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THE TRUTH ABOUT STRAIGHT, INC & TEEN
CHALLENGE
(Including Survivor Reports, Testimonials, & History) Check Out The Teen Challenge Survivor Site at: www.teenchallengeexposed.com/index.html
and The New Teen Challenge Cult Blog at: http://teenchallengecult.blogspot.com/
Straight Inc By Charles C. From fall of 1989 to the summer of 1991 I was held against my will for 22 months in the Atlanta, GA chapter of an organization called “Straight Inc”. Straight was arguably the most flamboyantly brutal behavioral “drug and eating disorder treatment center” in American history. At least the government thought so. By 1993 every chapter of Straight had been shut down after having deemed to be in violation of multiple state laws. My personal experience with Straight was so bad that it is difficult to describe, even a decade after the fact. It had the characteristics of prison, mental hospitals, ‘70’s-era cults, and “boot camp” facilities, but was actually a lot worse than any of the latter. It remains, to this day, the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Straight’s approach to “treatment” was not new. As early as the mid-twentieth century, it was fairly well known that you could change an individual, at least temporarily through severe and long-term behavior modification. To do this, you simply cut them off from contact with all friends, family, news or information about the outside world (not to mention access to reading materials, TV, movies, music, writing, the telephone, the internet, or sunshine), strip them of all markers of identity (clothes, or hairstyles), make them repeatedly, publicly confess their most humiliating or shameful secrets, insult and humiliate them repeatedly in front of large groups of people, shout at them until they weep on a regular basis, give them an inadequate amount of sleep, and place them in situations of long term stress, pain, and discomfort. Subject an individual to these conditions for long enough and they will do, or think anything you want them to, at least for a while. Either that or they just go crazy, and people in Straight Inc went crazier than anything I ever witnessed in jail, the psyche ward, or anywhere else. After the Korean War, when returning American POWs who had been subjected to similar conditions described them to researchers this process was given a name: brainwashing. Unfortunately, the latter term doesn’t really accurately describe a process that is both physical, and emotional, not to mention a very long and intensely unpleasant process that does not, in many cases, succeed in doing what it intended. Straight was popular because it produced short-term results. Parents put their misbehaving teenagers in Straight, and got back girls and boys with short conservative haircuts and bland clothing, who couldn’t seem to do enough apologizing, and seemed to deeply, tearfully regret all previous antisocial behaviors, to a degree that must have seemed downright eerie. Unfortunately, any positive results that Straight produced were almost always temporary (in the last ten years I have not met anyone who was in the Atlanta Straight program that has stayed “sober”). The negative side-effects (including, in my case, reoccurring bouts of overwhelming rage, nightmares, and permanent estrangement from my family) tend to linger. Parents of “Straightlings,” the only people standing between the kids and the staff in Straight, were not allowed to see or even talk about what went on behind closed doors. Kids in the program were not allowed to talk about it either (especially to police, lawyers, or state government officials). As a result Straight was able to conceal beatings, broken limbs, suicide attempts, sleep deprivation, and keeping kids out of public school for years at a time. What follows is an abbreviated history of the Straight organization and its offshoots. My sources for this article (aside from what I saw for myself in the Atlanta program) come from “The Straights,” the largest assembled collection of news articles, government documents, and personal histories online. If you feel that any of the information in it is inaccurate, feel free to write HEAL. Straight’s Origins Straight is largely a product of the 1970’s, an era when people were experimenting with living on isolated communes, joining cults, and attempting to change themselves for the better by taking part in voluntary quasi-psychological programs like “EST,” and other manifestations of the “human potential movement”. All of the cryptic language that was still used in Straight by 1991, such as “rap sessions” and “copping out” had its roots in the 70’s, a time when many parents were terrified by fallout from the ‘60’s counterculture, and the increased availability of new drugs. This climate of parental dread probably helped Straight’s founders attempts to justify the program’s brutality. The organization that birthed Straight was called (weirdly enough) “The Seed,” and was fairly similar to Straight in the way that it applied hardcore physical and psychological abuse to disobedient teenagers in hopes that it would make an ordinary life without drugs seem pleasant in comparison. As the story goes, fed up parents who had tried everything else, who’s lives had been torn asunder by their raging, out of control, drug-dependent offspring banded together to create a new kind of guerilla anti-drug program so severe and awful that it could fix even the worst addicts forever. At least that’s the legend that my father was told about The Seed by the “parent group” of Atlanta Straight. The Seed was actually begun by a retired comedian named Art Barker. Incorporated in 1972, The Seed conducted business for only four years before it became the subject of a Senate investigation, which dubbed its methods “potentially harmful,” and subsequently shut down. Two of the parents whose children were involved in The Seed, Mel Sembler and Joe Zappala started Straight in 1976, vowing apparently, that it would be a more humane program. It wasn’t; out of the ten “board members” who founded Straight, almost all quit within the first year of Straight’s operation claiming that the new program was just as bad “if not worse” than The Seed had been. Nevertheless, Melvin Sembler was able to expand his operations fairly quickly. Though Straight’s techniques (sleep and food deprivations, beatings, humiliation exercises, etc.) had originally been used on the most serious drug addicts, Straight quickly began taking kids who were not (at least in the sense of physical addiction) addicts at all, and young teenagers who had barely experimented with controlled substances. Eventually, Straight chapters appeared in Texas, Ohio, California, DC, Virginia, and Georgia. Throughout the 1980’s Straight would expand itself from a drug treatment facility, to a program that claimed it could fix just about any disobedient teen behavior from “behavior problems” to “eating disorders”. The program gained a new veneer of respectability with endorsements from the Reagan Administrations, as thousands of teens were placed in the program by fearful parents, or the courts. The Fallout Then came a deluge of lawsuits, state investigations, and horror stories that lasted more than a decade. Among a plethora of suits against the program, the Massachusetts chapter of Straight was forced to pay several thousand dollars after a judge found them guilty of “false imprisonment” in 1983. Two former Straight clients won two lawsuits against Florida Straight chapters on the same grounds (Straight decided to settle in both cases). The mother of a 17-year-old named Michael Daniels who had been in St. Petersburg Straight attempted to sue the program as well, claiming that it drove her son to “psychic breakdown and paranoid schizophrenia”. Dr. Ali Kashfi, Daniels’ psychiatrist confirmed in court that his patients’ condition was “10 times worse after Straight”. In 1984 the Florida State Department of Human Resources threatened to revoke Straight’s license to operate unless it stopped coercing or tricking clients into entering the program. Florida Assistant State Attorney David Levin compared Straights techniques to “child abuse” and “torture”. Before the Cincinnati, Ohio chapter of Straight was shut down, Cincinnati ACLU director Marge Robinson likened its practices to “psychic murder”. The Santa Ana, CA District Manager for The Department of Social Services accused its state’s Straight chapter of “infliction of pain, humiliation, intimidation, ridicule, threat” and “mental abuse”. Jacqueline Ennis, former head of licensing for Virginia’s Department of Mental Health criticized the Virginia Straight for unreported suicide attempts on the part of teens in the program, forcing kids “to reveal their sexual fantasies during group sessions,” as well as the practice of “spit therapy,” where “children would spit on each other to reduce their egos”. According to Canadian Researcher Dr. Barry Bereyson, “Straight often left ‘restrained’ group members sitting in their own urine, feces, or vomit until suitable concessions were extracted”. Atlanta Straight, the chapter I attended, was cited by the state DHHS for (among other things) denial of water, sleep, and medical attention, as well as illegal dispensing of medications. Strip searches, kidnapping, hair pulling, beatings, broken bones, denial of food and water, “marathoning” (keeping kids awake for days at a time), “nitpicking,” (in which teens were held down and pinched or poked), and a procedure called “the spanking machine” (where kids were forced to run a gauntlet of people beating them on the ass), are only a few of the other accusations leveled at Straight by former clients, parents, and state investigators. The kids getting physically injured weren’t just the “misbehavers” trying to escape, but also the young teenagers (some as young as 12) who were kicked, punched, or head-butted, or smashed with elbows in their attempts to “restrain” the disobedient. By 1993 all Straight chapters had been closed down. The truth about Straight needs to remain in steady circulation, for it’s model is still being promoted, or mimicked by adults who have never experienced its egregiousness firsthand. Straight founder Melvin Sembler, former Straight bigwig Dr. Miller Newton, and others have spent the last twelve years since Straight closed down attempting to re-open the program under new names such as Atlanta’s “Phoenix Institute,” New Jersey’s “KIDS,” Teen Challenge (in association with Drug Free America Foundation, founded by the Semblers) or Florida’s SAFE. Newton and Sembler are perhaps the two ultimate supervillians of torture therapies, and their own backgrounds are as bizarre as Straight’s “recovery” techniques. Newton authored the pro-Straight tract entitled Gone Way Down, that helped popularize Straight’s brutal approach in the 1980’s. He was a former Straight Assistant Director who resigned his post amidst lawsuits against Straight, including one by a teenage girl who claimed he had thrown her into a wall. Since Straight’s closing he has been attempting to open Straight-like organizations, many of which have had chapters shut down, during the past decade including KIDS in northern New Jersey. Newton settled for 4.5 million after KIDS was sued by a former client alleging abuse. KIDS was also forced to settle after being sued for 254 counts of insurance fraud and several of the staff at KIDS received criminal convictions as well (for beatings carried out in the program), and soon KIDS, like Straight was forced to shut down its operations. Quite a few former KIDS clients have reported being beaten by Newton himself, and his track record in this regard is worth looking into, as connotations of sadism seem in evidence, at least to me (See “Closure for a Quack Victim,” from the January 2000 issue of New Jersey Law Journal, available online). Recently Newton decided to become a priest and changed his name to “Father Cassian,” and is being monitored by a watchdog organization that looks into the backgrounds of abusive priests. The last I heard, he was living in Florida. Straight founder Melvin Sembler was George W. Bush’s first-term and extremely wealthy American ambassador to Italy, and former ambassador to Australia (he very literally “purchased” this last title), with large landholdings in the United States and elsewhere. A powerful political friend of and fundraiser for the Bush family, Sembler is nonetheless dogged constantly (as much as it is possible for one to be dogged while living in another nation) for his involvement in Straight and Florida’s SAFE. Without his millions, and his political connections, it seems unlikely that Sembler would have been able to survive the swamp of lawsuits lodged at Straight and its subsidiary programs over the years, but he has pursued the marketing of the Straight model with a rabid enthusiasm unmatched by anyone on the planet. Along with his wife Betty, Sembler continues to cheerlead for Straight-type programs, and fight the prescription of marijuana on medical grounds Betty Sembler can be reached at betty@dfaf.org. To this day the Semblers insist that Straight is a functional, safe, and legal way to prevent drug use. I imagine that they have not bothered to look into the number of people who actually stayed “sober” after graduating the program, the number of people who avoided drugs after disobediently escaping, or the amount of ex-Straightlings that did more drugs (or killed themselves) after release from Straight, due to the trauma they experienced there. Because Straight, (and most of the program’s based upon it) breaks off all contact with families who “withdraw” their children from it, or anyone who criticizes it, no one knows these exact numbers. The key to defeating the Straight model, I think, lies in proving that it doesn’t “work”. The physical and mental torture aspects are well documented, and should continue to be heard and researched, but there will always be ethically flexible individuals out there arguing for its merit in “extreme cases,” as we have seen from recent sick situations at Abu Ghraib, and Guantanamo Bay. Of course, most of the kids in Straight were not extreme cases in the sense of physical addiction, or long term heavy usage. Above all, Straight’s story shows us how quickly a “last ditch” effort in curing alleged out-of-control junkies in the seventies quickly became a cure all for any type of borderline teenage disobedience. I am interested in hearing from any ex-Straight people, especially anyone who was involved with Atlanta Straight between ‘89 and ’91. Criticism from pro-Straight forces is also encouraged. It does not really surprise me that there is so precious little information on the web documenting Straight “success stories” or defending its model, but I’m eager to let former staff members know how I feel and what my life has been like since my “withdrawal” from the program. Write me at HEAL. My Personal Straight Experience(s) Note: All Straight lingo has been capitalized to avoid confusion with ordinary North American English. I spent most of my life before Straight being bounced back and forth between my Mother/Stepfather’s house and Father/Stepmother’s house. My Mom was fairly out to lunch during the 1980’s (like me she’s been hospitalized and medicated for “clinical depression”), and when it seemed like her third marriage was starting to dissolve she sent me to live with my Father, a Methodist Minister who had me institutionalized; first in one of those half-assed “charter hospitals” and then in Atlanta Straight. I was fifteen at the time, and had been using drugs for less than nine months (some kids in Straight were as young as twelve). On the day of my “Intake” into Straight I had such a bad case of the flu that I was more or less delirious with fever. Rather than taking me to the emergency room, Straight’s “Staff” placed me in a “Host Home” (a house rigged with extra locks and burglar alarms where teens in Straight got their meager amounts of sleep at night). Within a week I had short hair, bland clothing, an aching body, and a glassy look in my eye; I had become a Straight “Phaser”. Like many “treatment programs,” Straight was divided into increments and one had to work one’s way to the top in order to “Graduate”. Unlike most treatment programs, most people in Straight who actually Graduated (a process that took an average of 18 months to two years to complete) spent about a third or more of their time on First or Second Phase, the bottom two rungs on the ladder. Out of the 22 months I was there, I spent at least ten of them on Phases One or Two. First Phase was utter hell and Second Phase wasn’t much different. Phasers at these levels were not allowed any contact with friends, family, the opposite sex, TV, movies, reading materials, music (First and Second Phasers were not even allowed to talk about music), the outdoors, daylight, or news from the outside world. First Phasers were called “Newcomers” although one could end up stuck on First Phase for literally years at a time, or be “Set Back” to Newcomer status at any time, irregardless of how hard one had worked to move up. Most people in Straight were Set Back at least one or more times, and ended up spending quite a while on First Phase. First Phasers were not even allowed to talk to each other, look each other in the eye, walk, touch, or pick up objects without permission, or wear belts, or watches. Like everyone else in Straight, they were not allowed makeup, jewelry, or any type of clothing, shoes, or hairstyle that seemed the slightest bit nonconformist (Converse All Stars for example). First and Second Phasers were not allowed to attend school or read, even so much as the back of a cereal box (Second Phasers were allowed to read the Bible and the Alcoholics Anonymous “Big Book,” however, Hooray!) Like all the other young teens in the program they were not allowed to speak to any old friends, use curse words, smoke cigarettes, touch or flirt with the opposite sex, masturbate, or speak to any of Straight’s “Staff Members” without being spoken to first. Criticizing “The Program” or talking about what actually went on in Straight, especially to parents, police, lawyers, or state investigators, was considered one of the most serious offenses and would be punished. In addition to the deprivations of First and Second Phase, Straight broke people, in part, by keeping them in a constant state of tension, irritation, and terror. During the 10 to 14 hours spent in the “Grouproom,” (a large white-walled former supermarket), this was achieved in a variety of ways. First was the overall claustrophobia of the “Group” set up. Phasers were seated practically on top of each other in purposefully uncomfortable plastic or metal chairs that had to be touching at all times. 