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Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform => CAN ~ Collective Action Network => Topic started by: psy on April 11, 2009, 12:16:51 AM

Title: Katie's Story
Post by: psy on April 11, 2009, 12:16:51 AM
Original topic here:
viewtopic.php?f=49&t=27274&start=0 (http://www.fornits.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=49&t=27274&start=0)

Part 1:
Quote from: "Katies Thoughts"
ok people, i have read the things you have written. this is katie. i am an 18 year old who struggles alot. thinking about it i am in an undeniable way afraid to do things after the program. for the first few months i was afraid to even look at or talk with boys. At the "program" we were seperated and told that it was bad for us to interact. i am still afraid of many things, such as the fact that in july i turn 19 and i will have to get an aprtment. i am scared so much. sometimes i wonder if there is an actual place for me in the world. i have made mistakes. throughout the program i learned things, i saw things, and yes I was physically restrained. i still remeber the staff joking about the isolation room as "happy land". i was in that room 6 times. The first few months were very difficult and were hard on me. i still hold alot of guilt over my head becuase of "wasting my parents money". Not only do my parents feel as if it was a waste of time and money, but they feel as if it could be better spent on our family or my older's brothers/ stepsisters college.

Right now, seeing my own words on the blog scares me. What if my parent see them? will there be al hell to pay? I am not afraid of saying what i feel... but i am afraid of what Diane will do. (OH! I have not caled her a bitch or any rude names in months by the way, i am trying to stay out of the line of fire...)  In all honesty i do love her. She is the only mother i have ever known and, she has really taken a risk to be in my life. i have not been the best step daughter... but i do love her. Even now, when i tell her this she ignores me and it breaks my heart... For my daddy, he is the best dad anyone could ask for... he has fought for me all if my life... he saved me from my biological mother, but he has led me into the relationship with Diane.

I will be posting comments of my opinions and story daily starting with this. If you wish i will do an autobiography fro those of you who want to watch out for the warnign signs. But please know this: I love my family. Even though it hurts me to say this i feel as if things would be better for them if i were not around ( In which i am reminded of quite often) for those of you who want to comment feel free to do so, but know that i will not tollerate abuse of any kind. I want people to know my thoughts or feelings, so tomorrow our journey thorugh my life will begin.

Thanks for reading.Please any comments or questions email me @ [email protected] (http://mailto:[email protected])[/color]

Part 3:

Quote from: "katiesthoughts"
Let’s see.

 :waaaa: I left off, the summer I met Christy. Looking wherever I could for friends, I found some. I began hanging out with people who were different. People like me. At the beginning we were innocent teenagers, watching movies, laughing making stupid jokes, and then we began to grow up. After a while Christy and I both were having issues with our lives, so like everyone in this world we held onto something that was not changing. Each other.
   I found Christy cutting herself with a razor blade one day after letting myself into her house. I began to cry to see her hurting like that. She explained it was the only way to get rid of her pain. Looking for any escape I could, I tried it. The first cut was the hardest. I couldn’t believe the relief as I saw the droplets of my own blood forming on my arm. I felt so relieved. Over and over again, I cut until I didn’t feel the jabbing pain inside of my chest from my broken heart.
   After that first day, I went home I sat at the dining room table trying to hide my arms. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was reading a book tucking my arms under my sleeves. Unfortunately it was a white shirt and they still bled. Walking up behind me Diane saw the blood. She didn’t say anything to me but she went and whispered to my dad. I didn’t suspect that they knew. As I got up my dad did also. He grabbed my arms, not only pulling up the sleeves of my shirt but opening the temporary scabs. He looked at me as if I were Satan. “If you EVER do this again we are going to have you committed to an insane asylum” he said. I began to cry. Diane looked at me, and said “Do you understand how serious this is? Are you trying to make this family more stressed because of you?” every word dripped with disdain. I rant to my room. I wanted to hide forever.
   I cried myself to sleep for the few moments I was cutting I was not hurting, and they didn’t understand. The next day, I went over to Christy’s and told her about what had happened. She was the only one who understood my pain. Our routine began. We hung out, and then if we needed it cut. We did everything together. This continued for a few months. After a while the cuts became more frequent and deeper, and I no longer was with Christy when I cut myself. I did it on my legs, thighs upper arms stomach.
   After a while Christy began getting into drugs. Weed, coke, shrooms. I was so scared to even touch the stuff. However I found myself content with cigarettes, and alcohol. I was with Christy almost every spare minute I had. Sneaking out to go to parties, walking around neighbourhoods all night. We were the rebellious teenagers, more so her than me. I got contact high quite a few times, but as I said before I was scared shitless to really use.
   The excitement of it all was wearing off. Cutting wasn’t working anymore, and people began to notice all I wore was baggy sweaters to hide the cuts and scars. I was bored and I wanted to join in with my friends. I began huffing Lysol and paint. The first few times it was nice. Then one day Christy passed out. I couldn’t wake her up, so I did what anyone would do. I called 911. the hospital was a nightmare. Not only was I scared but my parents were called. At that point my dad came and got me. He made me tell him everything about what I had been doing. I was terrified. I was forbidden to see Christy.
   The situation worsened I lied more and more to se her. I stole money for her. I wanted her friendship so bad I let her take advantage of me, and soon it turned ugly. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and after being made fun of at school I didn’t want to take it anymore. I went up to my room and wrote notes to all of my friends. I wanted to die. I went down to the living room and sat on the couch. I began to cut myself, daring myself to do it. I wanted it so bad, and the cuts were only the shallow ones. It wasn’t working. My dad walked into the house just as I got up to try another way. I grabbed my med box and almost had the pills down when my dad forcibly got them out of my mouth. He called the ambulance.
Since I hadn’t ingested any of the pills, I was taking to a psychiatric ward called KHYS. An outpatient program for kids who had tried to commit suicide. I was there for 2 ½ weeks. It was scary. White walls, limited visits. I was given different heavier medication to help with the depression. My family visited me every night bringing McDonalds and games, trying to make everything better. I thought it was a genuine attempt at fixing our family. But unfortunately it didn’t last. My dad was there the entire time. I felt a new respect for him, and I began to heal superficially. The meds made me a zombie once I took them and knocked me out at night. I was more calm and less expressive. I was discharged. I went home. I did well for a few weeks, until the things went back to the way before. The second time around things got much much worse. :waaaa:  ::OMG::


Again i thank you to everyone who will read this and i will write more tomorrow. this was hard for me to write so need support if you can give it.
Please any comments or questions you know how to reach me

[email protected] (http://mailto:[email protected])
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on April 11, 2009, 01:22:53 AM
Alright everyone. Lets get this started again. Part four.

   I was hospitalized in Khys again as I said, for slightly longer this time. I still continued to receive visits from family, but the tension was apparent even in a structured and moderated facility. The second time I was in treatment I had a room by myself. I felt so scared and alone I would beg Mollie to come and sit in my room until I fell asleep. I needed someone there. I turned off my emotions, thinking that no body could help me, due to beliefs ingrained in me not only by my biological mother but from my step-mother. I dearly wished that I would have died in that second attempt. Again my medication changed. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder ( a very mild form of bipolar) and night terrors at 14 years old. I was the family screw up. Has anyone read the trumpeter swan or saw the movie? To be swift about explaining my point a swan is born with no voice and everyone thinks there is something wrong with him. He leaves his family to try and find a way to communicate. While he is gone his father steals a trumpet that simulates the sounds a swan makes. This is basically how I felt. I was the swan with no voice. I was the one with the problem I was the one who was different than anyone else. Yet again I was discharged, but this time to “ensure my safety” I was put into an outpatient program where I could go to school at the facility and have daily check-ups then go home at night. This continued for 4 weeks. I became comfortable. I felt as if I was safe while I was there. No yelling, fun activities and fieldtrips. I had Mollie. I began to feel better again. I felt that I was finally starting to become normal, but as if so happens in my life, my perception is no where close to reality. When I “graduated” I got to go back to middle school. YAY! Not.
   My brothers had let it slip that I had been admitted to Khys. You see in my school, everyone knew about the facility. It was “the suicidal hangout” or the “crazy people place”. The moment I walked back into the school the whispers began. The pointing. It was even worse than before. You see I had been able to slip under the radar as just another person people get interested in for a few days and move on, now I was a psycho kid. I was ‘the freak”. In sociology there are three main causes of deviant behaviour, Labelling is one of them. When labelled often a person will live up to the label so as to fit in with those like them. This was my case. I dressed in all black. I hung out with the “Goth or Emo” kids. I tried to stand out in the crowd. All in all, after the second hospitalization I didn’t care whatsoever for anyone or anything. I began to slack off in my school work and blow it all off to hang out with… yep you guessed it. Christy.
   Her family got evicted due to late rent so she moved into the motel a few blocks from my house. It was even more convenient fro me, because my parents didn’t know what room she was in, so I could go and they couldn’t find me. I could hide from everything they wanted to blame me for.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: psy on April 11, 2009, 01:33:11 AM
It definately must have been tough returning from a place like that into a school where there were rumors that you were somehow "crazy".  Probably didn't do much to help you feel normal.  Maybe that's why you felt at home with outcasts.  That's not necessarily a bad thing.  Finding your own niche is not necessarily bad.  "goths" have a bad reputation, but by and large are no more troublemakers than the "popular" kids.

Parents have a lot of fear about "goths" (thanks to media scare used creates fear in order to sell solutions to nonexistant problesm) but by and large, the ones I knew when growing up were all about individuality and would never force or coerce a person to do anything they didn't want to.  There was much less peer pressure to, for example, do drugs with the goths than there would be with the "popular" kids.  I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that kids who want to be popular do anything to be accepted... and those who are already "rejects" accept each other for who they are.  In a sense, I think the "goths" (at least the ones I knew) are by and large far healthier than many cliques.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Miss Antsy Pam on April 11, 2009, 07:52:14 AM
Dear Katie,

It is my desire that you will find acceptance here and HOPE that you will not be tormented the rest of your life.  Keep writing - it can be very cathartic just putting these words to paper.  As someone said, you CAN forget a lot because you were in shock and traumatized.  I admire your courage for sharing your most personal thoughts & feelings to complete strangers, but these will be the people that can help you feel "whole" again.

You have been thru a trauma that will not be healed easily, but there are LOTS pf people willing to help you.   Personally, I am glad that Femanon was so determined to make contact with you!!!

Welcome...Welcome...Welcome.  If there is somethig you need...just say the words and there will be many offers of help

peace can be found here :-)

~pam
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: dishdutyfugitive on April 11, 2009, 09:19:01 AM
Katie - Thank you for sharing your story.

