This is not like any of my other stories. its about abuse and consequences and about a life of one man. it can be classes as no-sex, however abuse with consequences

I was finished with De La Salle and in fact my childhood and teenage days. It was a weird feeling. I would leave Waterford where I was an outcast and constantly felt inferior to others. I would now be independent of my family. I was on my own and the world was waiting for me. The question is what world? Ever since I was 10, I heard that there was no place for my generation in the world. We would never be employed and things would cost so much? I was an optimist, as I figured I could survive Waterford, I could survive anything!

Still, I had to ask myself was joining religious life just being safe. I did a lot of contemplating. My grades at school meant that I could really do what I wanted. I got a letter from a journalist school offering me a place. I forgot I even applied. I was so overjoyed about the fact I was accepted in an upper education. Dreams were going through my head if I wanted to be religious or a journalist. I could travel around the world and report what was going on. This dream was short lived; as my dad said he would not pay for university! That settled that, it was a sign from God that he wanted me to be a priest.

What would I have done if my Dad said he would pay?

I decided not to be in the De La Salle order. I needed to put that part of life behind me. I needed a fresh start. I had a bad time at Waterford, and in a way, I tried what it was like to be humiliated, teased and bullied. I was not like any saint that offered my suffering from God, I took it personally. By the time I was done, I felt like a survivor. I felt strong and I could take on the whole world. However, I would not do it with the order that had members that ignored what I went through at Waterford.

I would get a fresh start.

Just as I decided not to join the De La Salle order, I got an invitation from an order called the legions of Christ. This was an order that mainly worked in South America. They were organised like the military. They fought all evil to bring others the message of God. There was something about them that appealed to me. They saw everything as black and white and this made things easy. The life was very structured and there was a hierarchy. The vocations director visited us and said I should come on a weekend to see if they were my future. He said I could take my younger brother to the weekend to keep me company. I was reluctant, as my younger brother always wanted to be the centre of attention and this was my life I was deciding. Never the less, my younger brother came with me.

We slept in a room with a boy from Belfast. I was so worried I would wet the bed, although it has been months since I done that. The Belfast boy was a small and chubby boy and he had a good heart. He did shock my brother and me when he started talking about the troubles in Northern Ireland. We were shocked when he said that he supported the IRA. This was a terror organisation that killed thousands of people because they wanted the north of Ireland part of the Republic. I always wondered why, as most of the people in Northern Ireland wanted to be part of the United Kingdom. Still, we let the boy speak and tell of all the bad things the British done to the Catholics. I thought it was interesting, as he wanted to be a priest, yet he still condoned violence.

I was also amazed at the structure of the Legions of Christ. While they did have humour, they were very strict. They ignored me and it was obvious that it was my brother they wanted. One of the major memories I have was they prayed every time they went out to drive. I really liked this.

The vocations director pulled me aside on the last day. He basically told me that I was too feminine for them. He asked how people would take me seriously if spoke in a low voice that was high pitched. He put his hand on my knee and told me if I was ever to serve God, I had to be more like a man. Then he told me I should be more like my brother. I was in a panic and looked at his hand on my knee. I wondered did he want to have sex with me so I would get the job. I felt anxiety as I stood up thinking that part of my life was over.

When I got home, I wrote a letter to the bishop complaining. I do not think he would ever read it, but It made me think I had the last word.

 The next order I visited was the Franciscan monks. They were the opposite of the legions of Christ. They were humble and dedicated their lives to God and helping those that needed it. They lived a very simple life and seemed to be content and happy. My impression was they were submissive and just wanted to do the work of Jesus. I was so impressed that I wanted to join straight away.

The vocation director told me that most did not survive. He told me I would have to make lots of sacrifices. I would wear a robe and get my head shaved like monks. I would never have a girlfriend and I had to follow the three vows. This meant poverty. I told him I had all of Madonna's music, and explained she helped m survive my teenage years. He said poverty meant I would own nothing!

I may have been immature or selfish, but I was not willing to give up my Madonna music. Looking back, it’s a shame because I think it was the Franciscans where I belonged.

I knew there were three vows I would have to follow. Chasity was no problem as I had already enough sex for a lifetime. I was no longer a child porn star that was rented out. Now I was an adult. I would be satisfied if I never had sex again. Obedience was another vow I could handle. I have been doing what people told me all my life. I never had total freedom. The one vow that was a problem was poverty. I did not want to beg for money, to be starving and I wanted to keep my Madonna music.

I ended up joining the White Fathers. They were a missionary order that worked in Africa. They were quite normal and ordinary and did not go to extremes.