95% percent of the time in the Grouproom was spent in this cramped position, in addition to the half-hour to forty-five minutes where we were forced to stand each day in a long line with our bodies pressed together. Phasers in group were forced to sit “up straight” for 9 to 14 with their torsos completely straight, and back arched, hands motionless on knees, feet together, and necks twisted in the direction of the person who was standing and talking. Slouching, stretching, contact with the back of the chair, or any other type of back support was forbidden. Sitting in this position for 9 to 14 hours a day was, of course, painful and uncomfortable enough for young teens who had been in the program for months or years, but for people who had just entered the program and were not used to it, this was nearly impossible. Staff seemed to anticipate this and anyone who slouched even slightly had the knuckles of the person behind them run forcefully down their spine. This technique of “sitting up” other phasers was often used on kids who weren’t actually slouching. Anyone who continued to slouch had a person seated behind them who would place their fist in the small of the other kid’s back while forcefully yanking back their shoulders. Anyone who wouldn’t keep their hands completely still had their hands grabbed, wrung, or slapped. Anyone who did not keep their neck twisted in the direction of the person speaking would have their neck grabbed and jerked in the proper directions. Anyone talking would have a hand slapped hard over their mouth and held there. Speaking to, making eye contact with, or attempting to in any way signal other Phasers in Group was forbidden as well. All kids in Group were also forced to “Motivate” or wildly and violently wave their arms in order to get “called on” to speak in group. Like the awkward position that we were forced to sit in, motivating created constant tension and soreness in the back, neck, and arms, and I can remember getting accidentally punched in the jaw by the person Motivating next to me on at least a couple of occasions. We were expected to Motivate all day long, and we did, at least until state inspectors put an end to it on the grounds that it could do permanently damage the muscles of the elbow. Watching a group of a hundred kids motivating is one of the most freakish things that I have ever witnessed in my entire life by the way. Like everything else in Straight, it had to be seen to be believed. Phasers who had recently entered The Program, and disobedient “Misbehavers” were forced to spend all day sitting in specially-designed punishment chairs called “Blue Sliders” (Note: These were not the same as the flat blue plastic chairs common to all Straight chapters). As the name suggests, the front-most part of the seats of these punishment chairs was literally a slide, and one had to keep the muscles of the calves and ankles stiff and taught to keep from “sliding” off. The worst aspect of the Blue Sliders was two raised plastic bumps that jabbed into the buttocks at the same places where the points of the bone meet the skin. After a day sitting in a blue slider, my ass ached as if it had been bruised or beaten. I have no idea who manufactures these chairs or why. By far the most painful of Straight’s punishments was the “Restraint”. The word “restraint” in misleading, considering that people were placed in Restraints who weren’t fighting, or trying to run (one could be Restrained for almost any infraction, if Staff felt like it). A person in a Straight Restraint had two people pressing or sitting on their shins and another Phaser sitting back-to-back with them yanking their arms toward the ceiling, a position deliberately designed to hurt as much as possible (there are, after all, much more practical ways of holding someone down). Kids in restraints would generally end up screaming in agony and I remember at least a couple of kids getting their arms broken or sprained as a result, not surprising considering that angry young teenagers, rather than health care professionals were doing the Restraining. That this used as a means of literal torture was evinced by staff members who would stand over the person being restrained howling “Make that restraint tighter! Make him want to go back to group.” Often, there would be so many restraints going on at one time (I saw as many as six at once), and so many people screaming in pain that it was next to impossible to hear the person that the “Group” was supposed to be listening to. If the danger to the person in a restraint was unethical, the danger to the people doing the restraining was worse. Kids were bitten, hit with chairs, and seriously beaten up in the process of trying to apply Restraints. Because the Phasers in Group were seated so close together, everyone else was in danger of getting kicked or smashed by the thrashing bodies of those trying to fight back. I was not one of the macho dudes who were the first to jump at the chance to apply a Restraint, but I still managed to get kicked, headbutted, spat on, and had my fingers pinched between metal folding chairs in the day-to-day chaos of The Grouproom. Trying to “Get Sober” in this environment was not particularly easy. Hardcore sleep deprivation was also an old Straight favorite for years, and was not halted until Straight was on the verge of shutting down nationally. “Marathoning,” or keeping kids awake for days at a time while screaming at them was used often until state investigations made it less popular. At the time I was in Atlanta Straight it had fallen out of favor somewhat, though I remember that a few people were indeed threatened with sleep deprivation (and probably subjected to it, though I never did this to any “Misbehavers,” that I supervised). Ultimately it didn’t matter, for even compliant Phasers were often lucky to get five hours worth of sleep. The long days in group, the long drives back to the Host Home, the time spent cleaning the host home, supervising showers, supervising dinner, washing dishes, writing “Moral Inventories,” and “Reviewing” Moral Inventories, and the complex procedure necessary for going to bed ate up one’s whole day for the majority of people in the “Program”. A Moral Inventory, by the way, was an idiotic essay that everyone had to write per evening about the “changes” or moral growth we made during the day, which is pretty funny considering that most people spent their days doing little but sitting on their ass in the Grouproom. All boys in the program were forced to sleep in only their underwear in a room that was completely bare except for mattresses and sometimes sheets. Because all windows and doors in this “Phaser Room” had to be either locked, or equipped with burglar alarms on the outsides to prevent escape, all Phasers had to go to bed at the same time, and wake up at somewhere between six or seven in the morning. As part of the ongoing harassment, some Phasers were made to wear purposefully humiliating clothing, (this happened to me), some were refused regular meals (a practice that was abandoned when Straight began treating “eating disorders”), and the most disobedient were placed in “Intake Rooms”. The latter were small, moldy rooms in the back of the Straight building where “Misbehavers” were continually screamed at, Restrained, and probably beaten. Like sleep deprivation, beatings, along with systematic hair pulling, “Spit Therapy,” and “Nitpicking” (holding Phasers down and pinching or poking them), were common in Straight until they were pressured to stop, by lawsuits from parents and state investigations. I only saw a Staff Member beat a young teenager (knock the crap out of him in fact) once in group, but from what I now know from my research, beatings of some type or other were probably going on at least until the end of the eighties. Ultimately, it didn’t matter when the beatings stopped; the Restraint was painful enough. Other physical behavior modification techniques included the denial of an adequate amount of water; only one cup per 10 hour period, and two cups per 15 hour period during the day were allowed. Although hideous grade D prison food was served once per