Clashfan
Do we ever object to counter productive comments? Sure posted on lots of other threads. But animals is entitled to his opinion. And his rage. These boards should be one place where he can express that.
You are making me as worried as he is. You're right I disagree entirely with the limited contact, lack of phone calls and the lock up of US citizens of any age. Whether it is lawful or not. In Florida it was against the law and they got away with it for 17 years. The state even aided and abetted in this practice.A genuine need or emergency may seem like an unlikely possibility to you but not for us. Everyday in our group therapy was an emergency and we were completely powerless to do anything about it. Because we were minors. Because we needed our "therapy" uninterrupted. Because we could not make a phone call. Could not leave. Had limited, supervised contact with our parents.
And I'm sure some of the people participating in our program had good intentions. I'm sure my parents did. Unfortunately they were treating a headache with a sledgehammer and I couldn't tell them about it.
I'm sure you think you understand that there are some shady places out there. You have no idea. You haven't read the other threads on this board. Allow me to enlighten you with some stories. Stories about what can happen when good intentions are allowed to over ride the civil liberties of anyone but especially children.
My parents took me to Straight on October 20, 1980. My intake lasted 6 hours. Two teen girls coerced a confession from me. Yes I had smoked pot, tried drinking. They advised me that if I did not sign myself in they could have me court ordered to mental institution. Because I had admitted to doing drugs. And doing drugs was crazy. They said that I would be in the program for 2 weeks and after that time I could leave if I chose .After 6 hours I gave up. I decided that 2 weeks was not so long. A mere 14 days. How bad could it be?If it became unbearable I would run away. I never saw a psychiatric professional of any sort. Not a doctor, not my parents not even an adult. I signed the papers as they instructed.
We changed foster homes frequently, arbitrarily. It seemed they didn't want us to feel comfortable or more importantly, secure. I do not know how many foster homes I lived in those first few months. The first one was roughly 3or 4 days followed by a week or so at the second. After that there was a string of homes consisting of days at a time.One home was very comfortable, the parents at least to me, appeared wealthy. But my oldcomer was a sadistic little tyrant who took pleasure in her power. She enjoyed watching us shower and go to the bathroom. She invented additional rules like newcomers had to sleep naked on the floor. Newcomers had to watch her eat spaghetti or ice cream especially if they were on the pb & j diet. Newcomers could not sit on the furniture. Moral inventories were often not long enough, legible enough. They frequently had to be rewritten. Her reviews were merciless. Other foster homes were so poor that squares of toilet paper were specified and limited to an exact number. Newcomers may use 5 squares or 8 squares. Many homes were overcrowded in those days. The bedroom typically consisted of a mattress or two on the floor and we slept 3 or 4 to a mattress. Locked doors and locked windows.In spite of the fact that it was illegal, unsafe and a fire hazard.
Open meeting review was a nightmare.Everyone was reviewed & given setbacks or responsibilty. " I deserve nothing" or "I deserve talk". As if that wasn't enough to drive one to feel worthless, the resulting verbal assault would drive the message home. Still the staff had more vicious tools in their arsenal of ego destruction. We sat on the concrete floor. We'd been in review for hours one day after I'd been there maybe a month and I raised my hand to a 5th phaser to request permission to go to the bathroom. She denied my request. Time passed and my need became more urgent. The fifth phaser went to a staff trainee who said no. I tried to hold it. Surely they would break for us to use the bathroom soon. At the back of the group Txxx Bxxxxx on first phase for months, was humming to herself. She hummed & rocked herself constantly. Even a fifteen year old could see that she needed psychiatric help. Serious help. I wondered why someone who was so obviously mentally ill was permitted in the program. Txx was lucky on this day. The staff was trying to ignore her rather than restrain her as they frequently did. I tried to focus on her humming. Maybe I could distract myself from the need to go to the bathroom.
