The Parishioner

Chapter 1

I’ve never been known to be a good poker player. Lying, or bluffing, as they call it, just isn't my thing. So I'm honest, honest to a blatant point that tends to get under people's skin.

Thinking back, I can still hear my dad, God rest his soul, saying, "Jesus Joey! I said ``don't beat around the bush, not to burn it down..."

When I was a kid, he'd instilled in me that you could be the poorest man in the world, but if you're good for your word you have the world. So, I don't lie, and wasn't lying when I made ministers Kailey and Dan aware that I was leaving the church because Jim Calhoun was still allowed to attend in person services at Summit Church Orlando, the place where I'd found redemption from my sordid, drug addicted past.

I'd returned to Summit after a five-year absence, having parted ways with them in August of 2016, after stepping down as a "Base Camp" caregiver. To be perfectly honest, I'd gotten hooked on Crystal Meth. For the record though, I'd never once showed up under the influence. But the problem with Crystal Meth is, you look much worse afterwards than you do while you're actually on it. So, after a brief conversation with John, the overseer of the church at the time, I left Summit and moved to New York City, where I spent the next five years sometimes trying to kick the habit, and sometimes not.

I'd returned to Summit a few times during my addiction, hoping to hear something that'd make a difference to me. And yeah, I've heard many good messages there. But chains of addiction appear much stronger to those who wear them than they actually are. So the cycle went on and on with me usually being able to string together two or three weeks of sobriety before continually capitulating to my selfish desire, time and time again.

As most of us realize though, nothing, except for the word of God lasts forever.

Waking up from a Crystal Meth overdose that occurred on June 1st, 2021, an overdose that actually turned out to be pure Fentanyl, it was obvious. My drug dealer had tried to kill me! So, I knew my days of partying were at an end. It was June 4th, 2021. The next day I walked away from everything I owned in New York City to give the Summit idea another try. And this time it worked.

Three weeks into my return to Summit, the words, "We have to do better," as simple as they might seem, changed the course of my life forever. They gave me the reason why I couldn't give up anymore.

After the service that fateful day, I approached Kailey and told her what the words she'd spoken had meant to me. But when I looked at her, she was trying not to cry. "I did it now," I thought to myself! Surely, I had to be in trouble! I'd made the minister cry, and that's not supposed to be a good thing. I mean, I was a drug addict, and we're always swearing off drugs! So, there's no way this was anything earth shattering. But this was different.

Revealing a loss, very close to her, I knew this was a message that had been divinely inspired. So, it was time to get sober.

That being said, no sooner had I spoken to Kailey, she called over Dan to have him explain the "ReGroup" program, a recovery program that Summit apparently offered for those having difficulties in their lives, ranging from behavioral disorders to outright addictions. And I have to be honest. At first I was a little annoyed, especially when he told me that the program was something like ten years old.

Why hadn't anyone ever told me about this program before? Why, when I'd first approached the lead pastor, John to tell him that a friend had introduced me to Crystal Meth, had he not suggested this program to me? I mean, I specifically remember asking him that August day, some five years earlier if there was anything the church could do to help me stop my newfound habit. But what right would I have had to question these well-intentioned ministers about that?

Besides, I was desperate. It had been weeks since I'd shot up. And being perfectly honest, the only reason I'd bothered to actually show up to church that morning was to kill a few hours, not wanting to piss the dealers off by bugging them first thing in the morning. So, I was humble, and grateful, and thus began my ReGroup experience.

Chapter 2

To be clear, while Crystal Meth is said to produce extremely intense sexual results, after the first time I tried it, I never used it for that purpose, nor did I use it because I was lonely, afraid, or in some sort of emotional pain. My use, as unusual as it may sound, revolved around my unending anger. It was the only way I've ever found to exhaust my adrenaline during times of rage without actually doing anyone any type of harm, So, as long as no one in this ReGroup program did anything to set off any of my personal, emotional triggers I'd be fine. Or at least they would.