weekend night in the group room, food was often scarce otherwise. All food (including weekday night dinners and the bag lunch that was brought daily to the building) had to come from the Host Home, and many Host Families did not keep their fridges well-stocked. The lack of hired health care professionals, and the use of Host Homes to house Phasers made Straight fairly affordable, and as a result many Host Families around Atlanta were fairly poor. Breakfast, in particular, was often skipped. Food was eaten in Group sitting in the same painful position as Phasers spent the rest of the day in. The psychological aspects of wearing Phasers down was as important to the operations of The Program as its physical deprivations. Each day in group was divided into three-to-four “rap sessions” consisting of the same three parts. In the ultra-somber “Past Rap,” Phasers were forced to stand up in front of the group and cry (the code phrase was “Share Feelings”) about terrible awful things that happened to them as a result of their “Problem”. Anyone who failed to cry was seen as refusing to “Share Feelings” and would be “Stood Up” for a “Confrontation” later in the rap session (more on Confrontation in a minute). During “Guys and Girls Rap” where the sexes were separated we were urged to tell our most humiliating sexual secrets (the time I put honey on my crotch and let the dog lick it off, etc.) that had little to nothing to do with drug use, but functioned pretty well as a means of making people feel awful. People who did not admit to having at least one overwrought story involving molestation, rape, animal sex, homosexuality, or being caught masturbating, was generally looked upon with suspicion. Needless to say a lot of kids had trouble weeping and blubbering on cue during Past Rap. Some had been placed in Straight after only experimenting with pot and alcohol (or no drugs at all), and had no terrible stories to tell. Although I had been in a few dangerous situations involving drugs, I only had a few of such “times in my past” to describe, and at fifteen-years-old, I had very little feelings about them prior to being placed in the program. This was, I imagine, the same boat that most Phasers were in. Then again, “Sharing Feelings” wasn’t really the point. The aim of Past Rap was to instill feelings about our past lives; to associate negative emotions, depression, and despair with our “Past,” those dark, terrible years before we had been rescued by the benevolent people of Straight. As a result Past Rap was hilariously morbid, and Staff members would often dim the lights, light candles, make us close our eyes, or play sad songs on a tape player to exaggerate the depressive mood as much as possible, and often the whole room would be weeping as a result. The most ill-conceived Past Rap, the aptly-named “Death Rap,” involved the staff reading everyone in group a fictional (but graphic) account of their death from drug overdose, drunken car wreck, etc as the whole room wept and bawled. The next part of “rap,” “present rap” involved anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half of “Confrontation”. During this period, Phasers were “Stood up” and screamed at, cursed at, called names, laughed at, and often boxed-in physically by staff members who would stand a centimeter away from them, sometimes daring them to run or throw a punch. During a confrontation, the person being screamed at was not allowed to talk back or defend themselves in any way, and they would be slapped in the mouth if they tried. The screaming in Straight was bloodcurdling. It sounded more like people being murdered, than the measured shouting of a military drill sergeant. People in Straight were always screaming and screeching; screaming themselves hoarse and purple with spittle flying everywhere. Often staff would encourage the entire group to laugh at the person being Confronted in unison, or shout something ugly at them in unison. Sometimes they would have the whole group literally sing songs about how much of a loser they were. Those who were in their first few weeks of the program, or anyone who openly criticized any aspect of Straight was confronted constantly in Present Rap, and at night in the Host Home (sometimes all night). Over and over, they were told that they were hopeless, that their old friends didn’t love them, and their families didn’t want them, and that if they left Straight they would suffer a drug overdose in short order. They were told they could trust no one but Straight and that being cutoff from the program would result in their death. The goal of confrontation was, again, to produce tears, and it always worked. Nevertheless it would continue until the person was both weeping and professing their loyalty to the Program, agreeing that they were helpless addicts and incurable fuckups who would literally die without Straight. These screaming sessions could take up to thirty minutes, or even an hour. The last ten minutes of each rap was “Positive Rap,” wherein one was supposed to “Motivate” like a wild animal to get called on and then stand up like a grinning idiot screeching and howling about how good it felt to be clean and love Straight. The sheer quickness with which the Group’s mood swung from the gloom and depression of Past Rap, to boiling rage of Present Rap, to overwhelming glee of Positive Rap was truly terrifying. This process was repeated three times a day in addition to “rules rap,” where twenty or thirty of the programs rules and the reasons for them were recited (Straight had so many rules, “Steps,” slogans, “Signs”, and “Criteria” that it would have taken four or five hours to recite or explain them all). Additionally, two hour “reviews” were conducted twice a week that consisted of nothing but Confrontation, screaming, trembling, and weeping. As was the case with Present Rap, the mood that overtook the Group as we Motivated to be called on during Review was an exercise in pure dread. No one wanted to be called on but everyone knew that they had to Motivate like crazy anyway, or they would get in even more trouble. Phasers were made to “Report” themselves or Report other Phasers for breaking any of Straight’s hundreds of rules, and did this via paper “Chain of Command” forms that were passed around the group every morning. Staff used these forms as the basis of the Confrontations that occurred during Review and Present Rap. Since Straight had rules prohibiting everything from playing with oneself in the shower, to accidentally reading passing billboards as the car drove to the host home at night, there was always something to scream at someone about. Teenagers are teenagers, whether in Straight or the outside world, and their competitive, often bullying tendencies only added further fuel to the paranoia of Review and the Present Rap. Though all of this would seem to be enough, every six months or so the Staff would up the ante and scour the group, including even upper-level Phasers, for those who were “Full of Shit” (phasers, who were not allowed to curse substituted the phrase “Full of it”). It’s a difficult thing to explain without sounding ridiculous, but it was not enough to simply follow all of the many rules in Straight and to yearn for a life of future sobriety and obedience to one’s parents’ every whim. Doing all of that alone was called “Going Through The Motions,” and it meant that one was indeed Full of Shit, and had better “Get Honest”. “Honesty,” in Straight did not refer to truth-telling. What was required was that one love Straight with all one heart, to find it faultless, and to harbor no secret criticisms or doubts about anything that its Staff said or did for any reason. To even have the opinion that a forbidden brand of clothing (including most types of shoes or boots) looked cool, was to be dangerously and treasonously Full of Shit. So much time in Straight was spent attempting to locate, scream at, humiliate, and break down those who were secretly or flagrantly Full of Shit that the specifics of how we were going to stay sober after we Graduated from Straight were seldom discussed. This situation made for some trouble, especially considering that the rules of Straight changed all the time. During the time I was in the Atlanta Program, Straight chapters were being shut down all over the country, and Staff was doing everything it could to placate state investigators, while still keeping our Treatment as harsh as possible. When the Virginia chapter of Straight was shut down, its Phasers were shipped to the Atlanta Program where the rules were slightly different. Immediately, the Virginia Phasers began reporting and confronting the Phasers in the slightly-more-liberal (I guess “liberal” isn’t really the word for it) Atlanta program for being Full of Shit on multiple counts. In one extremely funny incident, a respected Fifth Phase girl in the Atlanta program who wore a type of black canvas shoe that was forbidden in the Virginia program was Reported to Staff for Confrontation. Soon