Do I understand this correctly - your father and stepmother have been writing a 'troubled teen' blog about their parenting experience for a few years now?
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: FemanonFatal2.0 on April 11, 2009, 03:16:05 PM
Good installment Katie, You should definitely study journalism.

I honestly hope your step mom reads this, then possibly she might realize what an effect her emotional abuse had on your psyche at this point in your life. I can't imagine what it would be like to actually prefer the mental hospital over being home, but I can understand your reasoning. It's not fair to a child in need to be isolated and cast out of their family, it sounds like your brothers were in some ways turned against you. Why else would they tell people at school? That's really just a cruel thing to do, everyone knows how harsh kids can be. I honestly wish there were more safe guarding against bullying in public school, but I guess its just a manifestation of our judgmental society.

I wouldn't be so quick to have hang ups with associating with the "goth crowd" your personal sense of style doesn't dictate who you are as a person, it should simply be a reflection of your taste in music and clothing, you don't have to accept the stigma as well. I went through a ton of phases when I was young, all that seem ridiculous to me now but that was just clothes and jewelry, I have always been the same person. I think in time you will be able to see the things that happened to you then, made you who you are today, and give it another few years and you will be saying the same thing, referring to now.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on April 12, 2009, 05:29:46 PM
Ok. It seems like with every single instalment my story becomes more and more difficult to write…   
   
At this point in 8th grade I began to skip classes and hang out in the counsellor’s office. I was depressed and lonely. Christy had quit coming to school  for a long while, and I jest felt as I if were the only one in school that had the same issues I did. I began to slack off in my favorite class: orchestra. I had been plying the cello for 4 years and was the 1st chair of my section (basically the captain). I was put to 2nd chair because I wasn’t concentrating enough and my playing was suffering. I felt horrible. Music was one thing I did well, that not even yelling could affect…. I felt like it was taken away from me.  I began to fake sick more and more so I could go home, and get away from the craziness of the world around me.
   My parents arranged for me to have a therapist when I graduated form khys, and I went once a week. She helped me to unload all of the shit I built up over the time I was away from the safe environment. Just the drive to the office was a hassle for me and Diane. Almost 90% of the time in the car` was spent in silence and the other 10% consisted of us yelling at each other. To put it bluntly things were like having my own personal hell at home, when most kids have their own personal sanctuary, in the thought that most kids can drop the act of images and happiness, as well as who they have to be at school. I didn’t I have that luxury. The mask of my image went on, and never came off. I became the clothes; the music. I was no longer me. There was no place that I could be myself. I remember writing in my journal:

“I am alone in a crowded room, as the only person in a mask. For people are masquerading as something else but when the night comes, the masks fall off and become dust. Mine stays as if cemented to my being. I am unable to remove it even if I wanted to.”
 
Nowhere was safe. I always had to protect myself with my only defence, my attitude and my friends.

I wasn’t interested in the same things anymore. All I wanted to do was be around Christy somehow, every time I was with her I felt alive again. Whole. It wouldn’t last. As I said before, I had a completely skewed perception of reality. I was 14 years old. I felt as if there wasn’t anything to live for. Yet again. I attempted suicide. This time I made it known. Goodbye, I screamed to my parents. I wanted them to know that I loved them. I took my med card out of the kitchen and up into the bathroom in a flash. My dad saw and followed me. He was shouting for my brother to help him. I locked the bathroom door. I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw.
   I began to empty the med card, and take the pills that would end my life. My dad got into the bathroom. He wrestled one out of my hand. I was stunned. I didn’t understand why. Why was he trying to stop me? Isn’t this what he wanted? Wouldn’t he be happier? I didn’t get it at the time. Why did he care?“LEAVE ME ALONE! LET ME DO THIS!!!” I kept screaming at him. I wanted it to be over. I would not be hurting so much… I didn’t understand why he suddenly cared about me now…
   I was taken to the hospital. I had to drink charcoal. And I hated it. Sometimes I wish I would have died. Maybe it would have relieved me of the pain I had to go through later on, but that is another story. The nurse gave me a look of utter disapproval. I was embarrassed. I was crazy. Every doctor that looked at my chart knew why I was there. Every single one of them mad me feel…….worthless. Their faces are burnt into my memory, like the spots in your vision if you stare at the sun too long. The expressions weren’t of compassion like doctors have in the movies. The looks were of disgust. I was disgusting. I surely felt it. I had charcoal on my face, and my hands. I was vomiting charcoal, pooping charcoal. I felt like I was being drowned in it. I had to drink a gallon to neutralize the toxins from the medications I took. It was demoralizing. I felt violated.
I was evaluated by the on site psychologist. I was to be admitted into a treatment center once again. Khys was full. I was horrified. At least Mollie would have been there to help me understand to explain why my life was worth living.  I was transported in the ambulance. I was strapped to the gurney for a 2 hour ride, with the medics staring at me like I was a monster. My parent went home. I was admitted to Dettmer mental hospital. I got there at around 2 am in the morning. At this point I was so tired I just went to sleep on whatever mattress they told me. I was in Dettmer for 3 1/2 weeks with a daily check-up, by yet another therapist. I was again diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and night terrors. I grew frustrated because I already knew that.
   The visits were less frequent due to the drive. My parents always ended the visits with: we love you and what to help you get better. They wanted to help me. Why would they allow the arguing and insults? It takes two people to tango, so it was not all my fault. But I was told I was the problem. It was ME who was causing the issues. I had to get better. It was like a goddamn pointing fingers game. I had to be the one who took responsibility for my actions…. (Take the blame) what about everyone else? I got yelled at for insults… did anyone else? I think not.
   
 :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout: QUICK NOTE HERE:  I am the child. I am supposed to make mistakes. To get angry, and yell once in a while, but what about the adults? Do they get punished? No. they get a slap on the hand and a get out of jail free card. The children have to be the responsible ones. When did that role switch? Can anyone tell me, because I missed the memo.

Anyway back to my story…while at Dettmer I grew very distant. I didn’t speak much. All I wanted was an escape from hell. A get out of jail card, not a free one, but a get out of jail card. Sadly life isn’t like monopoly and no matter how many times I rolled to get out of prison I never got out.

Questions or comments you know where to go: [email protected]
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Che Gookin on April 12, 2009, 10:06:19 PM
You are moving out of your parent's house soon right?
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on April 16, 2009, 05:00:12 PM
Ok. I am dearly sorry to all of those who were reading my story. It had been a few days since the last instalment and I have been extremely busy. So to make up for some of the days I missed I will try to write more than usual.

So we left off when I was admitted to Dettmer. While I was there I learned a lot about holding back my emotions and my actual thoughts I became an expert craftsman of bullshit and I actually prolonged my stay there, due to lack of communication. The facility was locked down of course, but there was still the thought of scaling the walls and running away forever. My reasoning was that if never went home I would never be depressed, if I was never depressed I wouldn’t end up trying to kill myself and my parents would be happy and things would go greatly. Like a clip out of “Leave it To Beaver”. Everyone has there own dreams and fantasies. Mine was irrevocably wrong.
I was discharged and I went home again. This time I tried to make things different. I became more and more distant, only speaking when I couldn’t handle the silence anymore. At one point I didn’t talk to anyone. I would hide and when provoked I would yell.  That was life for me. I was barely home and when I was I wasn’t a happy camper.
 It seemed to me that when I wasn’t home my family was somehow better, and when I was home I got a reality check of how screwed up my family really was. It was scary for a while. You know how you eat too much ice-cream and it starts to taste real bad? Then a few months later you have some and miraculously it tastes good again? Well, that’s how I felt. When I wasn’t around them I missed them. When I was around I saw how crappy life was.
   Dettmer stayed with me. I learned to keep my emotions in check…. most of the time anyway (but when put under a lot of pressure eventually a carbonated soda pops right? Yeah. Me = carbonated soda; pressure = KABOOM!) I had to stop cutting, because my parent would check my arms. I had to check in with them every hour to make sure I wasn’t with Christy. NOT by phone of course. I would have to physically check in at the house.
But, even with a stricter structure for me things at school were declining even more rapidly than before. Diane and I would have hour long screaming matches, and I was a wreck. I was pushed down the stairs one day at school. I strained my wrist, and I had to have a cast out on it. I was so hurt and frustrated. I felt like the biggest loser in the world.
 A few days later, my Dad had to pick me up from school for some reason. I fell down the stairs again and this time I was knocked unconscious for 4 minutes. I guess my dad was freaking out trying to wake me up, and screaming for someone to call 911. I was put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital. I woke up while in the ambulance very confused. My dad was following in his car so I was alone. The paramedics had oxygen on my face and I was crying. They calmed me down saying I was going to be alright. I knew I wouldn’t be. I kept thinking to myself, after all of this why can’t I die? Is there some twisted god up there letting me suffer?
   After that my classes were unbearable. Due to lack of sleep I would doze off in math class and my teacher would let other students drop books on my desk to scare me awake. I would hang out with my English teacher everyday during lunch. He was the best teacher I ever had. I was a poet then… he would read everything I wrote. We would talk about the trivialities of everything and whenever I was in his classroom I felt right with the world. Like there was something that was worth living for. I think back now, and he was one person who really made me think twice about wanting to give up on life. During all of my different hospitalizations my biological mother and I had been talking over the phone. That December I went to visit for Christmas. It was a reprieve form the hell I was in. Yeah there were problems but god, it was better than home. Seeing her was such a relief for me. In her arms was the most adorable and angelic thing I had ever seen. Nicholas. (After my parents divorced my mom had 3 more children. 3 little boys. I knew Bryan and Benjamin.) My mom had part time custody of Bryan and Benji so they werent there. Seeing Nicki was like seeing a part of heaven in a body of the cutest little boy. Nicholas was born 3 months premature. He was so small at birth he could have fit in the palm on my hand. He was born 76% deaf. He was truly a miracle. He also had an auto-immune disease called lupus. This disease causes his body to produce antibodies that attack his own cells. His internal organs are affected and they harden at an abnormal rate.
   Learning this I became devoted to him. He was the cutest little ladies man. Leaving my mom and Nicholas at the end of those two weeks was hell for me. I didn’t know when I would ever see them again.