More time passed.It became painful. The meeting showed no signs of relenting. I could focus on nothing but overwhelming physical need. I began signaling frantically. The 5th phaser looked sympathetic and again went to the trainee who looked at me and went to a junior staff member, KW. She glared at me and shook her head no.I was desperate. How could they not see that I genuinely had to go? My stomach was distended, grotesque. Frightening. I was sweating, crying. Begging. I wondered if my bladder would burst and kill me. K looked at me with a smirk. Disgust, contempt and a giggle. The senior staff member, W finally noticed. There was now a second girl Jill Sxxxx, also crying and asking to go to the bathroom. Other girls were beginning to raise their hands. W shrieked at the group"If you girls have to go to the bathroom so goddamned bad you can go on the fucking floor cause you're not going!" I was sitting on my foot, shoving it into my crotch, rocking slightly, crying. Girls began to scoot away from Jill and I. Finally I couldn't wait any more. I thought maybe I could just go a little. Enough to relieve the pain and hold the rest until the end of the review. There was no stopping it. I sat in a big puddle of urine. Jill followed suit. K looked at us and told us we were disgusting and laughed. Wanda told us we could just sit in it. The review continued. Another girl went on the floor. Finally my name was called and I stood in my urine. A flurry of hands went up. All vying for the opportunity to tell me that I was disgusting, a piece of shit. K was laughing so hard. W looked at me with disgust, contempt. They both proceeded to tell me how disgusting, stupid, pathetic I was. I was humiliated, ashamed, helpless and terrified. On the inside I was trembling. I was not allowed to say a word. W advised the 5th phaser, Lxx Axxx to get a mop but that I was to clean up my mess. She gave me a rag mop but no bucket. I mopped and wrung it out with my hands in the girls bathroom sink repeatedly until it was cleaned up. I cleaned up all the urine on the floor. Mine, Jill's all of it. The entire group watched, even the boy's side joined in the fun. Occasionally K would look over and giggle.
This happened on two more occasions. At that point I decided that I would just drink as little as possible so I wouldn't have to use the bathroom. I needn't have bothered. I was put on the peanut butter and jelly diet for failing to cooperate. This limited my morning meal to 2 pieces of dry toast and a dixie cup of orange juice approximately the size of a shot glass. Lunch and dinner was a big hamburger bun with a teaspoon of peanut butter in the center. Sometimes a slab of jelly sometimes not. Usually frozen. One 6 oz cup of water at lunch and one at dinner. I went on the diet in early to mid November and was on it through Christmas. One day they called my name at sick call and told me I had a bladder infection. Gave me a little blue pill each day for about a week or so and then just as abruptly told me I was better. I realized at some point that I had lost weight. While sitting on the couch one morning, I showed my foster mother how I could fit both of my arms inside my corduroys and touch my knees. Corduroys that I had been barely able to zip up. They took me off the pb & j diet a few days later. Still I was put on PB & J twice more before I went home.
Of course exercise raps were pretty high on the list of intolerable therapies. Occasionally W would lead us in an exercise rap. The timing of this appeared to be random. We would do no exercise for a week or two or even a month and then abruptly we would do a 2 hour session of exercises. We would do jumping jacks, sit ups endlessly, military style. If anyone fell out of count we would start over. Girls would have tears mixed with sweat running down their faces but we could not stop or it would result in more exercise. So we'd continue exercising and crying. That windowless warehouse in central Florida was brutally fucking hot without the air conditioning. The very walls would sweat. People would pass out. Beg for water. We were allowed only seconds at the water fountain in order to minimize the disruption to our "therapy". People frequently choked trying to drink as much water as possible in the limited time allowed. One of the newcomers that lived our foster home went home after a particularly brutal exercise session and drank water until she threw up. One day the girls group went to the carpet room for our exercise rap. I don't know why I thought this would be better. I just thought it had to be somehow. It was agony. Endless. My stomach cramped.Three girls fainted. When I got to the foster home that night my old comer asked me what the sores were on my back were. Turns out they were rug burns.
That summer was so hot, it was misery. Many kids had taken to carving and cutting themselves out of desperation, hopelessness or just sheer misery. One girl carved the words highway to hell up her arm. A boy had carved streaks in his cheeks that looked like Indian war paint.Another boy had gouged huge circles on his cheeks. One day about twelve kids all made a break for the doors. It was illegal for the doors to be locked so they had posted boys as sentries at each door. Those attempting to run were tackled and restrained. Only two got away.
These stories are not the exception. They're not the worst. They're pretty typical of a day in an abusive lockup program. And it went on EVERYDAY. For years.
Of course there are also cases of rape, broken bones, mental illness and many attempted suicides which of course were never reported. Then there are the documented suicides- more than 40 and those are just the ones they know about. As many as 50,000 kids had their childhood eaten by purportedly well intentioned but ultimately destructive therapy.
How could this go on? Why would parents allow this? Those are the big questions right? How? Because phone calls were not permitted, contact with parents was limited, we had no contact with the outside world, no way to call for help and no one who would listen, no one monitoring the "therapy" that went on daily. Because no one took the rights of ALLEGED teen drug abusers seriously.
Because good intentions were allowed to take precedence over civil liberties.
I don't think Animals is making blanket assumptions. He has concerns. Big ones. Legitimate ones.He is expressing them exactly the way he learned in 12 hour daily group therapy sessions. I don't blame you for being not liking it. You're free to express that. Free to post a differing point of view. It makes for good discussion. Enlightenment. I'm not interested in censoring your opinions. And I'm not interested in censoring animals rage. He's had plenty of that. Maybe getting rid of some of it will allow him to express it with less venom someday.
Besides, he has good intentions......
:skull:
For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow but phone calls taper off.
-- Johnny Carson