Having been through a few IOP's, Intensive Outpatient Programs, I knew there'd be things said that were designed to intentionally trigger or align my responses with what directly caused my need to use Crystal Meth. And I was perfectly fine with that, as long as no one used any of what I shared to garner any type of response aimed at them getting their rocks off.

Identifying as a "non-gender conforming, Asexual Queer, from time to time I encounter predatory people, if you can consider them to be even remotely human, who think it's acceptable to make me feel uncomfortable in their presence. And I'm not talking about those who scoff at me because I wear women's clothing, or those who call me faggot or sissy. I'm talking about deviants who try to push their sexual agendas on me, refusing to get the hint that I loathe and despise any type of sexual contact to my person, including verbally and psychologically.

Without telling anyone's personal story, I'll just say that there were individuals in this ReGroup program who suffered from certain temptations. So right off the bat, I knew I was going to be faced with certain challenges. But so were some of them. Having to sit in a room with a chemically addicted man who they perceived as being "Gay," while revealing things that most people lack the courage and integrity to even speak about had to be really hard for them. I get it! But sitting in a room with a bunch of guys who might automatically be assuming that I was enjoying hearing them talk about their struggles, while in actuality it made my flesh crawl in anger was just as hard for me. So, the pendulum definitely swung both ways, meaning this was going to have to be a practice in patience for all involved.

Yeah, I'll admit, maybe I could have made them aware that even though I was married to a man, a man who I have since divorced for being lurid in nature, I'm equally attracted to both male and female alike, but only on a spiritually fashionable level. That's what being Queer means to me. It has nothing to do with anything physically sexual to me. But how could I expect them to understand that? And why would I even begin to try and explain to them that an extremely bold, well put together outfit means more to me than any physical contact, or sexual gratification than they could ever give themselves? I mean, they're sitting there in khakis, blue jeans, and sweatpants! (Humor) So where would I even begin?

Anyways, right off the bat I had a problem with Thomas, who went by the name "Bo."

No sooner had we been told not to discuss each other's confidential information outside of ReGroup, this guy approached me in the lobby of the church and asked, "You're Joe, the guy who shoots up, right?" I mean, was he serious? Needless to say, I automatically went into "To hell with this program" mode. And I let the program leader, Sheri know, which automatically labeled me as being a troublemaker. But she was pretty understanding, and she actually convinced me to stay, even though she wasn't putting this "Bo" character out of the group.

Needless to say, a few weeks later, Bo approached me in the lobby of the church, a few minutes before service was to begin, and started trying to show me pornographic material on his phone. So I went to Dan, the minister who'd told me about the program and very soon Bo no longer attended Summit Church. And let me just say, I have no remorse for exposing Bo for what he did! I mean, I wasn't the only one he'd shown his filth to. There were children in the lobby when he chose to do that! So, even though I felt as though they probably began to see me as a pain in the neck after that, I know I did the right thing.

Chapter 3

As it turned out, ReGroup was having a really positive effect on me. Week after week, my sobriety day count would grow. And while it was doing so, I learned a great deal about myself, on both the emotional and spiritual levels of my addiction. Along with that, early warning signs that related to the emotions that triggered my need to use became clearer and clearer, giving me insight as to what it was in my past that went away every time I stuck a needle in my arm.

Finally, after five long, unproductive years spent in Crystal Meth Anonymous, CMA, I was achieving some sobriety. But there was still a great deal to learn, as the next phase of the program had begun, but I'd found myself left behind.

It seems members of that group, as I've stated, had felt uncomfortable enough with my being there that they'd gone to those who were piecing together their group, similar to the shallow way insecure minds surround themselves with those of their own liking, and they'd decided to leave me out. It didn't matter that these young men couldn't muster enough self-control to achieve any type of consistent sobriety, while my own day count, much harder to achieve when you take into consideration that my addiction was an actual chemical dependency, grew exponentially. Theirs was a sexual behavioral disorder, and thus they felt comfortable only in the company of each other. I had no problem with that. But they should have been grown up enough, even though their behaviors were rooted in what adolescents go through in early puberty, to be honest about it.