   Getting back to school…………I began to skip classes and hang out in the office. Faking sick was getting really old. Finally the counsellors had enough. The called my parents saying that I had two choices really. I could stick out the rest of the year IN class and not skipping or I could stay home for the rest of the year. At this point there was like 6 days left of 8th grade.
   I got home from school and Diane was yelling at me saying I would never amount to anything, I was a fucking drop out I would end up pregnant on the streets etc. etc. I was angry and all I wanted was to get away from her, from my dad, from my brothers. I needed an escape. I called my mom and told her what was going on. She immediately told my dad that I was going to spend the summer with her. I flew out to New Mexico that Saturday.

Those first few weeks were like paradise. I was wanted in the house. i was needed. I was a part of the fmaily again. But as it has hapened before it was too good to last. I didnt have many friends there and at first it was fine with me. But being 14 years old i got lonely. i began to search the aprtment complex for friends and i found them. A few were my age but mostly they were older. Tracy was my favorite. She was  24, and lived right next to us. i would be home during the day since my mom was at work, and my brothers were at day care so after i did my chores i went over to tracy's. I had quit smoking due to the restrictions for nicholas's health, but being with tracy had me starting up again. my mom didnt know i was hanging out with people older than me and when she found out she was uncomfortable. she didnt want me to go on the same path i was on at my dad's. Things startd to go bad after she found out about  me hanging out with tracy she grew really rptective. I found myslef doing more and more chores around the house. In some ways having a 5 and 6 year old around the house gets rid of loose energy in other ways it puts on a whole lot of mess! I was cleaning up after them all the time.
I grew more and more short with them not understanding why i was the one to clean up after them. when they were with their dad things were great the house was clean and me and my mom did fun things together. Even nicholas was happy. Dont get me wrong. I love my borthers and i miss them terribly but being 14 and having to clean the crap off of the tub and tiolet seat before I could stand to use them got really old! Me and my mom began to argue. I missed my dad and believe it or not i missed diane. I talked to them about once a week. And my mom was very difficult when i wanted to call them. She didnt understand why i wanted to talk to them after diane's comments all the time. July turned to august. I began to grow distant, and i was nervous all the time. i felt that i couldnt make any mistakes this time. I had to be perfect so that my mom and i could have a relationship. I didnt want to screw up this one too.


OK folks thats all i can handle right my mother and i havent talked or heard from each other in about 4 years and as you will read later things got worse. I am angry at her still due to impressions forced on me by CCM. I cant seem to erase those thoughts from my mind. Writing about her makes me miss her terribly and right now, i cant write any more it hurts too much.

P.S. If my mom is reading this... Stephanie Lynn Bilkey, if you are reading this i love you and i am sorry. please if you can call me or write to me. i miss you and i love you. :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:


Please email me with questions or comments : [email protected]
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on April 23, 2009, 07:37:30 AM
look everyone i am dearly sorry that i havent written, i have been so busy with school! I am senior this year so there are alot of after school activities that hold me there unitl at least 10:00 pm , and then i have to do homework, take a 5 second shower and get inot bed to redo it all again the next day. However my involvement with our High school musical, "Anything Goes" is almost over, our show is finally being performed on friday, saturady and sunday this week, and after that i dont know what i'll be able to do with myself!

SO, back to the story, last i left off, i was at my mom's and things were going ok. Soon we moved out of are artment closer to some support system for my mom, and closer to my new high school. The move was really difficult for me. I was nervous about ym new school, and for the longest time i was afraid i would not find any friends at highschool. I was so nervous, because of the iussue at my last school. I was a loner there, and i was so nervous that i would end up being one there to. New mexico was very different from ohio. There was no humidity, and the heat was almost a bliss. I began to lose weight, not of my own doing, but of lack of food. My mom wasnt very well off, and often i gave up my dinner to feed my little brothers. i didnt mind however. I thought often, that a meal would go better with their stomachs not mine.

My mothers ex, the father of brian and benjamin, wqould have them druing the week most of the time, and when they were with us, me and my mother tried to make things fun for them, taking them swimming, watching movies at home. We really tried to make their lives less hectic after having to be switched from house to house every week.

It was the first house my mom  had ever had on her own. It wasnt a mansion and wasnt a slum, but to me it was perfect. My bedroom  was half of the living room, with a curtain seperating the two. i loved that room. School began, and i was wrong.

For me i was so nervous, but as i went to school that first day i was clearly mistaken about not finding frineds. they were evrywhere. I had friends up the wazoo! I felt that my life was going right for once. I was the mananger of the varsity volleyball team and often io spent my nights at practice then went home and cooked or hung out with my mom. My paradise wouldnt last however. i started to get inot the wrong group of friends.  I swear i think that i am a magnet for trouble, cause everywhere i go, i get into it.

My friends were the same sort of group as they were in ohio. In a way hanging out with them made me feel like i wasnt alone and that i wasnt the only one in the world with problems. Our idea of fun, was at lunch hour to goof off, running around our huge courtyard screaming  "The chickens are coming!" We would almost die laughing.

I became friends with a few girls who were bisexual. At that point i didnt see a problem with it, and i believed that i was as well. To be safe, i was cautious and never overstepped any boundaries, but i did have a so to speak "girlfriend". (Thinking now, i was exploring my sexuality anbd i was confiused, so i am GLAD i grew out of that...)

I began cutting agina. My mom had no clue, and i wasnt going to be the one to tell her about it either. It was shallow and small but still it was my addicttion. my friends would try to get me to stop and to see that my life was worth moree that trying to hurt myself. It was strange, In Ohio, with christy they saw cutting as a relief and they supported me in it. Here they saw it as a plea for help, and they diagreed with me, trying to get me to stop. I felt horrible. i would cut in places to hide it. Not only was i hiding from my mom, but now i had to hide it from my freinds.

I did well for about 4 months at school. good grades, and everything. I was a good student and i loved my classes, (EXCEPT MATH, I STILL CANT STAND IT) :beat:

My mom became involved with a church for the beginning of my stay with her. we didnt talk about it ever, so i didnt really wonder. one day on our way home picking up Nicholas from daycare, she stopped by the building. I read the sign. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints". I was 15. I had no clue what this was. I gave my mom a questioning glance and she said, "I'm A mormon." It took a moment to register. Polygomy, cult craziness. "NOT MORMON!" I was astonished. :jawdrop:

She gave me an ultimatum. I could ive with her and follow her beliefs, and her rules or i could go back to ohio. Of course I picked what anyone would pick, after living with Stepmonster. I started going to church with her. I began to conform. I was babtized. I didnt follow it. asfter all it was just a title. I didnt believe the ajrgain, but i wanted to make my mom happy. I was a master pretender, so this was just another role.

school bacame hectic for me. i broke up with my girlfriend. I tried to not to cut myself. I tired over and over. But as you will read later.... trying is never enough.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on April 30, 2009, 08:31:56 PM
Ok. Sorry for the irregularity of my posts. As I said before I have been busy but in the end it is just a matter of making time right?

Alright my ultimatum and my efforts to be a perfect kid. Well an attempt is an attempt. Let’s just say it’s safe to say that nobody can be perfect. I am a perfect example of that fact. And in that that is as close as I can get to being perfect, is being a perfect example... My mom and I were having issues wit her rules. On a few occasions she would call over our landlord to be a mediator. I was given a set of chores to help her out (even though I was doing everything else anyway) I began to feel like I was back in my dad's home. I grew shorter and shorter. There was an instance where I chose to go to practice and not do my homework. I got home, and my room was basically stripped of everything I owned. I had nothing but a bare mattress on my bed with sheets. I was so angry. My knickknacks that my dad had sent me form home were missing. My blanket I had from since I was little. I was missing my teddy bears; everything I cherished was gone. My mom was sitting on the bed with my math. She calmly explained that once my homework was done I could have my things back. I almost went into a rage. I was close enough to freak out on her, but Nicholas began crying. I calmly said ok, and went to get my baby brother. I don’t know what it was about hearing him cry, but I knew that my anger would somehow hurt him. I picked him up out of his play pin, grabbed my math book from my mom, and did the homework, Nicky sitting on my lap the whole time. Nicholas had a wonderful calming essence about him. He sat there looking at me, and every so often I would tickle him to hear his laugh. His little fingers were wrapped up in my hair, and he was the most wonderful creation ever made in my eyes. (Break here: I never could understand why his father had let my mother, when she was pregnant. How could anyone leave that beautiful perfect bundle of joy and love? Then I realize the same thing happened to me when my mom left. She left me, just like Nicky’s dad left her. I wasn’t perfect and I wasn’t cute at that point but didn’t I bring any joy to her life anymore/ was I not her beloved daughter? :cry:  ??? )

Back to the story. I finished homework and  put Nicky to bed. I cleaned up and slept on the couch. I went to school the next day. I came home. Most of my things were back...  my blanket was still gone, my knickknacks too. Everything else was back. I confronted my mom. She told me that the blanket was being washed. Then she dropped the bomb. She explained she was short of money. She explained that Nicholas needed medicine. She had sold my knickknacks to get money to pay for his prescriptions. It didn’t sink in. I was upset yes, but Nicholas was more important to me.

Things seemed to lighten up around the house as  long as I could run to Nicky and be around him. I tried to be the better daughter. All the while I felt support from church. I felt like my life was as bad as I made it out to be. I found surrogate fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. Ones who treated me like I was worth millions upon  millions of dollars. My mom began to not go, and if she didn’t go, neither could I. I begged for her to take me at some times. I wanted to feel like I was normal, I wanted to feel happy. It seemed in those walls nothing bad could happen.

My mom stopped going together. I couldn’t go either. I was hurt, and as usual I tried other ways to cope. I began reading and escaping into books when I could. I felt as if I were apart of the world the author had spun onto those glorious pages. I felt like nothing could come into my life as long as I was somewhere else. Books... god, I think this is the point where I first began my dream of being an author. In books. I would laugh along with the characters, cry with them,  I felt so safe and secure. I began to wish I could just float into a book and stay there.
Stress was piling up. My mm and I were unable to get along even if I had Nicky. Finally I gave up on myself. I cut myself.  The cuts were deep. I walked into living room, my faced stained with tears, and blood on my hands from where i  had tried to wipe it away. Nicholas was asleep, thank god. (I don’t know how I could handle it if he would had saw me. he was only 2 years old, but I couldn’t bear it if the only thing he remembers about me is that I wanted to die. he fought so hard for his life, and here I was throwing away mine)
My mom began to cry and called my grandma. She explained what I was doing. My grandma wanted to talk to me. I answered the phone. She told me how hurting I was hurting her and the family. She explained there were other things I could do to help me, she explained so many things as I listened silently. Then she asked me, "do you need my help sweetie, I’ll do anything!" In my anger and frustration I told her " NO. I DONT NEED HELP. I DONT WANT YOUR HELP!" I hung up the phone. Little did I know that was the last time I would ever talk to her. The last words I said to my grandma were ones of hatred and anger. ( I still hold so many regrets for that. I miss her terribly, what did she think of me when she died? That I didn’t love her?)

