The diocese points out that it offers pastoral counseling and assistance with therapy to people who allege they were sexually abused by clergy. McEntee’s sister was reimbursed $12,500 for therapy, provided she signed away her right to sue the diocese.

Silipigni isn’t interested.

“That’s bull— after the damage they did. They can take that therapy and do you-know-what,” he says. “Tell them to write a check for a million dollars — they’ll do anything but that. They’ll just pass the [collection] basket over and over.”

There’s no chance of a financial settlement for Silipigni and others like him — the state Supreme Court decided long ago that cases expired under a statute of limitations can’t be revived.

All he hopes for now is for his story to convince other victims of sexual abuse that secrets don’t stay buried.

And he hopes when he testifies on McEntee’s bill next year that he can make legislators understand how childhood sexual abuse stunted his life.

“I’m not going to give up. I’m going to tell them what [the priest] did to me,” Silipigni said. “It’s worse than murder. They took everything I had and left me alive. It’s worse than killing me.”