The sequence of events is still clouded by a gray haze. I was bounced around between assignments which were more like punishments than anything else. At some point, the stress caused me to break. Writing about it is still difficult because I still carry strong feelings of shame. If I step outside myself and look at the situation more objectively, I would only feel compassion for someone in my position. Inside I still feel embarrassed. Why couldn't I have been stronger?
I don't remember the when or whys of it but one night while living back at the main convent, I started crying hysterically. Sister Zelda who was my roommate at the time was irate. She went to summon Sister Christine. Sister Christine's idea of comfort was not mine. The nightgown I was wearing tied at the front of my neck. Sister Christine would untie it and try to fondle me. I kept fending off her advances which only made my hysteria worse. I felt like I'd died and gone to hell.
News of my scene spread like wild fire. I was now officially the resident crazy. Sister Felicity ordered me to see a diocesan priest who also counseled local religious. From the start I viewed him as part of enemy forces. He would soon give me reason. After more than several sessions, Sister Felicity, came up to me and told me what she and this priest had discussed in my regard. It was a blatant violation of client confidentiality. Fortunately, I still had enough sense of self to know that I'd been violated. I didn't hesitate to let Father know the next time I saw him. I gave him a good lecture on trust and his responsibility as a licensed counselor. He apologized and told me he'd been wrong to discuss me with Sister Christine. I tried to believe him.
This person who was supposed to help me was not to be trusted. Part of me really could have used some sane guidance. Many sessions were spent with my sitting in an angry silence while he fell asleep. Even though I wasn't talking having the person who is supposed to listen to you fall asleep doesn't feel good. It certainly wasn't the way to gain my confidence or trust. Eventually, I felt sorry for him, the exhaustion he brought to his job, the impossible position we both seemed to be in, and finally having me for a client. Young, damaged, immature but smart enough to know how to push his buttons. He really wasn't a bad guy. He was a guy with two feet in a system that wasn't always sane or healthy.
What I did tell him about the situation didn't exactly inspire admiration of how the Sisters were running Formation. He often couldn't disguise his frustration and disapproval. In retrospect, he was probably amazed that I'd want to stay and eager to determine why I was so self destructive. I was as much a riddle to him as I was to myself.
After this incident, things were never the same. Sister Zelda and her latest posse of troublesome admirers were convinced I was dangerous and unstable. This was the same situation that played out with the young nun who disappeared shortly after our arrival as postulants. The writing was on the wall. Inside I felt hopelessly broken and confused. I knew it was crazy to stay in this crazy place. Sister Christine had gotten bolder with her advances but I couldn't report it without suffering the consequences. Mentally and physically I was suffering. I started to loss weight. My stomach was upset all the time. Headaches were frequent. I lived in fear of what would come next and I knew that whatever was coming was not going to be good.
Explaining why I stayed is something I can not do. At the time, I had my entire life invested in staying and becoming a nun. Broken, sleep deprived, feeling physically sick, made thinking clearly a challenge. I'd spent months being told how awful I was and how arrogant and I believed it. I believed it.
No comments:
Post a Comment