Thanks everyone. I will write more tomorrow. Its hard to talk about my grandma. I miss her so much. :waaaa:  :cry:  :'(
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: FemanonFatal2.0 on April 30, 2009, 10:44:23 PM
She sold your things? I don't know if I should be surprised or not. Either way that is no way for a parent to treat a child.

so was your mom kinda crazy?
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on May 01, 2009, 10:55:42 PM
yes my mother is crazy. she cant handle having children. she has 7 and it seems in my opinion that as soon as they are old enough to take care of themselves she leaves them and has more becuase she has the need to be needed. she left me, my brothers jon erik and matt, and i am pretty sure she left bryan and bejamin with thier dad. nicholas (backround is in blog) has no one else and his conditions require someone to hep him most of the time, so my mom wont leave him because he fullfills her need. My thought is that with his condition he could die at any moment any day. he could already have died, (i wouldt know i havent heard from my mother in over 4 years) but what will she do when nicky doesnt need mommy dearest anymore, or whn nicky passes away? my mom is so young any more. i dont thin she is able to have kids either. what will she do then?
:'( ???  :waaaa:
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: FemanonFatal2.0 on May 02, 2009, 12:21:49 AM
Wow that's really sad, and whats even more so is that you really have no one to lean on for the real family love that you need.

Maybe someday you may be able to reconnect with your mother even if it is just to get closure but at this point I believe it is best for you to keep that kind of drama out of your life. If only you had the same choice regarding your step mother huh?... lol.

When you were younger you needed your parents, their love and guidance and it pains me to see that both of your mother figures treated you like this, I can only assume that contributed greatly to the depression problems that drove you to cut. When were growing up we don't see very clearly the cause and effect of our actions and the actions of others and how they make us who we are, I guess hindsight is 20-20. The best we can do is believe in ourselves and try not to take other peoples problems personally. You mother may be crazy, and your step mom may be abusive but that has NOTHING to do with you, those are THEIR problems. Someday you may forgive them for the hurt they caused in your life and I truly hope you will but before you will ever be able to move on with your own life you will have to learn to separate your emotions from theirs, your actions from theirs and your identity from theirs. You have to be comfortable and happy being you whether they approve of you or not, that way when they act that way you don't have to take it to heart and let it hurt you.

I learned a long time ago that whatever issues my parents had, they had way before I ever came along and I don't have to blame myself for that. I hope you can learn that too, and despite if they support your dreams or treat you with the respect you deserve you are still worthy of the life you want to live.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: maruska on May 12, 2009, 09:33:11 AM
Hi Katie!
Long time not heard from you, hope you are OK.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on May 13, 2009, 04:29:07 PM
sorry its been so long you guys, what with school and graduation coming up i have been extremely busy. yes maruska i am ok. i was sick on monday and tuesday so i couldnt really make it to the computer to post, vomiting and a keyboard dont mix well. lol.  ook. lets see. my granma and i had our conversation. ::puke::  :waaaa:  :eek:  :eek:

A few days after i heard from my grandmother my mom and I  were drinving an she told me that i was beginning to be more tha she could deal with she said something along the lines of " I cant help you ike i thought i could." she told me that I was going back to my dad's for a week to have a small vacation. i was immediatly  plaugued with guilt. i knew i had really messed up this time. not only had i let my mom down but i had proven myself right, that i was too much for anyone. My dad and diane didnt  want me, and my mom didnt want me either. I was beginning to feel like i wasnt wanted anywhere. so i got home and i packed. In my mind i thought that this little "vacation" was going to be good for me, to see my family and get my shit together so i could successfully live with my mom. what i didint know is that this little "vacation" woul turn inot 3 1/2 years. Thinking back now on those last hours with my  mom, i was so naive. she was so formal about htis whole thng. she said i would see her in a week, and that i didnt need to wrry abouyt anything. i was told that i had a ticket backto new mexico. i didnt knwo was that my round ticket stopped in dayton ohio. I held nicky for the last time on september 17 of 2005. he was so hppy then i felt like i was going through hell just to leave him for a week and i didnt realize that i was probably never going to see him again. :heartbreak:  :cry:  If i would have known i would have held onto him and never let go.

I said goodbye to my mom. i thought i would see her in a week, and i didnt understand why she was crying. I kept telling her that i would be home soon, to take care of nickey etc. She kept telling me, I know baby, i know. I got on the plane, and said goodbye to new mexico, my mom, and to nicholas.

The flight was uneventful. I got to dayton. I dont remember if it was morninng or night. i got home and my family was there to greet me. i was happy to see them, afterall i was on vacation. I remember bits and pieces of that week. i remember seeing madagascar as a family. Thinking of it i had no clue what was about to happen. I remember sleeping alot. my dad was home from work to spend time with me (I thought) I do remember going into our basement bedrom and seeing a suitcase packed with some things. i thougtht diane was going on a trip. I didnt realize that the suitcase with the stuff was intened for me, the pillow and toothbrush was mine. the hair ties, toothpaste, scrunchies, and brush were mine. the plastic bin. The stationary. It was all intended for me. I went on about my routine. I slept in all week. I entertained myself. I didnt realize that on thursady night i was going to be woken up at 3 am in the morning. i didnt relaize that i wasn't ever going to see nicholas again. i didnt realize that i was not only going to a boarding school/correctional facility/program. I ddnt relaize that I was going to be 1500 miles away from anyone i knew or loved in 24 hours.

Thursday started out normal i guess. I dont remember what happened during the day. I think we went to dinner, or something. I do remember watching a televsion show when my dad told me to get to bed. I got angry at him. I didnt get why my older brother could watch the rest of the show if he had school in the morning, and i was on vacation. The fight began. The smallest thing triggered it for me. I dont know why it made me so mad... I just snapped. I had to be held down for a long time. I remeber trying to fight my dad and brother. diane got into it, and i yelled things i shouldnt have. i didnt want her in my life. it seemed that everytime i had a blow up she was there to antagonize it. My dad tried to get me to take my meds, because he knew as well as i did that they would calm me down. Seroquel and zoloft. Seroquel would calm me down and make me sleep. zoloft would even out my moods. I didnt want to be forced to take them so i pretended to take them. I was let up off the floor, but i had spit them out , and hid them under my hand. I tried to run for my room, but my dad saw them on the floor. the fight began again. I finally gave in when i had to go to the bathrrom. It was over, and i was crying like a baby. I took my meds. My dad held me in bed for a while, as they took effect playing soothing music, and rubbing my back. I cried and cried. I felt so bad after the meltdowns. finally i closed my eyes and fell asleep.

3:10 am: I woke up to find my dad shaking me gently. there was a man and a woman in the room that i didnt recognize. they had handcuffs on their belts and what looked like a tazer. my dad left with the man as the lady told me to get dressed in something confortable.I was in a  long shirt and underwear, but I did so still groggy and confused. She toldme i was going to a boarding school fo 6 weeks to help me get btter. I didnt argue. I think i was too scared to push her. Plus i was still sleepy, and i knew i needed help. I started packing my things, when she told me i didnt need anything. I gave her a look of confusion. I grabbed a pen and paper and a book anyway. She called the man back in the room. He told me that we could make this easy or hard. they told me to hold my hands sat my sies as i walked down the stairs. They were on either side of me. I was taken out of my house and put into the back seat of a car. i was scared at this point... my dad got into the front seat backwards and tried to say good bye. I didnt look at him . I didnt want to go and i was scared.

The drive was fine i tried to ask questions but all i got in respomse is a short term boarding school for 6 weeks. i didnt know where. I kept asking to talk to my dad. The man said i could call him when we got to las vegas. We got to las vegas. The man didnt make any move to let me talk to my parents. I decided to call him on my own. I saw the lady go inot the bathroom. The man had his back turned and i began dialing collect on the payphone. He saw me, then grabbed the phone. his other arm  grabbed my arm and slammed the phone down. His grip was like steel and boy did it hurt.
I was put into another car, this one a van. The lady sat in the back with me, and there was no conversation this time. He was so mad at me for trying to call. He told me i could call my dad didnt he? Finally i saw it. A bug white builfing that looked like an old floks home. I saw cross creek for the first time, and i didnt know it then, but it would be my home for 3 1/2 years. :-  :eek:
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: maruska on May 13, 2009, 05:03:46 PM
Katie!
Glad to see you again and Thanks for sharing.I know it must be hard to write your story.I can only imagine how hard it must have been to live it.
I still don´t understand how anybody can do this to his own child... just the thought of it makes me sick. Whats wrong with those people?!?
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: FemanonFatal2.0 on May 16, 2009, 02:04:15 AM
Wow i remember that feeling. You didn't have even the slightest instinct that your "vacation" was a scam? when my mom told me to come home for a "vacation" I kinda knew something big was coming.

anyway looking forward to your next installment.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on June 08, 2009, 11:17:13 PM
oh, my god, i am so sorry it hasd een so long you guys. well for those of you who do know me, you know i have been extremely busy, with graduating from high school! Yep. i am officialy a high school graduate fee and clear of the primary education system, lol. Anyways back to the story. I will probablybe writing again soon, i am getting a lap to for graduation so it will be a lot easier to write with access to internet whenever i want lol.

so, i saw cross creek. I remember sitting in the van, then when i got out, two men escorted me onto the premesis. I remember seeing the key cards, and asking them, "We are LOCKED in?" Thye seemed to laugh at my so called "joke". It was about 1 o clock in the after noon by the time we arrived at CCM. I was taken through the courtyard to one of the intake rooms, an boy... i felt like a freak show. I was being stared at, and pointed at, and talked about. I was the new kid on campus, and the only thing i could think of in my head was "Oh, great. I'm the fresh meat. here comes torture." Suprisingly, i was calm, and collected, however scared I was. Intake... dear god..

I was seated in the room with staff as i filed out paper work. I remember thinking to myself, "I am dreaming." or "This is surreal" I felt like the very paper was mocking me. "Why are you here?" was one of the questions. I was tempted to write, "I dunno, why the hell dont you tel me?" But, i could even finish the PACKET they gave me, because the girls walked in. 4 high phase girls, were there t answer my questions, but mostly they asked me questions. I answered them, but i dont even remember them now. I do remember listening to them talk about the program, the trips they took, the activites, such as line dancing, and choir and basketball, hikes, and kitchen work...
I just listened. One of the girls was my hope buddy, and she talked the most out of them all. I immediately like her, and when they "had to leave" she hugged me. It had been a long time so as akward as it was i just sat there.