In the meantime, I'd grown to appreciate the leadership qualities of a guy named John. It should be noted that this was not the same John that I spoke of earlier. He was unique in his approach, genuine in his desire to see all achieve sobriety and open to debate when it came to recovery. So, I was pleased to learn that I was going to be promoted to his group. And while I'll freely admit that I found him to be a little too compassionate in comparison to me, I'll also offer up that I tend to be a very harsh critic. But how else are people going to grow if we're not honest with them, a sticking point that often forced them to shut me down during my phase 1 group.

Being the only one with consistent sobriety, and the only one who'd not repeatedly relapsed during phase 1, I think I'd earned the right to say what I had on my mind. And even though the group leaders would repeatedly remind me that we weren't there to fix each other, I rambled on!

In the meantime, some of these guys went as far as to accuse me of having no idea what it's like to be tempted! Can you even begin to imagine the audacity? Probably not. And I'm almost grateful for that. Although, I do wish that for a single second, everyone should know what it's like to crave Crystal Meth. But the truth is, if even for a second, they'd never be able to stop, including you, the reader.

The only reason I was able to stop was because of the divinely spoken words of my hero, Kailey. Had I not heard her sermon that day, I'd be back in The Bronx, sticking needles in my arms.

Getting back to it, it was a relief to know that someone actually wanted me in their group. The problem though was that the guys who were supposed to be in the group I was supposed to be moving to phase 2 with were almost refusing to control their urges. In fact, they seemed to be feeding off each other's lack of self-control, which is common in sexual behavioral disorders.

Especially in incidents that are sexual in nature, the behavior of one individual is often times played out in the minds of those who suffer the same compulsion. That's why we never put those with similar sexual behavioral disorders in close proximity to each other when I worked on a psych ward. They just feed off each other. And yes, there are recovery strategies that can be learned from each other. But that's further along in recovery, usually requiring some intense psychotherapy. And yes, the same can be argued with chemical dependencies. However, hearing about someone getting high, the addict who is truly ready to change is oftentimes reminded, hearing about the darkness involved in the drug world, why it is that they're ready to give up that life.

Unfortunately, though, being only a few months into my recovery, I didn't really care that a grown man couldn't stop looking at filth on their computers and acting out because of it. Their lack of self-control was impeding my forward movement! So, I pressured ReGroup leadership into starting another phase 2 group before they could properly assess the intended participants of the group, and that was a mistake.

Chapter 4

Having been diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, which was also causing degeneration of my spinal column, getting to and from meetings had become something more than an arduous activity for me. Having to climb on and off the bus caused me a lot of pain, not to mention the way you get bounced around like popcorn in a kettle in those buses. But it was something I was willing to endure for the sake of my recovery. I wouldn't go as far as to call it "A small price to pay," though. In fact, it was actually pretty horrible. But the church was really good to me, offering to Uber me back and forth to meetings.

I would have felt guilty though, had I accepted the offer. The bus stop is literally half a block from my apartment. So, given the fact that I was pretty much in denial about the whole thing, I chose to tough it out and take the bus, trying to convince myself I could walk off the diagnosis. In the meantime, I'd uncharacteristically become friendly with a fellow participant of the ReGroup program, Jim Calhoun.

Jim seemed nice enough and was always complimentary of my taste in fashion. And as far as I could tell, he had no interest in men. That meant keeping conversation with him was safe. He never pried in my affairs, being too wrapped up in playing the part of the victim in his willing inability to achieve any type of self-control, either. Thus, the conversations we had were never that deep, even though they continually revolved around his behavioral disorder. But he was offering me rides home at that point. So, it was the polite thing to do to just listen and offer up encouragement.

The fact that Jim was going to be a member of the phase 2 group I was placed in did puzzle me a bit. While I did put some pressure on ReGroup leadership to hurry up and create a phase 2 group, since I'd been left behind, the fact that I don't remember his having more than a week or so, at the most, of sobriety should have absolutely precluded him from being able to join that group. However, with the Regroup program seeming to have hit a lull, as far as new participants went, I believe they were a little desperate to polish up their image, which was nothing more than falsely promoting something that was not.