both girls were crying their eyes out in front of the group until staff ruled that all black canvas shoes were now off-limits. Unfortunately, when it comes to the question of Straight’s horrific treatment of human beings the ultimate question for many people is whether or not it “works”, rather than how inhumane it might be in practice. It did not keep me from drinking or smoking, and I imagine that a lot of the people in the program who sat, day in and day out listening to people telling them that they are doomed to be an “addict” for the rest of their lives were not less likely to indulge when they got out. One of the most cult-like aspects of Straight was the way most graduates ended up moving to Atlanta, becoming Straight Staff members, marrying other Straight graduates, and clinging desperately to the Program. It should be kept in mind that only a minority of the people in Straight actually graduated. Most were “Withdrawn” in frustration by parents who had been laboring under the impression that Straight was indeed a “six to nine month treatment center,” (as they were told) rather than a year-and-a-half to two-and-a-half-year treatment center. Even more cultish was the fact that “Withdrawls” were completely shunned by everyone in Straight, and were not even allowed to cross its property line. One could not speak to, telephone, or even mail a letter to even the parents or siblings of a Withdrawl. What you had then, was a bunch of kids being told over and over again that they were doomed to die without the Straight Group, pulled out it suddenly and forever separated from Straight, creating what seems like a pretty self-fulfilling prophecy of “Relapse”. When one kid in the Atlanta Program escaped and killed himself we were told, in essence, “See! That’s what happens to people who leave Straight!” Another reason for Straight’s ineffectiveness, was the fact that Staff really knew next to nothing about our individual problems and histories, other than our “Drug Lists”. It was completely obvious that quite a few of the kids in Straight had hardcore mental problems (I think of the kid who carved “NWA” into the black of his hand in inch-wide, three-inch- long letters, or the “Misbehaver” boy who made himself throw up on people). The diagnosis that I’d received months earlier at the psych ward and the anti-depressant, and antipsychotic medication I had been prescribed there were completely ignored by Staff. Straight failed utterly in dealing with the psychological or long-term family problems that had caused everyone in the Program to use drugs in the first place. Their obsession was with our loyalty to The Program, not our long term sobriety, as evinced by the songs we had to sing after each Rap Sessions, including such hymns to the great god Straight as “You Can Be Straight,” “I am Straight,” and (I’m not making this up), “When the Straights Go Marching In”. Also, as anyone in Narcotics Anonymous will tell you, it is ultimately impossible to browbeat a person into believing that they are an addict. It is a purely personal decision that must be made after one “hits bottom,” from their continual drug or alcohol abuse, a process that can take decades for some. Straight tried to streamline and speed up this process, but Phasers weren’t suffering on account of their drug use, or Behavior Problems, or Eating Disorders; they were suffering from Straight. As a result, they were shell-shocked into a temporary compliance by The Program. When the Program was taken away from their lives most of them very likely went back to whatever got them there in the first place, I know I eventually did. The day my Father pulled me out of Atlanta Straight, I remember passing by a Staff Member named Josh Markham (fuck you, wherever you are) in the building’s front lobby. “Hope ya stay sober!”, he smirked. As it turned out I stayed sober for an additional year and a half, but the experience was so little fun that I may as well have been shooting crystal meth. As relieved as I was to be out of Straight, I felt overwhelming guilt about it, though I had no control over the situation of my being Withdrawn from the Program. My emotions were totally pureed, and though I hate weeping I was doing it all the time, out of the habit I’d picked up in Straight. After having zero privacy for the last two years I couldn’t deal with being alone, but I didn’t know how to talk to people in the outside world either. Everyone seemed “Full of Shit,” particularly my parents and classmates. I was also a full year behind in school as a result of Straight. Though my Mother and Father had grown to despise Straight, they were not exactly sympathetic about my problems. They had failed to meet even the bare minimum “Parent Group” attendance requirements, so they didn’t know how long it took most people to finish the Program. As I was forbidden to talk about anything that went on in Group (and was too freaked out to talk about it after I got out), they knew little about what I’d been through for the past two years. My Dad was as pissed off at me for not Graduating as he was at Straight for ripping him off. As a result he sent me back to my Mother’s house where all my Behavior Problems had started in the first place. My Mother, though somehow holding down a job as a schoolteacher, was as loony as ever and she and her husband were at each other’s throats as much as they had been three years before. She had a bad feeling that something weird had happened to me in Straight, and after a while she decided that she knew what it was: I had turned gay! Though I was then abstaining completely from drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes, and was making higher grades than I had since Kindergarten, the fact that I’d gone back to listening to Black Flag and wearing funny clothes meant that I was headed back down the path of Baal, a not uncommon view in small town North Carolina in 1991. She told me to pack my bags on my 18th birthday, so in the next five years I did as many drugs as I could stuff down my gullet. Nowadays my life is more stable than it has ever been since I’ve been alive, though that’s not saying much. I’ve still got problems at 31, but I’ve finished my Associates, and two Bachelor’s degrees and I have almost completed my Masters in English (yeah I know this thing is full of typos, I’m tired). Straight succeeded only at making me an angrier, and less patient person. I don’t think things between my parents and I will ever be the same again either. My Dad used up so much money keeping me in Straight that he told me he couldn’t afford to buy me a car, or send me to college.
STRAIGHT
INC.--SURVIVOR TESTIMONIAL By
Samantha M. I've learned, that
while the truth hurts it also sets you free. It's hard to be
honest, to be truthful to see what is real and what isn't. To accept
life for all the beauty and warts. I hate that there are memories I'd
rather not face. What makes people
the way they are? It's a question I finally found the answer too. I had a hard time
sleeping as a kid, I had the strangest nightmares they were always the
same they scared the hell out of me. I would wake up crying and
screaming. My room was at the end of the hall I think I shared it but
I'm not sure. I hated going to my room I hated the dark I hated the
window that was between the door and my bed. Part of my
nightmare had these huge green hands that would come in the window,
crawl to my bed, its touch burning me. I'd lay there stiff, the only
sound was my scared tears. Then there were the TV's that chased me. They
would roll after me on their aluminum stands their cords flying in the
air behind them like tails whipping around. Waking up from the nightmare
wasn't any easier. I'd sit in my bed blanket pulled up around my knees
scrunched up against the headboard, terrified of the window, wishing my
door hadn't been shut. Army housing - a
series of boxes to accommodate the most amount of people in the least
amount of space. Our house was a
duplex it was big compared to the apts. for the enlisted. It was 3
columns broken into 7 spaces in the middle was the front door which led
to the LR a small 1/4 wall broke the LR from the DR off of that was the
Kitchen. Off the LR was a small hall that broke into 2 BR and a bath the
other side has a BR and a sewing/baby room. I broke from my bed
taking 5 long seconds to hit the door turn the knob and bolt out blanket
in tow. I can still feel my heart race, the shiver up my back. A child's
door should always open out, the hallway is "SAFETY". I'd
usually lay in the door way of the hall and LR listening to the TV. I
assume my parents put me back to bed, its where I woke up. People say your
dreams are trying to tell you something. My dad had been
called to active duty for his third term. I went to look for them after
yet another nightmare. They were in the sewing room. I watched my mother
and aunt pick up a sewing machine and drop it on my fathers foot. You
can't begin to know what's going on in a kid's head when they see that.