I was told that i needed to take a shower. I thought i would get some privacy and cool off, wash off the reminders of the day... Nope.

I was told to take off my clothes, and I was given a towel. Ok. it is extremely hard to take off your clothes, while trying to cover yourself up. anyway.
I wasnt allowed to do it without supervision, instead i had to be watched to make sure i wasnt hiding anything.The woman watching me, was SCARY. She reminded me of a viking woman. she was very tall, and very large, with an expression devoid of anything...I felt like i was in a bad movie... there was alos a really nice woman, skinny, and kind. I was told to kick them my clothes, but to keep my bra and underwear.I was then told to get into the shower. I was relieved. i thought that  they would stop watching me, but yet again i was worng. They told me tosquat with the door open and cough. I guess they were making sure i wasnt hiding drugs in my butt.Then they had to "inventory my scars."I was told to sit on the toilet.
They had a nurse come in, and mark down every single scar,and mark on my body, then proceeded to ask me how old each one was, and god, i wanted to scream at them. I had fresh cuts on my arms and legs. So they loked at those, and asked it i had cleaned them. i lied, (thinking they would pour alcohol on me) saying i had. After the nurse left, they said i could get dressed.
"In what?"The skinny woman, handed me an orange shirt, and navy blue pants and said, "Here hunny." I finished getting on my underwear and bra and shirt. The first pair of pants didnt fit. Neither did the second. Or the third. The skinny woman did something i will never forget. She loooked at me (At this point i was in tears and I was nervous as hell, because they were talking about not having my size.) And said,"Dont worry about a thing darlin. I'll just go get you something." This comlplete stranger left, went to the store, and bought me brand new sweat pants and pajama pants, until the program could order my size.
I then had to get my hair wet, so they could "nix me". With that finished i was told that my "intake was over and i could go meet my group, and spend time with my hope buddy. I hadnt eaten yet so i sat in the middle of a hallway and they brought me something to eat; while my hope buddy sat next to me, chattering away...and even though my head was down i knew every eye in the entire hallway was fixated on me.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on July 12, 2009, 03:25:01 AM
You know that feeling... like you have forgotten something, but somehow, no matter how hard you try  can remember? The last few week have been like that for me. I am not going to make excuses for  why I haven’t written in so long simply because there are none. Thinking about it... i guess i was afraid. i was afraid of confronting what I thought would never resurface again... my program.  I guess I was afraid of the fact that i would open up old wounds that  were just starting to heal… I guess what I am trying to say is that I was scared. Sometimes I look back on former posts and I think to myself  “Look! People care!” I guess I was afraid that after my story was out there… I wouldn’t be important anymore… like a notch I someone’s belt, its there, but after a while people forget the significance of it.

Then… someone said something to me. She told me that the importance was to heal. Not to be well-liked or read, but to heal, and by  not writing I Have been doing the exact opposite.  I almost forgot why I Had started writing in the first place… to tell my side. To let my story be heard. To stand up for myself and stop what happened to me, from happening to anyone else… Someone else told me recently that we have to confront our fears. We have to dig deep and think about what may have happened to us in the past. THAT is the only way we will be able to heal our wounds… I guess I was afraid that instead of healing I would be hurting over and over again.

When you get a cut on your hand for instance. The doctor stitches you up, and tells you to be careful. You go home and you don’t listen and in the end, your stitches pull and you have to see the doctor again. You listen. Yes that last time hurt… but you realize that the doctor was right. For some people they have to pull open those stitches to learn. For others you can just be told. For me, I have to pull open the stitches… and once I do… then, and only then can I heal.


For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Katie Carter. I am Cross Creek survivor.  And I am opening my stitches.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Oscar on July 12, 2009, 05:43:50 AM
I am happy that you can use telling your story as a tool to heal.

None here are pushing you for a new chapter of your story, so you don't need to apologize.

Now where you are living on your own and away from a zone of constant confrontation it is important that you use whatever time you have left for work and school to come to terms with what did happen to you so you can move on. It is not the same as forgive, but now you have to focus what is important for you rather than what is important for your family.

Moving out is kind of scaring, no question about that. But several have been in the same situation as you, where you start out from a even worse situation than most youth because you were stolen from the reality, kept in a cubicle and not given the proper time to be trained in navigating everyday challenges.

Keep in contact with former WWASP survivors and use their experiences.

Remember to relax and recharge your batteries. Take some long walks alone where you can enjoy the freedom and discover the strengths you have inside.

I wish you the best of luck.
Title: ANNIVERSARY POST ...YEAR ONE
Post by: katiesthoughts on August 02, 2009, 08:45:38 PM

 :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:



I am still being faced with challenge after challenge… trust issues are popping up over and over. Not only with my family, but with people I thought I could get close to… I guess this journal entry might clear up some of it. It is dated September 29 2007: two years and six days after I was put into Cross Creek Programs.

“In so many I ways I wonder why I am kidding myself- - But then I remember that somewhere deep inside me I am never alone, no matter how  much I feel it on the outside. In so many ways I can express what I am feeling at this moment. I barely even understand it. I do know one thing however… my freedom resides in my heart.”

I look at the past year of my life in wonder. Its been a year since I was pulled from Cross Creek… and not only am I surprised at how fast it went, but others are as well. I have developed relationships, graduated high school, moved into my own apartment, and got accepted into college. Who would have guessed? To be honest I did not expect myself to get to this point. I thought that my life would come to abrupt end sooner than that. In fact in some ways I was almost hoping and planning on it.

I have come a long way since Cross Creek and I wont be the first to admit that. Part of me want to deny that my life has turned out decent. No matter how many times I am told how well I am doing part of me laughs in the faces of those who tell me this. “How can you be doing well if you are not following the program??” It is then my turn to laugh. For even now, a year after I have left the blindingly white walls of the facility, there is still part of me that wants to believe in it. I don’t know how long it will take for me to finally let go of that part of me but until then it is a constant battle.

The truth of my situation… its hard to come by. Those of you who are program supporters come to read my stories to further support my father and his view; and think that what I am saying is a bunch of lies.. Those of you are not program supporters read my story and understand my pain. Then there some who cant decide which is right. That is not for me to decide, because in truth, none of us is right. It is all a matter of opinion.

I am not saying that it hasn’t worked for everyone, but most of the kids who go there, don’t come out the same way. I know it has taken me a long time to become the person I was before the program and even then I still have work to do. I was stripped of all senses of individuality… of personality. I am now just beginning to get that back.

The last year has been hard, and if there is anything you get from this post its this. I have struggled. I have been hurt but most of all I have become a woman that I am beginning to be proud of. Sometimes it seems as if I am still trapped in the walls of cross creek… but I know that I couldn’t feel the way I do now…and that feeling?


Is happy.

“And suddenly it isn't what it used to be
And after all this time it worked out just fine
And suddenly I am where I’m supposed to be
And after all the tears, I was supposed to be here” - “Suddenly” By: Superchick

I am almost confused. In the lyrics it says “I was supposed to be here”. And I am. I am supposed to have found fornits. I am supposed to go through the program because I am stronger. I am a force to reckoned with LOL.

I recently spoke to my mom. I leaned a lot of things that I haven’t known. And in all reality I was too blinded to see. She is actually not at all the person I thought she was. She was forced not to talk to me, forced not to care. My mother is not my enemy.  My mother loves me. Period. I know the truth now… and I know that a lot of things I have been told were lies concocted by other people. She told me recently “Don’t let ANYONE tell you that you are not worth it, and NEVER think that I don’t love you…” and though she may not know it… that has helped me know I am not alone.

This is my one year anniversary of freedom. LETS CELEBRATE!!!


My thoughts for you who are considering programs for your children:  Look at those stories around you. Look at the pain in the words of the survivors from these places. Then look at your children. Even if they have done things to hurt you and your family, do you want them to hurt? Do want them to cry themselves to sleep at night wondering if you still love them? Then please… please don’t send them to a program… If you love them, get them help some other way some other place. These programs have destroyed lives, homes, families. Look somewhere else, but just know that as a program survivor, I beg you. Care enough about your child, about your family… don’t put them though hell because that is where you are sending them.  
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Oscar on August 03, 2009, 05:16:45 AM
Congratulation

You have come a long way and you have done the work on your own. You have allowed yourself to get some of the issues out of your system by writing your story. Now where a year has gone, you must have realized that every word you put down represent some ounces of the contents you have carried around in our emotional backpack.

You can walk with your head up due to the work you have put in this process. Consider yourself lucky because you have gotten this chance. Every detainee released from a program is in a condition of shock. The program didn't take care of their issues but warehoused them and institutionalized them. Like inmates in prisons you had endured the torment and got used to living a life where everyday issues are taken care off. It is a shielded world. A program does not prepare you for a life. Sadly the victim list (http://http://www.secretprisonsforteens.dk/fornitswiki/index.php/Victims) does prove that.

I have read your story from the very start. I cannot find that single point in your story that points in a direction where an inpatient placement is needed. Cutting is normal. Problems from a divorce is normal. Being used as delivery boy of harsh, unneeded messages in a torn family is normal.

Those issues were not dealt with in the program. For one reason only as far as I can see. You have not spoken to your mother for years. Why did you not get to speak to her in person? Answer: Because she didn't pay and she didn't go through the parent seminars so she was brainwashed enough. A big no in any program is to let a parent see the child without having the parent prepped.

39 month took it. 14 days inpatient therapy for both your parents and you would have made so much further progress.

But done is done. No one can turn the clock back. I am not telling you to forgive anyone, but just to move forward in life. Pick the people you want to speak with and don't use time on people you can be in the room with. If presense of certain members on the extended family means confrontation, do not see them even if it also means that means that you have to stop seeing some you do love. I had to make that choice without having been in a program. I can assure you that living with the decision is rather easy once you have taken it.

Some time to time you will find that some of things the program learned you will help you. It is because if you pull the program components apart, they on their own is recognized efficient therapy methods. Some of the material in the seminar do function, they are right, but it is the way you were taught, the use of force  and the black/white way of telling you that is wrong. The world will always be a kind of grade shades.

That means that you can choose to believe parts of the program material and not choose other parts without anything being wrong. You do only have to choose what parts which works for you given the situation you are in.