Phase 1 of the ReGroup program was designed to have three deliverable requirements from each of its participants. The first was that you be able to name and claim your problem, such as being a alcoholic, drug addict, having an addiction to pornography, or being a chronic masturbator. The second was to abstain from your "Name it and claim it" for thirty days. The third was to write a letter of forgiveness to yourself, regarding your problem. Thus, with Jim never once achieving the required thirty days of abstinence, why was he being promoted? How was that fair to the other members who'd met those three requirements?

In my opinion, this was going to put the other members of the group at risk. I mean, at that point, not so much myself. But remember, mine was a chemical dependency, and not a sexual behavioral disorder. Theirs, on the other hand, were disorders such as Jims. And the fact that Jim was getting away with an almost unwillingness to abstain from looking at filth on the computer, something he openly admitted to, and acting out because of it, was only going to serve to disprove the importance of abstinence to the other members of the group. Thus, they all relapsed into the habits they'd joined ReGroup to break.

Then came the point where there was going to be a break from the program for the ReGroup participants.

Chapter 5

The most important lesson recovery programs should've learned when the pandemic shut down the world should have been that the biggest mistake any recovery program can make is absence. Remember, and I state this from personal experience, addiction takes no holidays. It is as opportunistic as water behind a dam, patiently waiting for even the slightest crack to seep through. But still, despite the fact that they knew this, having strict attendance adherence rules in place, Summit Church decided to give the ReGroup program three months off, which in my opinion showed clear signs of either negligence, or the knowledge that people just weren't coming in the doors to join the program anymore.

So, I'm guessing they decided to rethink, revamp, and then reintroduce the program, maybe giving it a shiny new logo or wrapper.

After a two week pause, the phase 2 group I was part of was still going to move forward, despite the gloating fact that I was the only participant who was actually living up to my end of the deal. But the way I saw it, and relayed it to my fellow participants, at this point, I had it easy. The psychological withdrawal and euphoric recall part of my recovery was behind me. To maintain my sobriety, all I had to do was avoid "People, places and things" from my past. And I tried to market that aspect of relief to them, being as understanding as I could of their plight. But it never worked.

After the break, not a single member of the group had more than a few days of sobriety, and that included the extra week I was away having surgery to remove the tumors from my spine, also having a Thoracic Neural Stimulator implanted in me to help with the pain. I'd even come back four days after surgery, a week earlier than I was supposed to, in an attempt to motivate the other guys in the group. I'd gone as far as to send them motivational messages from my hospital bed, letting them know how I was looking forward to the joy I would experience hearing they'd achieved some sobriety. But it wasn't to be. Jim, in fact, was, as usual, on day 1 again, meaning he'd acted out the very day.

That night, being the only one who'd completed my homework, which included putting together a timeline of anything pertinent that happened in my life that might have led to my addiction, writing about it, and telling the story in front of the whole group, I revealed my secret.

The following is a copy of what I read in front of the group that night:

"Fellow group members,

All these years later, I can still smell my mother ironing the linens. I can even remember the sound of the raindrops coming down on the green ribbed fiberglass covering of our back patio. But I remember a lot of things about that day.

I had spent the late afternoon watching "Black Beard" on channel 9's Million Dollar Movie. As kindergarten was starting in a couple of days, I was hoping our mom would take us out to Friendly's, for some Ice Cream. But it all depended on the weather.

When it had stopped raining and my older brother came running into our shared bedroom, proclaiming "Guess what," I was naturally disappointed that we weren't going for ice cream. But there was a consolation. My mother had given him permission to bring me across the street so we could go swimming in Eddie Kreisman's pool.

Eddie was a 35-year-old man who lived alone with his father, running a limousine company out of their home.

For the most part, you never heard any of the other kids in the area talk about the guy. So, there wasn't too much any of the other parents could assume about him, other than what they saw on the surface.

Every 4th of July, after dark, he would put on a fireworks display in the middle of the street. On top of that, he was always inviting the neighborhood boys to go swimming in his pool while their parents were at work. But other than that, there were none of the usual grooming habits that most predators are known for.

