what lies beneath un-addressed is the monster that continues to rape children and do extremely horrific deeds.  And this sheet, they believe, has the magic to bless it all away, that they can literally hid behind its whiteness.

     

    Sadly, it is true.

     

    For no one speaks of the filth underneath, nor do they address it, and haul it into the court of the land.  There are a few lonely voices trying to speak of above the hymns they sing so loudly as to not hear the cries…

     

    I do not know what it will take before their sheets fall once and for all, when the children unite and yank them off, when this vicious insanity will stop. 

     

    I get so incensed with the idea that this is called a ‘church’.

     

    It is the devils playground where children’s lives are sacrificed, where pedophiles reign supreme, and the brainwashed walk their narrow path, unquestioning, unchallenging, and unseeing to their final destination Heaven, to afraid of Hell to stop.  Yet no one tells them they are in Hell.

     

    The swing from Art to the harsh reality of sexual abuse hidden behind the white church…shows the distance I traveled, the valley of death that I traversed to be able to stand and ponder, Art.

     

     

    IMG_6229

     

    Art is the complete opposite of that Hell.
    IMG_6228
    The soul recognizes its worth in the wonder of Art.

     

  • A pocket of Unreality.

    What I think I have been doing in an odd way is by only looking at the criminal, I spared my ‘dad’.

    By focusing so much on the criminal aspects, I negated joining them with my father. I left the father part pushed far away, in a spot where crimes can’t touch him.

    I didn’t want my criminal to intertwine with my dad.

    I didn’t want the combo, the molesting dad.
    I wanted the criminal called Ray.

    This is a reverse of what I did as a child.

    The time has come to join the two together and make them one, a criminal dad.

    Then I become the daughter that he hurt.

    Not just a random girl, and he not a random man.

    The two parts merge as one; the disassociation now associates with both sides of the same mirror, no more trickery.

    I didn’t know that I had slipped the dad in a special spot, and only focused on the criminal, that I had still kept them separated inside.
    In my heart of hearts, in the fiber of my being I had separated them and never spoke of dad crime, just Ray crime.

    This is incredible to me that I had flipped and exchanged into my mental hiding spot, a dad.

    I hadn’t brought them together inside of me for reconciliation.

    Which is why in order to write a letter they will become one.

    A criminal dad.

    Even resorting to his given name or using the word father, removing the familiar comfortable name while addressing his crimes kept the dad safe inside.

    I would not have known that I was hanging on to a dad inside, that I immediately changed his name when the crime came in, yet there is no way to quickly alter the mind’s beliefs and thoughts attached to him.

    Now the time has come to drop the divider and let them hook up together.

    A little girl sits with a criminal dad; there is no separation or pretend space he can sit in, nor I.

    The restraining letter should have been addressed to my mom accomplice.

    What I failed to realize is I was separating them inside by addressing them by their given names, so that I wasn’t saying my mom did this or my dad did that…I was making my familiar into strangers for the crimes.

    This is unreal to me that I protected the child in me by not joining the two together, reversed from my childhood days, but nonetheless kept them separated.

    Perhaps a letter addressed to Mom and Dad is what is needed, to speak my peace now standing in a spot where there is no veil between the roles of mom and dad and criminal and accomplice.

    I never knew that you could do reverse disassociation, switching the good for bad or the bad for good, that the mechanism worked both ways.

    A pocket of unreality. Where real could hide and not be seen by me.