Their looks are embedded in my brain my feeling at that moment is
indescribable. "Go back to
bed!" I jump, I can't breath No explanation,
nothing. My moms standing
over my hurt father pointing in the general direction of my room. I made it to bed in
4 seconds never thinking of the window. My father still
shipped out. The "green hands" shipped out with him. A 6 year old learns
from her nightmare that "green hands" are bad, the window is
where the green hands live, mom's scary. A 37 year old woman
learns "Green hands" belonged to the sick fuck that came in my
room every night and molested me. And mom is scary.
Bacon It was the weekend
after the school bus ran over my dog. I was coming home
from Kindergarten we were in Niagara Falls and dad was home for good,
they were waiting for me to get off at the stop. Cleo was running around
with them and then... Yelp! Squish! They got us off the bus a little
further up. Could it get any worse? I was one of those
sensitive kids it wasn't hard making me cry. I guess for parents
it could be amusing to pick on your kid, nothing bad just toughening
them up stuff. Picture the parent who keeps the camera rolling for
funniest home video. I'd had one of
those days and I decide I'm leaving home. What a weird kid,
I'm 5 years old and I'm heading out, I'm gonna make it on my own, I had
a plan. I'm 5 and I'm so
fed up I decide to runaway. My parents watched
me pack my little case helping me take the right things "You need
sox" "Don't forget
underwear" My mom was putting
in sweaters. "Not
those" I was devastated
what did they mean not those "They're
mine" "No, their
not. We bought them" My plan was
destroyed at that moment. How could I run
away and become a famous ice skater if I couldn't take my skates. I
stood there reasoning with them begging them, they weren't giving in and
neither was I. "I'll get a
job I'll buy my own". I actually said that, I crack me up. Leaving without
those skates was the start of my independence, the first time I realized
my parents weren't going to be there for me the first time I realized
that I was going to do life pretty much alone. How does a 5 year
old come up with this shit? I walked away from
home thinking this is it. or was it, this is it? I don't remember
being scared. I do remember quietly crying when I was walking down the
sidewalk, I remember making a plan, well starting one. If my dad hadn't
caught up to me I don't know If I would have waited an hour a day or if
I would have ever gone back home. I know I wanted to prove my point. "come on
sambones" He scooped me up
onto his shoulders took my suitcase and headed home. "well make
some bacon". I wonder what my
point was.
Satisfactory Sam Who ever wrote
"Sticks and Stones" was wrong. Names hurt, names
scar you deep, names make you who you are, how your treated, how you
treat yourself. Names make you do
things you never thought you could do. Names make you do
things you never dreamt you would do. Names make you do
things you wished you never did. So many things
happened during the four years we spent in Germany. Dad had an office
job on base. He wasn't the same, he was angry, he was drinking, he was
my dad and I loved him but, he was an ass. I loved living in
Ford housing. The barracks were in two long rows of about 20 buildings
each holding 4 units with 3 apartments in each unit. that's about 240
apartments give or take. Ford was located in the middle of Neu Ulm.
Which was the suburbs of Ulm where Voorfeild Base was located. We fit
right in, Husband, wife, four kids and a dog. Real Americana. I was in second
grade by then and I was trying to get along. By now I had really begun
to get weird, I had imaginary friends that weren't too imaginary, ghosts
were more like it. I really and truly believed my friends that I saw and
talked too every day were ghosts. I still believe it. I was sleepwalking
when I could sleep and my nightmares were now coming when I was awake. I didn't have
"real" friends I hung out and rode my bike, played at the
park, when my mother forced me to watch cate and jerry. Otherwise I'd be
alone. I had a fascination
with trees, climbing up into the plum trees in the orchard at the end of
base I would sit as high as I could and talk to them. I'd sing songs
just for the trees. I thought that when some people die they came back
as trees their arm now limbs reaching for God their feet rooted to the
Earth. Stuck in the middle, like me. Were they being punished? I came to the
conclusion that they were here to look over the ones they left behind.
They were called to heaven and they couldn't go so they became trees
instead. I wanted to be a tree. Can a child truly
detach from their parents? I think that after
a while under the wrong circumstances a child can find that they do not
belong to their parents. They begin to long for their real parents the
ones that will love and protect them, who will understand them. "Let the
beatings begin" We would all start
to cry when dad got home. We knew we were getting hit and we knew there
was nothing to do but take it. The dog leash hung
at the front door, it was a horrible daily reminder that we were going
to get hit. Mom liked her kitchen utensils; she came at us only if we
were around. Dad rounded us up. I hated that he snapped the thing at us.
Holding the leather leash in both hands he'd bow it and then pull it
tight "CRACK". Sometimes he'd be nice and give us all a little
hit most of the time he'd hold us by one arm swinging the leash around
letting it land wherever. Our backs, our butts and at times our faces. I
wonder if he drank before he came home, I wonder if mom called him
before hand complaining, I wonder why my dad felt compelled to come home
and beat his children? His 10 7 and 4 year olds daughters. His 3 year
old son. I wonder why mom
let him. I knew pretty much
from the start my mom didn't like me. Even as an infant I just knew, and
we never bonded. My dad on the other
hand I had worshiped. In spite of the beatings and all the other abuse,
He was my hero, he was my dad, he was the best person ever. To love someone so
much and to have them abuse you is a hard thing to deal with. When your
seven it's impossible. The first time I
projected out of my body was extremely traumatic. We were nearing
Christmas break, dad came to school to get me, I was proud to have
gotten a good repot card it was my first all "S's" for
satisfactory. Not exceptional, not bad, just good. I was proud of it. Dad on the other
hand wasn't "Satisfactory
sam" He actually called
me that. Standing outside of school my dad hurt my feelings so much all
I could do was cry. All the way home I
apologized and I cried which in turn annoyed him more. "I'll give you
something to cry about" He beat me for the
report card, he beat me for being sorry. He beat me because
he couldn't face himself. Cate and I shared a
room in Germany, our bunk beds were well away from any windows, mom
always left the door open" for cate" so you'd think I'd sleep.