There was no buying ice cream for the neighborhood boys every time the ice cream truck went by, and there were never gifts of any sort. But I do remember how kids were always finding some pretty expensive toys lying in the middle of the street, right in front of his house.

Anyways, my going with him was conditional in that, even though my mother had given us permission, we had to sneak out the house without her knowing. And so we did, like two kids escaping reform school, me having no clue or reason to question my brother. But why should I have?

He was my older brother, which meant he was supposed to protect me. But not even realizing that his fondling my private parts was something really fucking wacked at that point, how could I have known any better?

Pushing forward, as this is some really fucking disturbing shit to have to recall, I remember feeling whatever apprehensions I had swimming in this guy's pool for the first time disappearing as we got to the back of Eddie's house. Just about every kid in the neighborhood was having a ball, splashing around. So, I didn't have to worry about drowning, as I've always been terrified of water. And on top of that, this was a chance for me to show off the bathing suit I'd paraded up and down my front yard, running under the sprinkler all summer.

It was a tight-fitting tangerine, nylon bathing suit, with a white stripe down the hip on each side and a white elastic belt that had a brass buckle on it.

Having no understanding of the strange arousal I'd found myself experiencing at the literal hand of my brother, I only knew that this bathing suit allowed me to be just about naked, with all the world to see. And my guess would be that Eddie Kreisman had taken in the show of me playing under the sprinkler, afraid to go in our own pool, all summer long. So, he definitely knew that I was afraid of water. In fact, he told my brother to boost me over the side of the above ground pool so that he could hold me in his arms and not be afraid.

Now exactly what happened in the next few moments is something that only God, me and Eddie Kreisman know in its entirety. And it's something that I'd rather blow my fucking brains out in rage rather than sit here and talk about with anyone. So, I'll just tell you that a few moments later I was running home, trying to pull my bathing suit up as high as I could, writhing in burning agony. But home turned out to be the furthest thing from home that I could find.

Bursting hysterically through my front door, grabbing my backside in seething agony, I could only scream, "Eddie hurt me mom! He took my bathing suit off and hurt me!" But I received no compassion whatsoever. My fucking brother, who I hope burns in endless agony, in fucking hell for all eternity for what happened to me that day, had come running home moments later, telling her that I'd slipped on the ladder and fell on my ass. So, I was never so much as examined by her or taken to an emergency room.

I was instead beaten and sent to bed, still wearing the same bathing suit.

When my brother later returned, he did his best to convince me that what had happened was perfectly normal for boys and men to do. The rest of that night remains a blackout for me though. I only know that I was not wearing the bathing suit when I woke up the next morning and that to this day, I absolutely despise being alone in the dark with anyone.

Contemplating the next fifty-three years, all I have left are questions and rage.

Who is more to blame, the monster, or the one that feeds you to him? Can a mother be blamed for doing nothing when an older brother swears the neighbor did nothing to hurt her youngest son? And lastly, would it be a sin to wish that I had been the one to tamper with the brakes on my brother's motorcycle before he ran into the back of that car, going faster than a man running from hell?

In the end, my right to confront him was ripped from my hands the day he ran his piece of shit motorcycle into the back of that fucking car. All I have left is the hope that it hurt like all fucking hell, and that the fear of judgement for what he'd done to me was the last thing to go through his fucking head before the back of that car!

There is no excuse for what happened, not only that day, but for the next eight years!

These predators hide behind the fucking excuse that they themselves were victims. But I myself was a victim and have never had any such twisted temptations go through my fucking mind. In fact, I can tell you that if I were in the presence of any living soul, no matter who, who was hurting a child the way I was hurt, I would be willing to forfeit my soul as a price to pay for the hell I would unleash on them for doing so! But still, I forgive Eddie Kreisman.

As it turned out, he'd been molesting the boys around the neighborhood for years. Then he died suddenly. So there was no chance for him to repent. That means he had to face an irate Jehovah, in the absence of grace.