I ended up joining the White Fathers.

We were 3 young men that joined. One was a farmer's son from Donegal and the other one was a bit older and tried to join before, and was back after taking a break from studying to be a priest. We had our own house behind the priest's house and done everything there except eat food and pray, which we did with the priests. The good thing is that the three of us was got on well together, which was good, as it took 7 years to be a priest. They would have been a long time if we were not friends.

I was now where I wanted to be. I was on my way to becoming a priest. I did not have to listen to teachers or my parents. I did not have to be teased and bullied. It was like my cocoon burst and I was now a butterfly. I was free. I decided not to think about my past as the boy who was abused. I was going to show the world the real me. This proved to be dangerous!

I was not the saint I planned to be. I was a rebel!

I was there a few months and I observed the new world I was in. the one good thing I noticed was that I felt safe. I was overall happy with my new life and enjoyed its routine of praying, being with the others and eating. I was sure that I could be a good priest and make a difference. The problem was that some of the older priests seemed lost in their ways. They either drank or they ate too much. It looked like thy done the motions, but not actually believe in their life with God. It was good that pupils lived in another house, as we inspired each other a lot.

I studied philosophy in Dublin. It was a place where religious orders sent their pupils. The other two pupils went to a normal philosophy class and I went to the advanced class because of my leaving certificate results. This was possible the worst thing that could happen to me, as I wanted to study with the two others. However, I had to get used to obedience. Going to school was the most dreaded part of the day. I really had no clue what was being taught. When I came home I tried to study, but that did not help, as I did not understand anything I read. I wondered how I would pass the exams
!
Some of the priests drank a lot at the White Fathers. We went to a pub quite often. This made me think a lot, as it must have meant that people's donations that they thought would be used for missionary work were being spent on priests going to the pub. It was at a memorial gathering that I got drunk for the first time in my life. The three of us was sitting and the oldest pupil asked if I wanted to get drunk. Of course, I did not want to get drunk. He said we could make it a project and see what It was like getting drunk. So we did that. One after another, whisky was being consumed so at the end, I was drunk. They took me outside and I started crying, telling them I did not deserve to be a priest. I corrupted many men. I was a sinner. Then everything went black.

So the first time I became drunk was when I studied to be a priest

I was called into the office the next day.

I never liked whisky from that day.

Celibacy was no problem for me. However, there were two 10-year-old girls that stood outside my window. I chatted with them and they were quite nice. This went on for some time. I got to know what their families were like and what their lives were like. They were two girls that had a happy life. The other pupils saw a problem, as to why did they stand outside and speak to me through my window every day? It became worse when they sat next to me at church or I spoke with them on the lawn. Then the oldest pupil asked me was there something sexual between them and me? I was so mad at him. They were only 10. By now I was forgetting what happened to me at that age. I cared for them. I wanted them to have a good life. I would never destroy it. Then it hit me... People could misunderstand my intentions! This put me in a small panic, as I admitted to myself that one of the girls was pretty. This being said, I would never do anything sexual with them.

Did they think I was a paedophile? Why did I think one of the girls was pretty?

I had to go home, as my grandmother died. This was extremely hard as she meant so much to me. I do not remember a lot of what happened at home except my mother cried all the time. This was also so hard. It affected me for the rest of my life as I hated when a woman cried. Everyone was proud that I was studying to be a priest. My grandmother was laid out at a funeral home and we were all around her praying. I was asked to say the Rosary. I started well but looked at my grandmother. She looked like she was plastic. She looked like she was in peace. Then I saw it... Some thread between her lips. I started crying saying that she could not speak now. I felt like a right twat afterwards, but it was there I understood what death was.

I came back to Dublin still grieving over my grandmother. Did she now know what I did when I was a teen? Did she know my body was so unclean? The more I thought about these things, the more I felt like I was not worthy to be a priest. I was starting to get anxiety attacks and felt so depressed. The others did not notice this. They noticed I was becoming more of a rebel.

We ate a lot, and we drank a lot. This meant I was beginning to gain weight. I never had this problem before! I was taught that the one good thing I had was my body, and this was now being destroyed. One of the priests has a solution. We went out jogging every second day. Jogging was torture, but it was fun doing it with others. The problem of course was we would have a beer or a night snack after we went for a jog. It did keep my weight down.
 
In the spring of 1988, we went to a retreat place. The whole idea of this was that we would spend 3 days at a sort of retreat hostel with a beautiful garden. We were told a retreat was a time to pray and meditate in silence. We were not allowed to speak with each other and it was up to us what we were supposed to do. This retreat was total hell for me. I tried to pray. I tried to meditate. But I could not. I was not used to deciding the whole day for myself. I always had a program set out for me and a routine. I can say this years later. If you asked me then, I would have said that I could not pray or meditate, so why should I be a priest?