Or at least stay in bed. Bad things happened
when I went to bed "The Big Green Hands" would come in and
burn me, its mouth trying to eat me, smother me. The "Hands"
were there every night and I would lie awake waiting for them, I knew
they would be there and I waited. I don't know if it was fear or the
reality but I began to separate from my body. I would pull my knees to
my chest, wrap up tight in the blanket, close my eyes and concentrate
hard telling myself to "fly out" "go to the dresser"
which was off in the darkest corner of my room. Keeping my eyes closed I
could see a light that would fade in and out like a slow strobe and then
a rush of peace and harmony would over come me. I'd float and hover just
watching, mostly my sister. I wanted to make sure he didn't touch her,
too. Baseball "I can't
believe she made her walk all that way" "That poor
girl" They were looking
at me, I wanted to hide I was exhausted and I was in pain. A couple of weeks
before I had broken my leg, or should I say it was broken for me. You should never
leave your kids alone, they might end up under a pile of wrestling kids
with a broken tibia. Breaking the leg
didn't bother me. It was kind of cool to have the cast. People were nice
to me. Especially the kids who broke it. What transpired
from the broken leg is what broke me. Have you ever seen
a filthy kid? One with ratty hair and dirt embedded in their pores. This
is what I looked like going to the emergency room that day. My mom
wasn't concerned with me. She was mad at my filth, embarrassed that she
had to claim this dirt ball. "can some one
give me a sponge. "Mam that
would hurt her" "She should
have thought of that earlier" Thought of what
earlier? I didn't think I was going to break my leg! I didn't think
anything. Thank God he
wouldn't let her. Lets look at
something here. You have a 9 year old, Who refuses to undress, to bathe.
Her hair is matted. Her parents are miles away from her when she gets
hurt. Does anyone have a
clue?! I think my mom and
dad were cheating on each other, they each thought the other had been
with us. Neither had been there for a while. Our house was filthy, we
were filthy. Things had to
change. Deb the neighbor's
daughter came to sit with me while mom ran errands. She was kind and
sweet. She pampered me, washed my hair, played games, watched TV. She
became my light source. She was an angel sent from God. Deb stopped
coming. She died of meningitis. The girl who had spent the last week and
a half with me dead just like that. My parents were
around the house more and I was left alone, in a good way. It had to be about
4 weeks into my cast when mom goes off the deep end. "Lets go" "Go
where" "To the ball
field" "How we
getting there" "Were walking.
Now get your stuff" "I don't want
to. Can't I stay here?" SMACK! "I said get
your stuff!" My mother proceeded
to walk me and my sisters 10 miles to Voorfield pushing jerry in the
stroller all the way. She wanted to catch
my dad cheating. "Get up. Get
dressed" "What's going
on?" "We're going
to see your father" It was midnight and
we we're all in the wagon speeding toward Voorfield. Mom is screaming,
crying and then calm then screaming again. It didn't take long for her
to find the apartment. She laid on the
horn screaming out the window "Dale! you son
of a bitch! come on out! Let your kids see the scumbag you are!" Horn still blaring,
people standing in their doorways. I'm crouched in the back watching
this go on. We're all crying now. "Daddy,
daddy," Cate's leaning out the window. "Jesus fucking
Christ Jane Are you Fucking nuts?" Dads walking to the
car "I was just
making her a hamburger." A hamburger? God
why couldn't they be honest with each other. I'm 9 and I see through
that one. Men SUCK! Once you get used
to something it becomes natural. Once something is
natural you do it without thinking. If you naturally do
something to someone else that knows it's unnatural, they tell their
parents "naturally". I had invited some
girls for a sleep over and it was going pretty good, until, bedtime. I
molested them, I did to them what the "Green Hands" had done
to me for 5 years, it was natural, that's what you do to girls in bed.
Its what they did to me. Dad didn't come
home from work the next day nor did he really ever come home again. We moved back to
the states.
They knew about Lisa It was good to be
in NJ my mother had 4 sisters all married all had kids we were a clan
and we had fun. Eating at the lake, piling into the wagon for the
drive-in. Staying over each oother'shouses. Kids out numbered the
parents 3 to one and it was heaven. I had 10 years behind me and this
was the best so far. I had more places to hide and my aunts didn't like
dad so he stayed away till late at night. Dad retired from
the Army in 78 it was the same year Lisa ran away. We were never close
so I didn't miss her, I didn't even know she had left until she came
back. "You fucking
pig" "She's
Lying" "Why would she
lie? Where would she get this shit?" "I know what
you did to Enid too" "I don't
believe you" "I'm her
mother she wouldn't lie to me" "Get the
FUUUUUCK OUUUT of MYYY HOOOUUSE!." I wanted to leave
with him. If given the choice between the two I would have chosen him. Sadly it wasn't my
choice, it was his and he chose to leave me. Our Kitchen looked
like a war zone. They went from hitting each other to throwing knives,
one of which stuck in our wall for days. I finally removed it. They knew what
happened to Lisa so I assume they knew what happened to me. Mom took me to a
psych. who affirmed that I had something going on but he wasn't sure. If my mother had
ever left the room I would have told him. Instead she sat
there and listed all my faults, insulting me, hating me, confirming one
more time how I made her miserable. Shit. Mrs Delben was my
5th grade teacher. Lucky for me she was also pregnant and her maternal
instincts were in hyper drive. Like a bee to a flower I did all I could
to remain with her. I had asked her once if I could live with her. This
made her cry. I didn't have the nerve to ask her again. I was now exuding
weird behavior outwardly. I fell asleep in
class all the time I couldn't help it I tried to stay awake I just
couldn't. School was safe, I
could sleep in school. I also had these
pains in my stomach, excruciating pains that made me ball up holding my
side for hours, moaning pain. Spasms that would come quick stay a couple
of hours and then just go away. Everything made me
cry. I was over sensitive. I had these tears that filled me, I walked
around depressed and crying. 11 years old and I am a candidate for
prozac. Thank God they didn't have it. Yet. I found solace in
the attic of our garage, I'd sneak up there in the morning and stay all
day. I could see everything from the window, no one ever came up and I
was at peace up there. I never made a fort
or pretended to be elsewhere. I would sit up there and call to the
spirits my angels and we would talk. I'd ask them to talk to God for me.
I'd ask them to help me. I'd listen to their songs and sometimes I'd
fall asleep. I had some beautiful dreams up there. Dreams that I still
remember, dreams that have now come true. I was almost 12
when mom really freaked. They found her running up rt 181 naked and our
house was on fire. It started in her bedroom, which was across from
mine. I awoke to a fireman taking me outside my mother now screaming in
a psychotic voice. "Get out of
the house" I always wondered
if she started that fire. I was sent to Aunt
Rhonda's for a semester, while mom regained her faculties. I don't know what
happened to the others. I assume they stayed with her. I hated being at
Rhonda's. Due to my lying and
basic weirdness she was all too happy to have me leave as soon as school
was out. I got to my moms
house in the evening, a three bedroom on Lake Swannanoah. Lisa had her
own room Cate and Jerry had a room mom even had a room. I slept on the
couch. Which I lost to Uncle Eddie when he and my cousin Glenn moved in.