Taking that into account, recalling how Kailey taught us that forgiveness doesn't imply that the harm someone has done us doesn't matter but is rather the relinquishing of one's right to seek personal vengeance to God, I forgive him. And while I have trouble even saying that I forgive my brother, God's wrath was to splatter him against the bumper of a car doing well over 100 miles per hour. So, I've no complaints there. Vengeance has been handed down, and there's no way I could ever top that.

In the years between what I went through at the hand of my brother and that sermon on forgiveness, the only escape I ever found from the shame I felt for having been molested was inside the point of a syringe. Thus, even in death, my brother, who should have been the closest friend I ever knew, haunted my life."

Chapter 6

You could've heard a pin drop after I read my assignment to them. I knew it probably made them feel a little uncomfortable that I was that willing to be so open and honest about the worst thing that ever happened to me in my life. But hey! I've always been an open book when it comes to my life. So, when it came to recovery, the most important thing I was ever going to do for myself, I wasn't suddenly going to become secretive.

There were a few, almost congratulatory remarks regarding my courage, as well as the usual, "How do you feel now" inquisition that followed. But I was ok. As far as I thought, no one there could do me any harm, or make me feel unsafe in any way. But I was wrong.

Giving me a ride home that night Jim struck up a conversation with me about a "Teacher friend" of his who'd gotten involved with an underaged girl online, to which my reply was to ask how the guy could do that. And then Jim replied, "She came onto me. We went to dinner. But after that I chickened out and got out of their before we could finish,"

Instantly, I was about to grab the steering wheel from him and turn the car into another car, or light poll. But just tensing up to do so reminded me that I'd just had major surgery on my spine, and that I might end up in a wheelchair if I survived, not that I intended to. I mean, the guy, on the night that I'd revealed the hell I went through being raped at the hand of a predator when I was four years old was confessing that he was a god damned predator himself. In an instant, he'd placed me right back in the situation I suffered through that god awful day. So, what exactly was his point?

Was he expecting me to surrogate forgiveness towards him on behalf of his victim? Or was it something more sinister?

Predators are just that, predators! They continually seek to victimize anyone they can in any way they can, even if it means reintroducing a victim to trauma decades after that person's own ordeal. And that's exactly what he did to me! And for all I know, the son of a bitch probably went home and got himself off thinking about my story that night! Remember, to a pedophile, age is the gender they seek. Yeah, I'm a 57-year-old man, by far outside of what he's obviously attracted to. But that doesn't mean he wasn't living out what happened to me by the power of his filthy hand when he got home that night!

Needless to say, from the moment he revealed his nasty little secret to me, I no longer wanted anything more to do with that group. I mean, Jesus Christ, I'd been given the opportunity to serve in the "Base Camp" program again, Childcare! There was no way I could, in good conscience, sit there conversing with this predator! But I reminded myself of how a therapist had taught me that running away from and being afraid of these people only gave them power over me. So I stayed, but was more determined than ever to promote sobriety, hanging my day count over the entire group, like a flaming guillotine.

I instantly began sending group text messages to the rest of the participants, pointing out that there were no excuses for sexual misconduct. And yeah, having become clear on the fact that their behaviors were not the same as Jim's, maybe I could have been more exact with my comments. But wouldn't that have been singling out Jim, giving all the power this typical predator, in my opinion, desired? Wouldn't that have enabled him to traumatize the other members of the group the very same way he'd traumatized me? And lastly, wouldn't that have singled him out, allowing him to play the part of the victim the same exact way predators always do?

And believe it or not, the following week, that's exactly what Jim did!

Chapter 7

I'll openly admit that I'd spent the week lobbing more than a few double-edged messages towards the group with the full intention of them being both motivational as well as harmful in nature. But let's be honest. I was supposed to be the worst-case scenario in the group, an IV drug user. In my mind, there was never supposed to be anything worse than that in ReGroup, let alone a child molester. I mean, people like Jim are the reason people grow up to have issues with drugs! Sit in any Narcotics Anonymous, or Crystal Meth Anonymous group and you'll know I'm not lying, or even exaggerating. So, beyond a shadow of a doubt, because they made no mention of potential violence, I was well within my rights to send those messages. Jim, on the other hand, didn't see it that way.

