Facing My Demons

About fourteen years ago, I was having one of those periods in a teen’s life where one feels lost and conflicted. Living away from my family, and as always, I turned to my usual refuge - the confession.

This particular day however, for reasons I can’t remember now, I have decided to go to a different parish and have my confession there.

It started out ok, normal I guess. Then the priest turned friendly, very friendly, in fact. He asked me to stay, as he wanted to talk to me more. After finishing the last two confessants, he talked to me again, giving me words of encouragement. I welcomed the opportunity to be able to talk to someone who didn’t judge me; in fact he made me feel special by listening to me. When I said it was time for me to go home, he invited me to go back next Thursday (or was it Friday?) to meet some of his young friends.



I went back as promised, and I met two of his young friends – they were probably around 16 or 17 at that time. But I was surprised to learn that we are actually going to a resort, just the four of us. When I complained that I wasn’t prepared for it, he said he got it all covered, he bought new swimming trunks for me.

At the resort, I remember it was all surreal for me – three boys and a priest, playing. I was confused and amazed at the same time, to see that priest are humans too. For someone who wanted to be a priest someday, that was a welcome thought. It means I could be a priest and not be serious and grumpy all the time.

Looking back, I should have been alarmed with the accidental touches on me, and the not so accidental touches on the other boys. But with the beer given to us, and the fact that we were having fun, I made it all pass.

When it was time to go home, we dropped the other two boys off and since it was too late for me to go home (way past my curfew, and I was drunk already), he offered for me to sleep at the parish. I remember being awed, being inside the priests’ quarters and when showed that they have two refrigerators (aside from the one in the kitchen) – one for chocolates and other desserts and one for drinks, beer, soft drinks, name it.

So he made me drink some more. And I was so amazed, here I am drinking as much alcohol as I want with a priest, when back home we are told that drinking is not good. Then from there on, it was all blurry to me.

I remember at some point, we went to his room to sleep. He put me to bed, and told me I should sleep ahead as he still needs to prepare for his sermon the next day. I remember he tried to kiss me, and I turned my head away. He let it pass and he went to work on his bed side table.

Sometime during the night, I felt it happen. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I am sure in my head I said NO but I am not sure if I said NO enough. I remember I tried to stand, but the next thing I remember, I was sitting on the chair and he was kneeling in front of me. Then it was blank again. Next thing I remember, I was on the floor on my back and he was sitting on top of me. And I remember him say “God gave you a beautiful gift, you should share it...” and “You’re way better than my boyfriend...” And I think I asked who, and he said the name of the boy we were with awhile ago. And everything else was blank.

Those words stayed with me because as an insecure boy, it made me feel special.

The next morning, he woke me up telling me he has to say mass. And he invited me to attend. And as I was sitting there, I felt conflicted seeing hundreds of people kneeling in front of this man who was just hours ago kneeling in front of me.

But worst of all, that morning, I felt guilty for I believe I have betrayed God.

And I was never the same after that.

I was a conflicted boy. Was I abused? Can you call it abuse when all I felt was physical pleasure and no pain at all? Can it be rape when none of my body part was penetrated?

Was it my fault? Did I bring it upon myself?

And the only way I knew to cope is to try to forget that it all happened. He saw me again outside the church a few weeks after, and he asked me to come back. I never came back to that church until 9 years later.

In my effort to try to forget, I stopped going to mass. Every time I see people kneeling in front of a priest, I remember that feeling that morning after. Feelings of shame, of guilt, and hatred.

But try as I might, I can’t get away from it. Even when I try to be intimate with someone I love, I am reminded of that night.

Five years ago, stories of clergy abuse started to hit the news. So I decided to go back and face him, and finally end all of this. I want to tell him that I forgive him, but he has to promise not to do it with other boys again. I felt I needed that to be able to forgive myself.

I was told he was assigned to another parish, so I asked to talk to the head parish priest who, under the sanctity and secrecy of the confession, I told my story. But I got the shock of my life; I was told that there is nothing that they can do unless I am willing to make public my complaint. Since I wasn’t ready that time, I left Iloilo and promised never to go back to that church again. For me, I did my part. Although inside me, I knew there would be other boys who would go through the same experience.

Until that fateful day of March 12, 2011 happened. A boy was abused by a game show host on national television.
I felt compelled to explain that my reaction to that incident has no relation to my own abuse, but I realized it doesn’t really matter. My actions are no less meaningful just because I have issues with abuse myself. On the contrary, it would show that my reaction was nothing personal to the host, but the incident was personal for me.

After that, emails and messages stated to pour in. Hate mails I can ignore, but stories of abuse after abuse came to light, asking me to do something about it. And I was actually ready to take on this advocacy head on.

Except that inside me, that incident made me feel like I was a fake. How can I fight for other victims when I wasn’t able to fight for my personal battle? How can I tell the boy it was not his fault, when up to now I wasn’t really able to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault? How can I tell the boy that he shouldn’t be ashamed, when I am living in shame all my life?

So I have decided to do this. I need to do this. Writing has always helped me cope with things. I have initially wanted to just share this with a few friends but knowing that they have used my fear of shame to silence me before, I have decided to come clean this time.

I am not ashamed of letting an adult take advantage of me when I was young, it wasn’t my choice. What I am ashamed of is that it took me 14 long years to stop being a victim. What I am ashamed of is living with the fact that there are other boys out there who were abused by this priest too. To them, I say sorry.

And I hope with this, I am doing the right thing. I hope with this, somehow, I am able to right those wrongs.


I am not a perfect person, I have my (more than?) fair share of mistakes, but I wouldn’t let that fact stop me from doing what I feel is right.

Patuloy na umiibig sa Pilipinas,
At naniniwala sa galing ng Pilipino,

Froilan Grate | GreenMinds
www.NoBystanders.blogspot.com