Now where your story is written down hide it for later processing. At some point in your life where you have both surplus and money, you could benefit from real professional therapy for a change just to fill the last gaps, but we are talking years. Right now reading this last post, I sense a very strong person who can make it. Believe in yourself, accept that life sometimes sucks and move on.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on August 11, 2009, 12:03:34 AM
For the longest time after the program I have been assaulted by nightmares about the years I spent there. This post may seem horrifying to some... it is especially horrifying to write it... This post will not be in chronological order, however it may enlighten some of you... It sure scares the hell out of me, and I cant even imagine what people will say... even as I think about it I feel like a monster.

While I was in the program, one thing occurred to me above all else. I had to keep going. I had to survive whatever way I could. The first year I was assailed by feedback... my personal form of hell. I remember going into group and dreading it, The girls could, and would point out every weakness I had, saying things about my mother, about how I used my weight as something to hide behind, they mentioned Christy, cutting, saying things about how I was the cause for the divorce between my parents. Therapy group time consisted of sharing and feedback. I dreaded every moment. I learned to keep my head down, to be inconspicuous. I learned that good feedback consisted of finding every insecurity and using it against a person, making fun of their issues and making them cry. If those criteria weren’t met it was seen as unreal or fake. I learned very quickly that it was an eat or be eaten world.

That first year was torture for me. I saw feedback and the girls who gave it as the enemy. I realized that it was my only weapon to fight with. I turned what had hurt me so much and forced it onto others. I turned into one of them.

I remember the day exactly. Group was especially difficult. the night before I had hurt myself in my room, scraping the skin off of both of my arms with my nails leaving jagged gashes. The staff found out the next morning and notified my family rep and therapist. In group that day nothing was said about it. I was waiting for the bomb to drop, because I knew that they knew. My therapist didn’t even cross the subject on why I was in an orange, and My cuts were hidden behind the baggy orange sweater we were allotted if it was cold. For a moment I was relieved he had not said anything... but then I realized that I wasn’t through the fire yet. Our family representative had a meeting with us everyday after group and when my therapist was gone she came over to me. "why are you in orange Katlyn?" I looked down avoiding eye contact. Its a submissive position that I had taken. If I didn’t look them in the eyes they couldn’t hurt me. "I... I hurt myself ma'am." I tried to sneak a glance at her but I was caught. her eyes bored into mine. "Lets see it then Katlyn" I didn’t move an inch as she pulled the sleeves of the sweater up over my arms. Some of the fleece caught on the skin and pulled. It hurt badly but I didn’t care. she was looking at me in the same way my parents had so long ago.

All of the sudden I was on my feet. she took me by the elbow and had me face the group with my arms out in front of me. "Look what she did ladies. THIS is why Katlyn is in orange.(She pointed out the raw gashes on my arms as she spoke) she decided to hurt herself." every single word that flowed form her mouth sounded like she was spitting it out. like it was painful for her to be holding the revolting thing in her hand. the revolting thing was me. There was a silence in the room, then one girl said to her "Can we give her feedback?"

The wolves descended upon me. For the next hour I was given feedback. Girl after girl... the same message, telling me I had copped out and that I was worthless if I thought cutting would help, saying I was setting a bad example this was the reason my parents didn’t want me at home, etc., etc., etc. I was mortified. The feedback process not only consisted of the hatred spewing from their mouths but for them to stand directly in front of me, look me in the eyes and tell me how horrible I was. I wanted to die right there. As each of the girls delivered their feedback I found myself wishing and hoping that our family representative would have had enough and tell them to stop. I was hoping in vain. It finally ended and I was allowed to sit in a chair and nurse my wounds. At that moment I realized that I could tune them out. I could survive the feedback and not listen. to go into a happy place so to speak. I realized that to be them I had to play at their own game. I HAD to become one of them. I promised myself that day that I would never allow myself to be hurt and humiliated like that again. I would defend myself, so that I would not have to be hurt again.

That night I realized that I could beat them. I would play and beat them at their own game. That night I locked part of myself away. I promised myself that one day I would open up my heart again, but until it was safe part of me had to be hidden from the world. I had to push away my thoughts of right or wrong, push away my nature to be kind and thoughtful. I locked up everything that was good inside of me, and let myself become a monster.

The next few months I watched and listened. I saw how the game was done. I was smarter than most people took me for. I made my own standards for feedback and every time I would give it, I would follow those to a "T": Pinpoint the insecurities and weaknesses of the person; Use those insecurities in the feedback, and make them cry. Tears were a sign of success.

I was relentless. I was harsh. I was cruel. I turned off every part of me that would see my actions as wrong. I had to because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have made it.
I soon became a favorite with therapists and the program director. I was strait and to the point. Harsh and "realistic".

I remember one day, the program director came into our group and pulled me out. He said he had a favor for me to do. I knew what was coming before he asked. He was going to use me as a weapon against someone. It was normal for me at this point. I didn’t look at him, and I didn’t speak as we walked to our destination. I was concentrating on turning off my emotions. We didn’t stop at one of the classrooms I had expected. We didn’t turn the corner to first floor like I thought. He was taking me over to the boys side.

I was terrified. We were told horrible stories about how the boys in the program would and hurt us if we got close to them. We were told they would only see us as stupid cunts, or free pussy. We were told that they would use and abuse us and they were not to be trusted. For a moment I was so scared I thought He was leading me to my death, and then I got my emotions in check. I was not going to be beaten at the game. I was not going to give in and give up after all the hard work I had done to finally make MYSELF safe.  I was not going to allow ANYONE to take that away from me. I used my fear to fuel my thoughts, and I was ready. I would not let anything get to me.

The director walked in first and announced they had a special guest to join them for group. The boys were excited. I heard one of them say "Is it my Dad?" I felt my heart trying to burst forth from its steel cage I had locked it in, because I felt sorry for him. I again checked out my emotions and left them outside when the director said " Katlyn, sweetheart come and join us please."

The feel of the room drifted from easy going excitement to tension in about a second. I was dressed in the usual uniform, my hair pulled out of my face. I felt naked. I saw the looks on the boys faces and realized that the stories weren’t true. Looking at each one of them I realized that the boys were just as scared of the girls as the girls were of them. I used it to my advantage. they were afraid of me and I used it. I sat down next to the director. I didn’t notice that I was shaking until he grabbed my hand. I don’t know if he believed he was giving moral support, or hiding my weakness. I controlled it. I pulled my hand away and looked strait into the faces of those boys. I was not afraid anymore. I was safe in my head and they couldn’t hurt me.

The therapist asked one of them to share. He looked up for a moment then shook his head saying ,"Not in front of a girl" The director did something I will never forget. He got up out of his seat and asked the boy to stand. I thought he was going to hit him so I prepared myself. Instead of hitting him the director pulled the boys chair to the middle of the circle facing me. He told the boy to sit. And as he did , the director came to my side and said "Honey, this is important I need you to face him and listen to what he says Ok???" I nodded. He led me to the middle of the room, and sat me right in front of the boy. our legs were almost touching. He looked petrified. I knew what my face looked like. I had rehearsed my expressions so many times in the mirror so nothing escaped. it was a mask of calm and collectiveness. It was a hard lined expression with my eyes boring into his.

His breathing was haggard as I I stared him down. finally he started sharing looking everywhere but at me. My eyes were locked on his face, finding his weaknesses, finding his flaws. I couldn’t break my concentration. It was vital I find out what he didn’t want me to know, or I would become his prey instead of him being mine. He spoke about how he had used drugs to get into women's pants. He spoke about how he had molested his cousins, but the therapist kept shaking his head. It was not what he wanted the boy to talk about. Finally the boy gave in. He looked me in the eyes and said "I raped my sister" I was shocked but I didn’t let it show. He continued talking about what he did, and giving details I don’t think anyone should have heard. He looked at me the whole time, as if pleading with his eyes. He was silently asking me to have mercy on him. I could see his apology for what he had done in them. I could see the remorse there. I couldn’t feel it. I could not let my guard down. I had to survive.

He was finished. I was asked to give the boy feedback and I did. I was relentless. I was harsh. I was cruel. I could see his heart breaking as I tore him up. I felt no pain for what I was doing, only a sense of survival. I can remember the dead look in his eyes as I told him how sick he was. I remember the downturn of his lips as I told him that he was perverted. I remember the tears as I asked him what his sister thought. How she felt. I remember everything about that face as I tortured him.
I will never forget it.

As I said I became a monster.

I knew what I had become and the part of me I locked away was revolted by it. I would look at myself in the mirror and not recognize what I saw. I would see someone who looked like me, but was an imposter. The eyes staring back at me were not mine. The game I was playing was one of deception and lies. I was winning, I was going to beat the bastards at their own game. I was going to make it.


The nightmares I have been having lately also bring to mind another face. A little girl.

Again, the director had called me out of group for a “favor”, and again I knew what he meant. This time he spoke to me as I walked with him. He told me how proud of me he was and how good of a person I was. In my head I thought, “Good asshole. It means that I can fool you.”

As I walked into the meeting, I searched the room for the person I was going to confront. It was a little girl, maybe 12 years old… blond hair and bright blue eyes. She started to cry and shake as I looked at her. I knew at that moment that I was a monster. When a small CHILD looks at you and begins to cry you know what you are. And I knew. And I still do. I knew at that moment that I would regret for my entire life what I had to do to survive. I knew that I was someone who was going to hell. My heart almost shattered at that point but something inside of me kept it locked away. I heard a voice in my head telling me “DON’T LET THIS KILL YOU! SHE IS NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE”. I knew what I was, and for the last time, I sealed away my heart. The girl was afraid of me. She knew I was going to tear her to pieces and so did I.

I was frightening. I was scary. I was heart broken.

The feedback was delivered. I saw her eyes go lifeless long before her hands stopped shaking. She was dead inside. I knew from that moment that she was trying to fight it. She was trying to survive just as I had. And it killed me. I wondered what she would be like later on. If she would become a monster just like everyone else.

I will never forget her face. In my dreams it haunts me. In my dreams I see her there shaking and crying and I turn into a monster, fangs and teeth. I kill her with everyone watching and then the people begin clapping. As I look down and see the mangled body of the girl her eyes are still staring at me. I scream.



I am so sorry for what I had to do.
I am sorry for what I did.
And I wish I could take it back.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Oscar on August 11, 2009, 12:48:16 AM
Whatever they did to you, whatever they made you to do, do remember that every man and woman have a breaking point. You just reached yours.