He'd actually had the audacity to offer me a ride home from service the Sunday after he'd admitted his actions to me, which actually pissed me off to the point of being enraged! Surely the disgust and anger on my face, plus the fact that I just got out of his car without so much as saying a word should've sent a clear message. But let's not forget what I said about predators traumatizing anyone they can. So of course, I declined, being polite enough to actually lie, pretending I had something I had to do. But he knew.

At the next Regroup meeting he gave an Oscar winning performance, asking if my walking home had proved anything, then going on to declare that I had made ReGroup an "Unsafe space" for him. And John, the group facilitator ate it all up, telling me I was wrong for making Jim feel unsafe! I mean, what kind of idiocy was this?

I'd spent the entire week letting John and Dan know that something had happened, related to the assignment I'd read to the class, and that I was more than likely going to leave the group. And it should be noted that the only reason I'd not just come out and stated what I knew was because I thought Jim might actually do the right thing and confess what he'd done. But I couldn't have been more wrong if my worst enemy were scripting it! Thus, John sided with Jim, "Lock, stock, and barrel." So I got up and did what I'd said I might do. I left the group. But I wasn't quitting ReGroup.

My intention was to return to the phase 1 part of the program.

The way I saw it, starting over with a new group of guys was a clearer path forward for me than sitting in a group that would ultimately fail, if not for the fact that, according to Dan and John, "Abstinence from harmful behavior was never meant to be the actual goal of ReGroup. It was supposed to be about inner change." But doesn't that present a false narrative? I mean, if their goal is to sit around singing "Kumbaya" with people who have no desire to abstain from immoral and reprehensible activities, then fine. But that's not the bill of goods that was initially sold to me! In fact, isn't that creating a double standard?

I mean, why have the deliverable of attaining thirty days of abstinence in place during phase 1 if abstinence isn't the concrete goal.

The bottom line is, this ReGroup program was never intended to be an actual recovery group, but rather a place where people who cannot control their deviant sexual behaviors go to comfort each other and not feel guilty. And that's fine, I guess, on some twisted, unchristian like level that I want no part of. And maybe that's why the lead pastor, John, never mentioned this ReGroup program to me. Maybe he was doing me a favor.

Anyways, after I'd walked out of that group, John, the group facilitator, who I'd made aware of Jim's admission, reached out to both Dan and I, suggesting that maybe I was ready to move on to the next phase of Regroup, "Sponsorship," which I mistook for him meaning that I should sponsor one of the other group members. Needless to say, as you can imagine, I was not at all interested until Dan and I sat down and had a long conversation where he made clear that I would be the one receiving sponsorship. But it never materialized.

Chapter 8

Over the course of the next few weeks, I started to realize that I'd been left to dangle in the wind.

In the meantime, John had reached out to me in an unsolicited email, vehemently defending Jim, almost painting the picture of Jim being the unassuming victim who'd merely stated something personal to me. After that, having had Dan tell me that Jim Calhoun could file a lawsuit against me for using his name when telling people what he'd revealed to me, for the first time since the day I'd returned, I didn't really want to be a member of Summit Church anymore. But if I was going to leave, I wasn't going to allow them even the idea that I was in any way at fault here. So I covered all my bases, making The Florida Department of Children and Families, as well as The Orange County Sheriff's Department, and the head of children's ministries at my church aware of what Jim had told me.

As far as ReGroup goes, no one ever got back to me about moving forward or starting over. Dan, meanwhile, seemed to become a little annoyed that I was writing so many emails, putting everything that was occurring in writing. On top of that, in my response to John's last letter, apparently, I'd referred to Jim Calhoun as being Eddie Kreisman, the guy who'd raped me when I was a child. But I have to be honest. I don't know if I did or didn't. After realizing that I was obsessing over what I perceived as lack of interest on their part, in regard to the imminent danger I felt Jim posed to the kids at our church, I'd emptied my Gmail mailbox at some point, realizing my time at Summit Church Orlando was coming to an end. So, I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that, in absence of any type of recovery related support other than my 12 Step groups, I went out and found myself a wonderful, nonsecular support group designed for people who, just like me, identify as Transgender, Non-gender conforming and Queer. And I'm very happy in that group, finally achieving forward progress again. Thus, I reached out to Regroup Leadership to make them aware that since I'd felt left swinging in the wind by them, I'd found another group to build my sobriety around. Sadly though, the "Left swinging in the breeze" comment was not well received.