I was going home for Easter. My mum sent me money so I had pocket money. I was always poor as I spent all my money on cigarettes. On the way to the train station, I decided I should get my hair cut. As I sat on the chair, I told the woman to highlight my hair like George Michael. She put this bag over my head and starting pulling strands of my hair through it. It was painful but the result was great. To be honest, my hair never looked so well. My dad was so disappointed when he saw it, saying that a priest should not be so vain. My mum actually liked it. That was good enough for me. When I came back to Dublin, I was called into the office and told that I cared too much how I looked, and this was not good for me or the White Fathers.

On the way back to Dublin, this deaf man started to write to me. It was ordinary talk and he was interested in life as a priest student. He asked me if he could visit me, and I of course agreed.
There was a talent show at the school and we decided that we would participate. So we decided to do a dance. It would be Eurythmics “Missionary man” and “Like a Virgin” from Madonna mash. I was chosen to be the main dancer because they said I looked most feminine. I took this very serious. The problem was that it was very provoking, I looked like a hooker and my dancing would make Madonna jealous. We did our bit on stage and at the end, everyone was so quiet. No one clapped. We quietly left the stage and went home. A woman in my class told me the next day that we have set women's rights back a decade and guess what… I was called into the office. The superior blamed me. Maybe I should have done a rebel song. Despite the controversy and the trouble we had, I thought it was fun.

A few weeks after, an old classmate from Waterford suddenly visited. He was told that I was here. I did not want him to come in, but I was nice and let him in. We didn’t talk much, except about his studies and mine. Before he went, he told me that he was sorry for the teasing and bullying he did at Waterford. I felt like crying. I told him he was forgiven.

I was called into the office of the superior the next day. The superior talked around the bush and I was very slow to understand what the problem was. He asked was I gay and was the boy that visited me the day before an old boyfriend. I got mad. Did the superior know my deep secret about what Kevin did to me? I told the priest that I was not gay. I did not need to explain what I say to people that visit me. In fact, I refused to say that the boy came to be forgiven. It had nothing to do with the white fathers. I could see the superior thought something else happened.

He should have known better, besides the two girls that say next to me at Church, a Spanish girl sat next to me. We discreetly whispered before prayer and on our way out. Sometimes we met outside the grounds and I admit we did kiss a few times. She was a secret girlfriend. I knew that it was wrong. At the time, I did not know why I did it. However looking back, I think it was because I wanted to prove to myself that not only men wanted to play with me. I did not think of it that time, in fact, I did my utmost best to forget my past.

The other two pupils had voluntary work and I never did get one. I suppose it didn’t help when I showed up in a trench coat and highlighted hair. It seemed like they were all afraid of me. So the superior told me I could do a prayer group. I decorated the statue of Mary with roses and flowers. When the parishioners came in, they all commented how pretty she was. Then I told them they should not pray to her. I was shouting like old evangelists. I said she is stone. We cannot pray to Mary and not pray to God. I still do believe that. most of the people there were old, so they were provoked by my fiery sermon. The next day I was called into the office and told I should always respect people's way of praying and how they are dedicated. I should never judge a person. Out of the countless times, I was called into the office; this was a time when I learned something that I remember today.

The man I met in the train visited me. He asked to see my room. We talked and talked. Then he told me he had a joke. Red headed people have red hair on their balls. For some reason, I thought that was funny. Then he started feeling me and stripping me. I did not fight him. I actually switched off in a way. I did not know what he was doing, except that I ended up giving him a blowjob.

It was time for exams, and I was shocked that I passed them all, except logic. I only got 10% in that exam. To be honest, I do not know how I passed as I never studied.

I told the oldest student about the deaf man. He thought I was raped. I was crying saying that I let the deaf man. He did not know what to do but advised me to speak with the superior. I told the superior what happened. I explained that let the man so it was not rape. I hinted at being abused but did not say too much about that, as it would look like an excuse. I did say that I did not want to do anything with the man, but men always seemed to want to do things with me.

The superior explained that he knew that I was gay. He told me I was also a rebel. I was so protected by my family and by the boarding school; I was always packed in cotton wool, so now I was a rebel. He finished saying that it was summer holidays and the white fathers did not want me back. This came as a shock to me. I joined the order. Could they kick me out? The answer was yes.
How would I tell my mother?

Index of parts to this story