03
Aug
07

To Jamie

Dear Jamie,

 

            I never intended on writing this letter. I am only writing it now because I feel I have to.

 

            I trusted you. I let you baptize me. You had me move into your home, initially without my parent’s knowledge. You were supposed to save me, to keep me safe from others and from myself. A girl is supposed to look up to her minister. She’s supposed to look at him and fell the love of Christ. When he speaks, she’s supposed to hear words that God has given him to be of help and of service. I know that ministers are only men. You made that abundantly clear to me. (I suppose you were already making excuses even then.) But ministers are not supposed to be what nightmares are made of. I used to have nightmares of you all the time: Nightmares where you are touching me when I lived in your basement. I would wake up terrified. Now, you are only in my nightmares occasionally and in far subtler ways.

 

            I have to ask you why. Why did you choose me to touch and to make you sexual toy? You had a wife, and I can only assume from what Lydia said to me, that you were having sex with her. I know I wasn’t an innocent virginal saint, but I was still young and scared and trying to change my ways. I was too young to be sexually active with normal kids my own age, what in God’s name did you think you were doing when you were man handling my breasts all the while telling me to keep quiet. You were not only an adult who knew better, but you were a man of God who I could not refuse. You were the supposed saver of my eternal soul. How could I push your huge hands away from me?

 

            You kept telling me how it was okay, and because of who you were, this extraordinary man of God, who knew everything about me, all of my deepest secrets that I had shared with you, I thought maybe this is what’s supposed to happen. I was supposed to believe you, trust you, be led by you. The only place you led me was to your private fantasies. What was pleasure to you was sheer torture to me. Every day I had to see you and act as if everything was normal, act as though everything was okay. But it wasn’t. I was dying inside. I was carrying around a secret that weighed so heavily on me that some mornings I couldn’t get out of bed. I finally told my friend Ericka. She told me that I had to tell someone, so I told Lydia. Little did I know that she was totally in love with you This is when she told me several things that leads me to believe that you were sleeping with her. She was so mad at me. She didn’t believe that you would ever touch a tart like me. So, she told Michelle and Dora, then you. You acted as though I was a demon. “How could you?” you kept repeating. How could I make up such an awful story? I couldn’t believe I was actually hearing this from you. I trusted you and you made me into a liar!! Do you remember what you said to me when you got me alone? You told me that no one would believe a slutty girl over a man of God who every parent loved and trusted. I tried. I left your home and told Tom McNerney. When I was told that there was no basis for my claims and that nothing would be done. I felt lost and ruined. I thought that maybe I deserved it. For years I kept this secret shame inside. When I was 21. I told my mom about you and what happened. It was after a suicide attempt. My mother asked me why I was so unhappy, so I told her everything, from how it started as backrubs in the basement, then to lay down massages. Finally how you asked if you could touch and fondle my breasts. I told her how it all had to kept a secret and that I had thought that I was in love with you. After all, isn’t that what you do with someone you’re in love with. I told her how I thought that I deserved what happened because I didn’t say no, because I couldn’t push away a man of God. Even when I told you that I didn’t feel right about it, you insisted that it was okay. She was so angry. She wanted to kill you. She told me to report you. I couldn’t. I was an adult, so my mom couldn’t do it for me either, only I could come forward. Do you want to know why I never came forward? Because I was so afraid that, like before, no one would believe me, because you made me believe that it was my fault, so instead of telling, I buried it all deep inside. Then, the day I dreaded came.  On November 6th, 2003, the Algonac Police called me. How they got my name and number, I had no idea. They had to ask me about a claim I made about you several years prior to one Thomas McNerney. That could only mean one thing. You did it again. How could you? How sick are you really? You took advantage of other girls and were being investigated for criminal sexual conduct in the 2nd degree. (Yes, I began schooling for law after this) I couldn’t believe it. I had hoped that what happened to me was an isolated issue. I was certainly wrong about that. Like me, according to the police, your new victims were promiscuous girls just over the age of consent. You used your position as a youth minister to make them submit to you. Because of the parents who loved you and knew no differently that you were this amazing and charismatic minister, it seems as though the girls were so punished by the parents because they were “dirty whores” and so they changes their stories. At first I was mad at the parents for their irrational behavior. But now that I am older, I understand. In my head, there are two Jamie Perrys. The one is the wonderful youth minister who taught me so much. The other is the monster that you really are. These parents knew no better.

 

            You got away with it. Good for you. I know that you will pay for your sins in the next world. God won’t let you go.

 

            I am finally healing. It has taken years and thousands of dollars worth of therapy. I wanted to let you know that I will no longer be your victim.

 

            I know you are working at the Bharatiya Temple in Troy. I keep an eye on you. I am not, by far, the only one. Keep your nose clean and keep your hands to yourself. You have a wife to take out your urges on.

 

Aimée

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Vomitus of the Brainus © Aimée Easton 2006 - 2011 All Rights Reserved Material contained on this site are under copyright, whether my own or someone else's. The material here is published strictly for personal use, and may not be copied to any other place without prior permission. I have borrowed or linked resources from elsewhere and I have given credit to the source from where I got material. Any form of copying or distribution, may face legal penalty.

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