Approaching Dan before service to discuss my decision this past week I was met with the unacceptable amount of defensive posturing that made me feel very uncomfortable. And I almost walked out of Summit Church right there and then. But I still had my commitment to serve at Base Camp at the 11:00 service in front of me, So I couldn't just walk away and leave them hanging. And I will admit that Dan tried to make it right, inviting me to have lunch with him after the service that morning. But it also came with a friendly warning. Jim was hanging out in the lobby. So the suggestion was that I exit through a side door, I guess to avoid either of us making the other uncomfortable.

The next day, meeting with Dan and Kailey to make some suggestions related to making their ReGroup program safer and more effective, I let them know that while Jim Calhoun was a parishioner, and allowed to congregate at Summit Church Orlando, I could not be. Then I left, handing in my Base Camp barcode and wishing them well.

The bottom line here is that they chose a deviate predator over a recovered drug addict. And that's their right. I just hope they never live to regret allowing Jim to remain at Summit Church Orlando, because if that happens, it will have been the children who paid for their lack of wisdom.

Chapter 9

In the end, I feel as though I'd given everything good I had in my soul to Summit Church Orlando. But now my faith is dead, laid to waste by the almost same hand that dashed my soul to ruins fifty-three years ago. But I don't blame the church for that. They just found it easier to have more mercy on a child predator than they were able to have on an old, Queer, recovered drug addict who protested his being there. So it opened my eyes.

With that in mind, the way I see it, I realize that I obviously have no place in heaven. But that's nothing new to me. I was of less value to my brother than Eddie Kreisman, and to Summit Church I'm of less value than a man who sought out sexual contact with a sixteen-year-old girl. That's why my brother defended Eddie Kreisman to my mother and why Jim Calhoun was allowed to remain at Summit Church Orlando. That's why my family turned on me when I told them what had happened to me, and why I was made to feel dismissed, like some sort of incompetent fool by those who run the church. And that's fine by me.

Like the mythical Phoenix, I have always risen from the ashes of ruin and survived. The only difference this time is that I never expected to have to do it again, especially after beating my addiction. But I guess I was being a little too presumptuous assuming I was finally redeemed.

I guess God really took offense at my cursing Him as He ignored my pleas for help all those years ago. So once again, in condemnation for sharing my story with my fellow ReGroup participants, He allowed me to build up my faith. Then He burned me to the ground, rubbing my nose in it by siding with a predator. But now He doesn't have to worry about me showing up in His churches anymore.

I'm done with religion, and all that faith crap. I'm free. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna go back to shooting up Crystal Meth. And for that I give credit to my new support group. They've given me a place where, unlike the church, I finally belong.

As far as Summit Church Orlando goes, I'll always remember how they did nice things for me, like Ubering me after my first surgery, and providing meals for me when I was incapacitated. And I'll always be grateful to them for allowing me to serve in Base Camp, their childcare program. Doing so completed me as a person. But when you're not in God's plans, what good is any of that?

Will I ever shoot up Crystal Meth again? Probably not. But if this turn of events has taught me anything, it's that “Never” isn't something we should automatically assume. And if it turns out that Jim Calhoun tries to file a defamation suit against me for writing this, I'll shout what I know about him from the rooftops, and submit this writing to every tabloid on Earth, so that the whole world knows about him.

My time at Summit Church Orlando was a personal crusade against my Crystal Meth addiction. But every cause comes to a conclusion. And while my faith may have fallen victim to both a predator and the church’s unrighteous empathy and willingly blind sympathy towards him, my own personal demons have been exorcized. Thus, I am free.

I've told the absolute truth here. So I've nothing to fear, even if God hates me.