I now slept on the floor usually in the dinning room away from the feet
of every dirt bag who now partied while mom was working, at school or
over her boyfriends. It wasn't home. We had cops at our
house at least 2x a week. Doors were always broken. Our house was filthy
and smelled like the basement of a frat house. Food was scarce and I
stole from my friends' houses to feed me, Cate and Jerry. I could care less
about Lisa, she never gave a shit about me. We had always
disliked each other, I hated her for hitting me, she hated me for being
alive. Lisa had a way of reminding me. "I'll fucking
kill you, I hate you" She'd repeat while sitting on top of me fists
making contact. I took it for
another three years. Piss a kid off
enough. There was a pine
forest not far from my house. It was the perfect refuge. I'd take my dog
Cate and Jerry some lunch juice and a blanket, we'd stay the day until
it was dark. The forest was our home when mom wasn't around which was
all the time. It was summer and with school out mom left Lisa in charge
who would in turn kick us out threatening to kill us if we bothered her. So while lisa was
having keggers, and mom was wherever, me and the kids would sit in the
pines. Except rain days
Lisa would let Cate and Jer stay but I had to go. I hung out at the
neighbors when they'd let me in. What a pitiful sight. Francis the oldest
son of the people next door gave me his paper route I was happy at first
I made money and I got to get away from the house. It was a good gig. I
had gotten halfway through my rounds which brought me to the opposite
side of the lake, when some guy in a chrysler calls me over. "Hey. You know
where Cranberry Lake is" "What" "Come
here" I cross the street
and walk up to the driver's window. "Do you know
how to get to Cranberry Lake?" I am about 3 inches
from the car and I can see that this guy has his dick in hand and he's
jerking it. He knows I can see
him, he smiles nodding toward his member. "Does this turn you
on?" "No."
Looking him right in the eye I turned my bike around and went home,
throwing the rest of the papers into the lake, bag and all. Sacrifice the child The moment you
decide to have a child, you also decide to do everything you can to
protect, educate and love them. It's what you
should do. If you can't or don't want to then DON'T HAVE KIDS! What is it with
women? You would rather let some stranger hurt your kids, than what? Be
alone? Honey your not
alone. If you do it right you'll never be alone you have kids who will
love you for the rest of your life. Unfortunately as
far as I'm concerned mom is going to be alone for a long time. When she first
brought Jim around it was nice. We all moved in together and we were
becoming the dysfunctional family I'd always dreamt of. I actually took
to Jim, I replaced my longing for dad to loving Jim. I was his favorite.
It was the move to
Florida that changed it all. If I knew then what I know now "Listen to
your sister. I'll see you in a couple of days" I sat in the window
seat of the Grey Hound Bus that was now pulling out from Dover NJ. Lisa took the two
seats across the aisle. "Don't talk to
me" I Pulled out my
note book and stared at the figure skater suspended on the cover. It's
too hot in Florida, you can't skate in Florida, I hate Florida. I
watched my NJ pass away. It took two
uneventful days to get to Tampa, 90 minuets north of Sarasota our new
hometown. We got off the bus around 9 and had breakfast in the bus stop
waiting for our transfer. Lisa spent our last couple of bucks on a bag
of weed so we just sat there, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Our bus finally
loaded. "Ladies and
Gentlemen. We are sorry for the wait you'll be off soon. We just want
you to know that due to the unfortunate accident we had at the Sky Way
you will be going through Palmetto, which will bring you to Sarasota in
about three hours." "God doesn't
want me here." I believe in signs,
always have. The bridge being hit by a barge less than 12 hours before
were to cross it. All those dead
people. My stomach hurt.
Bad. At first Jim only
picked on Lisa, I didn't care it was the first time I was better than
her. After all those years she finally got hers. When Lisa left that
all changed. It was a bitch, he became worse than dad. If there could be
a worse. Alcohol turns
people into monsters. The first drink they're all happy and lovey. By
the fourth you're too loud, to messy, not quick enough. By the end of
the bottle you're a punching bag. Better you than
your sister and brother, right? We moved five times
in the first year and a half. Aunt Gloryas 12 ft
trailer in the retirement community was first. We were there for about a
month cramped all 6 of us into a 9ft space. No wonder he started to
drink. I'd probably have had a few myself if I knew it could remove you
from this reality. Next came the house
off of Tuttle and school. Sarasota Jr High
school was your typical florida school, rows of rectangles divided into
boxes connected by concrete slabs suspended from metal beams defying you
to pass under them. I always thought
they'd fall on your head. I walked in the
grass. Nancy Lohemann and
I became friends a couple of weeks into the semester, she was my guide
into teenhood, not a good guide, not a smart guide, but my guide all the
same. I don't blame
anyone for any of the things I chose to do. I blame them for
making me the person who needed to make those choices. Within a year I
went from a screwed up kid to a fucked up teen. Sitting here trying
to write the truth disgust me, on so many levels. So lets recap I am 12 years old I
have so far endured, physical and sexual abuse, neglect, death,
abandonment, then just as I begin to trust some one they beat me. My
mother either doesn't believe me, doesn't care or she doesn't know how
to care. I don't know, but there I am, living it and I am scared and
beaten. Shit! Mom. I'm fucking tired of being beaten. I tell you all the
time. I call you at work begging you to tell him to stop. You wouldn't,
you hung up. and I ran away. Everyone knows, they aren't stupid mom
their parents see the bruises the neighbors talk. Surviving as a run
away in the summer was pretty easy. My friends and their parents just
passed me off to each other. It was like I was on a long sleep over. I
just ran around siesta key all day, sitting on the beach, playing
tennis, being a teen, making friends chasing the sun. At night I stayed
at friends always welcomed. Fall on the other
hand. I guess she though
she'd find me the first day of school. So as I walk up to
my 7th grade year actually thinking that I could get away with being a
delinquent, she's there at the entrance. I panic and I run.
Right the hell away from her. Id rather live on the streets. So here's the
thing. I've been gone all summer, 3 months, and your looking for me now? Are you really
scared for me or are you pissed that I ran off from you at the school
steps? "Fuck! Its the
cops tell Sam to go out on the roof" They caught me
friday night and brought me to Sarasota Palms Psychiatric Hospital "At the
request of the "mother". I was ok with being
there, the people at the desk were friendly, the cops were nice. To be
honest I was relieved. I needed a break from running away and I wasn't
ready to go home "The Palms" seemed idyllic. I had met a nice
guy a couple of years ago who called himself a psychologist, mom is a
psychiatric nurse and the places looked nice on TV. When they hit the
buzzer for lock down and the 8ft fire doors swung open I freaked, this
wasn't like TV! Where are the pretty walls and the flowers? Where are
the smiling nurses in white stockings where's the soft music! "WHERES MY
MOTHER!" I was now staring
down a corridor that was animated with fluorescent lights held captive
by grates casting a grey checkerboard on the faces of wild men. They
were shuffling, cackling, Playing with their junk! They were looking at
me! a 5ft 97lb exhausted and scared runaway who at this moment is
hanging on for dear life to anything she can grab. Ever try to keep some
one somewhere they don't want to be? Ever try to save yourself from
harm? The entrance is now
clogged with spectators and players a mélange of white shirts and
hospital gowns. "Get back to
your rooms!" The nuts haven't
had this type of excitement in days. "come on guys
let's go" Some big black guy is scooping them up and leading them
away. "Honey let
go" A lady is trying to pry my fingers off of a table that is
bolted to the floor. "No" I
have my self-wrapped around the leg I'm not going in there. "Why can't I
stay here." my voice sounds like I'm 5 I'm crying and shaking.
Jesus I've never been so scared. Oh God help me.
Please help me. "You can't.
Its the rules. You have to go through intake. Drs Orders" "Can't you
call the doctor? Ill be good Ill wait here. Please just call him." "That's not
how it works. Now get up." "No" She stands up backs away and nods at the men, who quickly grab my arms and legs. Being wiry and strong I refuse to give up too quick and wedge myself between the | |||||||