You are not alone. Read about John McCain (http://http://www.usnews.com/articles/news/2008/01/28/john-mccain-prisoner-of-war-a-first-person-account.html?PageNr=8):

Quote
They took me up into one of the interrogation rooms, and for the next 12 hours we wrote and rewrote. The North Vietnamese interrogator, who was pretty stupid, wrote the final confession, and I signed it. It was in their language, and spoke about black crimes, and other generalities. It was unacceptable to them. But I felt just terrible about it. I kept saying to myself, "Oh, God, I really didn't have any choice." I had learned what we all learned over there: Every man has his breaking point. I had reached mine.
You were taken to meetings after meetings. At some point they got to you.

The reason I want you read this story is that inside the story there is something to learn:

Don't feel bad about either the girls who hurt you or the girls and boys your hurt. You all were just following orders in a psychological war. You have to move on. Hate forwards the leaders who ordered it is another story. From the story:

Quote
Now I don't hate them any more—not these particular guys. I hate and detest the leaders. Some guards would just come in and do their job. When they were told to beat you they would come in and do it.
I am not going to lie to you. The nightmare will come and go. Not for 5 years, not for 10 years, but for the rest of your lives according to other survivors.

The main lesson is however that you should never hate yourself. Neither for the person you are, nor for the actions you did.

Whenever they appear, write them down and get them out of your system. Then move on and fulfill the potential you do have despite of what they have told you.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Miss Antsy Pam on August 11, 2009, 09:40:06 AM
Katie....

I can only imagine how hard it was to write that installment.  However, by doing so, you have freed yourself from the chains that bind and take you down.  People in your situation or something similar do the same thing; it is purely a matter of SURVIVAL.  You did what you had to do to make it thru your YEARS of torture.

Please, please remember you only did what you HAD TO DO in order for YOU to survive.  Everyone on these forums knows how this works with the upper levels and the new kids.  Do not beat yourself up for doing what anyone would have done in your situation.  You may be judged by some Fornits readers, but they are only words and words cannot kill you.  

New things will come to light as the days and months pass, but you have the opportunity now to make YOUR LIFE different and better than it ever could be.  Look at what people like Femanon had to endure and look at her now.  She is DEVOTED to this cause and channels her energy into doing something positive and something that makes a difference.  I respect her more than MANY other people in my life even though she is not my biggest fan because I did something to her that was wrong.  Even with that, she had the ability to forgive (maybe?) and to continue working together for a common goal.

Remember sweetie...this will be a journey and NOT just a destination.  You will have to process many things over the ensuing years, but what they say is TRUE...what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!

Much love,
~pam    :rose:  :peace:
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on August 11, 2009, 09:53:16 PM
This passage was an enlightened one, I wrote this morning. I felt as if it should be shared.


Today I watched the sunrise. I don’t know why, but today I felt like I should be there. To see the sun streak across the horizon filling the new day with its golden light, chasing away all of the fears of the night before. I watched as it slowly crossed its way over the treetops glistening and golden. The bluish tint of the sky grew lighter and lighter as I watched… it seemed to beckon to me, telling me the secrets of the world. I felt compelled to watch as the light rose from the deepest pits of the night. The hands of darkness seemed to reach out and fade as the sun drove them back. The sunrise seemed to take longer than I expected, washing away all of the fear and doubt I was holding in my body…

You must never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins… This phrase hit me as I watched the sun leak across the sky. Why would someone want to spend time in the night of someones life, when the day was so glorious? When the fear and doubt of the moon clawed its way from the depths and controlled the soul and body? Why not see someone’s life in the light? I wish I would have wanted to see the sunrise earlier in my life, maybe I would feel differently. Maybe I would be able to forgive myself.

As the sky gradually began to lighten I felt a fear. I felt that if I didn’t see the gradual change in time that I would somehow miss out on an important lesson. I feel like I should be here, in this moment, watching the sunrise, as if for the first time. I don’t remember any sunrise before this one, and in a way I regret that. I wish I could remember feeling this way before but somehow I don’t believe I have.

I don’t know why I suddenly got up from my bed to watch the sunrise. I don’t know why I feel I have to write this, maybe its because I know something now, that I didn’t know before. Maybe now I am open to seeing things as they are not as they should or could have been. Even know as the claws of sleep bat at me, I am forced to watch the sky lighten… like I am forced to unlearn some lesson that long ago I had been told, but somehow over the passage of time I had lived.

I had once told someone that I was a night person… I cannot believe that now. The trees are not alive in the night, the flowers petals are closed to the assailing darkness. I am not a night person. I was meant to live and walk in the day time. So is everyone else. I cannot live my life in the dark. And I cannot live in a cage. That is where I was. In a cage, housed and treated as an animal.

The birds sing their songs to the light, beckoning its rays to caress their lives. To some it signals the passing of another day, to others it signals the birth of a new time. I am not sure which I believe at the moment, but I do know that right now, where I am is where I am supposed to be. All around me the animals know that dawn is coming. They rise and scurry about, welcoming the passing of the night. For some it is a relief, that they have made it through without succumbing to predators, for others it is a time of rest.

The sun is continuing to rise… and I am  going to be ok. I am going to continue to survive, just as it continues to rise.

I am currently working on seeing things the way they should be seen, but it is difficult for me to do so. I have to look at life in a different perspective than what I was taught for 3 ½ years, and I struggle.

I am working on forgiving myself with the help of a few trusted friends, but I wanted to say again, that I am deeply sorry for what I did. I hope that if there are any survivors , out there who I lashed out at know that…


I am so sorry. Words can never express this. I wish every single day of my life, that I could have done something different, but I know now that I could not. I had to do what I did, and the only thing I can do now is to show that I am not that person. I am a good and kind person. I am compassionate and I love people. I am sorry. So so sorry. Please. Forgive me, so I can forgive myself.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on August 18, 2009, 04:29:02 PM
This post is dedicated to those who have been my support, who have helped me through everything. To those people, you know who you are. Thank you for everything. I love you. :rose:


Hope is a funny thing. Sometimes it eludes you… and other times it hits you with a force like a tidal wave. In the last few days I have felt both…strongly than I have in a long time, stronger than I have ever imagined. Like being whipped around in rip tide… Its strange in that sense. Like for some unknown reason I was to be challenged. Pushed to my limit. But as always it seems that my limit is just out of reach. Instead of breaking against the rocks of a craggy shore, I surface from the water I was being whipped by. I sputter and gasp for air, knowing that each breath I take only solidifies the fact that I am alive. My breaking point was just beyond my reach, like the distant shore. I knew my struggle to reach it would only tire me and lead to my end. In my subconscious I wanted to break only to know that nothing could bother me anymore. If I was broken, nothing could hurt, there could be no pain. Then I realize that to feel is human…

Thoughts, and perceptions have been hard for me to voice lately. Like a gag is stuck in my throat, keeping me from saying what I think, and what I should. I have been unable to write as if  someone had mutilated my hands so that words could no longer flow from them. But now things are slightly clearer. I can speak if only in a whisper and my hands once again have the strength to write out the simplest words. Like an inmate seeing the sunshine after incarceration I rejoice… instead of celebrating freedom however, I rejoice in my quick tongue and fluid hands. These symptoms were the result of a fear. I am still not sure what that fear exactly is, but it does not seem so crippling now.

Some people say that  18 years of a person’s life is spent, growing into the person they will be. I don’t believe that. I believe the person you will be varies from day to day, you just happen to carry along the baggage and lessons of youth, adolescence and adulthood. A person grows every second. The human mind has a capacity to learn new reactions and lessons in the time it takes to take a deep breath. Therefore, we do not only grow every second, but we also are carrying along past experiences to help us to better deal with the future. There is no growth into the person you will become. Saying “You are growing” or “You have grown” or “Such Growth” makes it seem as if there is no choice. There is always a choice. We do not “grow” into the person we become… we are that person every second of our lives.

For the longest time I have found it hard to be happy. Not in a sense that I was depressed, more of numb. Happiness for me is not easily achieved. These last few days… for a few brief moments… I have felt happy. I have felt hope. Some say that laughter is the medicine of the soul. No the shallow giggles of a love struck school girl, or the barking laugh of an old man; but the eye rolling, breath taking, gut ripping, tear jerking hysterical laughter of the truly free. I experienced this last night. Laughter truly is medicine. Not only did I feel more relaxed and calm but suddenly the fear I was chained by seemed to loosen its hold around my heart. As I wiped the tears of joy away from my eyes for once, I knew that even if things got bad, if those who cared about me could make me laugh, I would be ok. I would live. And I could be happy.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: anythinganyone on August 19, 2009, 02:22:17 AM
I would agree.  Lots of laughter is distracting, and it helps you look through things in an optimistic light :)

I think fuckin' CCM actually considered laughter a form of avoiding, 'cause, you know, anything that stops them from taking complete control of you and what emotions you feel makes them unhappy liek. :/
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on August 22, 2009, 06:17:31 PM
A few days ago I was hit with a storm. Not only physically but emotionally. That day the weather hit my house with a force I didn’t expect. That night, my emotions hit me with a force I couldn’t handle. I was hit by a decision to make, and in that moment I was reminded of my experience at Cross Creek. I felt that no matter what I did I would revert to the person I was forced to be in the program. I could see the faces of the kids I had hurt swimming in my head, I could feel the same emotions choking my throat. My breath caught in my chest as the panic engulfed me. My head spun as the pain thrashed at my being. I wasn’t going to survive this. As I began to search for anyone to lean on, I found someone.

In that moment I didn’t know what else to do but to tell someone. I began to realize that strength has nothing to do with silence; which is what I have been taught for a  long time. I felt like I was turning back into the person I was in the program, and I was afraid of that. I was so scared of what I would do to others I began to form a plan in my head.

I was going to avoid everyone. To isolate myself from everyone, hold everyone at arms length, so that I would never have to hurt anyone again. I voiced this idea and was faced with the reality of it. It was a cowards choice. I began to come to terms with what has been driving me slowly insane. I am afraid of being emotionally alone. I am afraid of being so secluded I revert to the behaviors that were FORCED upon me in the program. I also realized that in a way… being alone was not as frightening as I thought it was. I have dealt with it before, and for some reason it became less and less intimidating and scary. I now had the CHOICE to be alone. I had the power to decide whether or not I would be alone. No one would be able to force me to do the things I had done before. I had control.

I still hold a huge amount of guilt over my head for what I did in the program, and in a way that guilt is what keeps me moving forward. Every time I think of what I have done, every night when I have the same nightmare, it only drives me to push against it. I still struggle DAILY with my experience in the program. I am still crippled by fears that have been pushed upon me…But unlike the time I spent there, I am able to choose how I live now. And I am choosing. I am going to follow my heart, and try as hard as I can to make up for my actions. As I deal with things my support system continues to accept me with open arms. I find it hard to actually understand, but then again, some things… well they are past words or human comprehension. I do understand though, that I am not, and will never be alone.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on September 13, 2009, 01:06:54 PM
 :suicide:

 Lets see. Over the last few weeks, i have been faced with challenge after challenge. I seem to go to bed at night and fight with myself, because it seems like i keep making the WRONG choices and decisions. Then, i have to dig myself out of the hole, just to dig myself a new one. In so many ways... I just i feel like some days i should just stay in the hole and face the consequences of what I have done to dig myself the grave I am sitting in. But, like the fighter I am, i dig myself out and keep going. Why is that?

People have told me i am not a monster... i didn't have any choice before to hurt people.. but here i am almost 2 years later... and I DO have the choice. And like i did back then i am hurting people. Not in the crippling way i did before... but still. I seem to leave a trail of broken hearts no matter where i go.  I am so confused lately. I just... I keep setting myself up to be hurt. I keep causing pain... whether its in my own family, or with my relationships. I never understood love. I could never wrap my mind around it. Now... it seems like my heart is unable to comprehend it. I have been hurt so many times... and in some sick and twisted way... I feel like I am UNABLE to accept love.

And therein lies my problem.

For some unknown reason, all of the sudden i am a hot commodity. People see me as such a good person. Guys see me as attractive and smart. Or at least that is what they say. Thinking about it... half of the guys who claim they like me, or want to be with me, most likely are saying these things to play me so i will fuck them. WELL HEADS UP. I am not dense. I see through bullshit like it is water. I am not a person to sit back and allow myself to be hurt and walked on. I am not the shy and scared girl that men can use and abuse. I am strong, independent and I am smart.

This is my problem!! Am i too strong? Am i too independent and mistrusting? I cannot decipher REAL intentions from the fake ones. I see them all as uneal and lies. I am unable to trust people... and I hate it.

 If only there was some sort of handbook for life. I would be able to look up "love" or "relationships" in the index, and VOILA!!! I have the answer. But i have to figure it out for myself.

Sorry folks. I know this post is sorta... incoherent. but well, i know i can write what i am feeling and thinking here, and not get hurt or judged by it. I just... I need advice I guess.
-Thanks. :-
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Oscar on September 13, 2009, 04:20:49 PM
How can you understand love when you have missed the vital years where teenagers mature and try out in game of love?

You are just too harsh on yourself.

What seemed to work for me when I was a teenager was to seek isolation until I could work things out. It seems to me that you need to learn how to be alone without ending up acting weird.

Try to think about how difficult they have made it for you when it comes to living by yourself. They did place you in a so-called family. You were never alone. No privacy.

Every single summer I can read about how the youth returning from our continuation schools face the challenge to re-enter the life in their normal family and move on in life where work and school stops at a certain clock from where the privacy starts. Outside the boarding schools work/school are separated from your private life. Even here in Denmark youth kill themselves off when they cannot adapt to the outside life and our boarding schools allow cell phones and only 10 weekends where the teenagers are forced to remain at the school.

So why is it so difficult? Because every single boarding school regardless of how open it is function like a cult. They have their own rules; quickly adapt their own values etc. If I ask the students at our boarding schools 2 months before the graduation how the schools are, more than 90 % would answer that it is the best time in their lives, but once they return home they hit rock bottom when they have to make it on their own. In some towns there are public funded programs to make them move on.

First. Let your family go. Limit your contact to them to the very minimum. They have made it very clear judged by their actions that they have not the willpower to involve themselves in issues most teenagers face. They are not evil. They have not the surplus or maybe the skills to be there, so they let others do the job. I am very good when it comes to work involving some kind of numbers. However I am very bad when it comes to any kind of language. My English sucks. I don't know if a person from Germany could understand me if I tried to count to 10. Language doesn't interest me. We are all good at something and sucks at other things.

Second. Relationships are not something you should seek. They should come by themselves. It sounds easy and simple, but believe me. A person desperate for a relationship will scare a potential candidate away. Once again the program has given you a disadvantage. Something which can shock the potential candidate is if you by mistake use the knowledge learned at the seminars against this person. As you have learned on your own body, people don't like to be analyzed against their will.

Third. Isolating yourselves is not hiding in your apartment. Isolating is to hike, bike or go to the library where you can enjoy the quietness while observing the world.

A final advice is to overhear when people judge you. When people meet a person on the street they don't know, they judge this person in less than a minute. Of course it does not give them the full picture of how a person is, but that how we as humans generally judge other people until we learn more about them.

You have come very far since your release from the program. By telling your story you have removed a lot of the burden from your past. What remains is to find the Katie which is inside you with the powerful ressources that in the future will result in your success.

That Katie is hidden inside you. It is not the Katie people want you to be. Everytime you allow others to tell you who you are, you are moving further away from the truth. So redraw on the frontline of everyday fustration and observe your surrounding while you search for the right Katie in you.
Title: Re: Katie's live n' let love
Post by: Inculcated on September 13, 2009, 05:14:28 PM
Katie’sthoughts,
Well, the good news is that the farther away from the cold places you’ve been, the warmer you become. The circulation flows and the cheeks are flush with life again. People around you are probably responding to that.

I don’t know how to respond to paragraph 2. Some similar discussion has been had here on different threads, recently. I myself am so behind the curve on that, that I consider myself to be in a listen and learn place on the topic.

The latter portion I’ll try to contribute to, but Love is so much. Let’s try for fun and freedom for a while. Sure lots of guys are running game, that doesn’t mean they all are.  Certainly, you don’t have to invest more of yourself than you want to in any relationship. It’s tough to balance the desire to connect with someone while maintaining the boundaries you require to continue healing. The best way I’ve found to deal with that is to continually evaluate in a respectful way what of my own internal dialogue about a situation comes from my intuition or from my speculative fears. While making a conscious effort to free myself from the condemnations of the judgmental and the limitations of my own trepidations, I try to push the limits of my tendency to withdraw, but only when it’s my push.
 
Example: sure cute firefighter and I have a chasm of ideological, philosophical and basic personal historical distance between us that precludes much of a long term…but in the here and now if what we both want is in synch well why not? This ‘example’ comes from a true story. He and I had our fun and when it was eventuating toward a direction I wasn’t prepared to continue; I leveled with him and gained a good friend from what I had seen as an idle while. Seven years of good friendship was the surprising outcome of what was at first pretty blatantly just my embrace of the here and now.

That said, you said it “But I have to figure it out for myself”. It’s trial and error. No matter how much advice you incorporate into your own (for lack of a better term) game plan not all contingencies can be covered. It’s live and learn all the good the bad and even the hunh, does anyone really fall for that?, of it. The key might be to learn from the worst without allowing the fears prevent you the opportunity to have new experiences.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on October 17, 2009, 04:49:15 PM
Can it be almost a month since I posted? Wow. Seems like I have been letting myself become more and more distant lately. I want to say its due to being busy with college, but in truth I have been able to make time to post on other threads.. So I guess I have been avoiding it.

Life seems to be full of ups and downs. I swear, sometimes I get up in the morning, and I expect to see the same people I saw years ago. Sometimes I expect to be 15 again, struggling to get through the program with my dignity. In a way I guess its all apart of the healing process. Actually, lately I have been able to go days, actually weeks without being bothered by my experiences at Cross Creek.. maybe its because I am busy dealing with the other shit in my life, or maybe its because I am finally starting to heal.

College is going great. I am in some great classes (well my math is a pain in the ass and the teacher is a dumbass... but anyway) following my creative writing and journalism major.

Anyway.. I just thought I would post a quick line, I am going out with my room mate tonight, so I will continue later.. I am planning on posting another installment..  :nods:
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Che Gookin on October 18, 2009, 09:52:12 PM
Hey kid...


Lol...

*runs and hides before he gets shot*
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: try another castle on October 20, 2009, 09:18:07 AM
Quote
Can it be almost a month since I posted? Wow. Seems like I have been letting myself become more and more distant lately. I want to say its due to being busy with college.


This is awesome news.  :rocker:


Don't worry about us. Go be in college. Those are some great years.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Che Gookin on October 22, 2009, 09:29:56 PM
^This, just don't play college rugby you'll be marked as a lesbian for the rest of your life. Drink beer, lots of beer, be merry, and have a blast.

Try to study now and then also.
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: katiesthoughts on November 04, 2009, 08:08:36 PM
I am afraid I am going to be homeless. No place to live past December 1st. Leave it to me to screw up my life so badly I will be in a homeless shelter. Great. Just fucking great.

Someone shoot me and get it over with. :suicide:
Title: Re: Katie's Story
Post by: Oscar on November 04, 2009, 11:31:55 PM
You have survived Cross Creek. You can survive a homeless shelter.

What about other students? Are there some in the same situation? Here in my country they often rent a cheap 3-4 room apartment in a cheap neighborhood and live 3-4 students in it. Often they know as much of each other when they leave this common place that they did when they moved in together. One of my old classmates told me that he spoke with his roommates one time per month when the rent had to be paid. It was not because he didn't like them. There was just nothing to say.
Title: Katie's Update :D
Post by: katiesthoughts on January 08, 2010, 10:07:41 PM
Hot damn. Boy has it been a while. Well its safe to say that I have a place to live LOL.. I got my own apartment on December 1st, by myself, which is where I am currently living. The rent isnt too bad.. I can afford it, but just barely. Things are looking up. I am getting my student loans in, so this next semester of school is already bought and paid for, as well as my books. I also have money left over to save for Next semester, and a few months rent. So far, everything is going well.. surprisingly. Just when I thought my life was going down the shit hole everything looked up.

I am still studying Journalism at the local community college, and I am having a good time so far (Even though the semester just started this past Monday) :P. I am currently dating someone now.. and even though I have a lot of trust issues with relationships in general, he is very supportive of me. I haven't told him about my experiences at Cross Creek either. I don't think I ever will, to be honest. My reasoning for this, is that if I continue to dredge up my past and involve it in my life NOW, I am never going to get over it. So, I am choosing to keep that part of my life in the past, where it belongs.

You know what's crazy? I was waiting to catch the bus for school the other day, and I realized.. I don't think about cross creek anymore. I don't brood over it, and I don't  worry, or get scared about it anymore. I am starting to think.. I am starting to know that I am free.

I hope you All had a good holiday!
~May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields.. Until we meet again!~ :rose: