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The Troubled Teen Industry / Re: Walkabout/Outback Therapeutic Expeditions
« on: December 14, 2009, 03:48:05 AM »
I've just revisited this post for the first time in several years, bringing a number of things to mind, new and old. First of all, I never got around to thanking those of you who took the time to offer your insights, so thank you. If I could bring any of the likely long-lost followers of this thread up to speed, I would, but I feel a very certain sense of the narrative being lost. I am of an age now where the linear chronology of action-reaction, the sequential story-telling of one's life, feels more like a haphazard collection of loosely-cohesive pieces than a real story. My life in retrospect, were I its author, would be a scrapbook, not a novel. Absent the sound, clear perspective of where and who one is -- no longer intensely cognizant of the parts which constitute the whole -- the days, weeks, months and years bleed into each other, with greater sensations of resignation, mediocrity, and a complete lack of footing; like being alone in the wilderness, my own private wilderness. I have either forgotten, or simply have a hard time remembering, my history, my story, and am rendered all the more susceptible to stumbling over old blocks and all kinds of predatory opportunism from the world as a result.
New neuroses have entered center stage since the time of my initial posting, most notably that of acute social anxiety, the most severe cases of which result in a seldom-seen facial spasm. Gastrointestinal distress, tightness in the jaw, recently-discovered elevated blood pressure, and small, intermittent, involuntary bodily twitches are some of the more ubiquitous symptoms. Alcohol can provide occasional relief, which is certainly more bad news than good, as I have been known to use it precisely for that reason. One consequence of this anxiety is an inability to be assertive, forceful, or take the proverbial reins in interpersonal affairs, especially conflicts, especially romance. My resourcefulness, ability to articulate myself in conversation, mental acuity, decision making, creativity, enthusiasm, self-control, diligence, discipline, courage and self-confidence are all stifled by this. I will periodically get angry at 'it' before realizing there is no 'it' to be angry at.
But the content that concerns this forum is that which pertains to the troubled teen industry and my place within it. That said, my current proximity to and/or opinion of my 8 weeks in Utah is essentially the same, though if it's undergone any change or revision, it has only been to hold the experience in higher retrospective esteem; something about which I still have plenty of leery-eyed feelings. The unconscious desire to return to those extraordinary, otherworldly circumstances was a stated concern from my previous posts, and it remains a current one. I am at a loss to determine what I need, in this case and in all cases, so those things which profess to have 'it' naturally draw my attention, Walkabout Therapeutic Expeditions or otherwise. I'm reminded of those who seek to bring new converts into their religious fold, and while those methods are anything but foreign to me, (indeed, the hook is one so plainly cast, how could anyone not see through such a dubious pairing as engineered desperation and supposed salvation?), the subterranean forces of human beings will go where they please, when they please, with or without reason, permission, or any input from the "better judgment" of the individual.
This conundrum exists, in which I feel that any form of treatment or rehabilitation for any of these ills must consist of a stripping down of life's details -- returning to a simpler, purer place, from which to gain a clearer perspective -- coupled with the uncertainty of whether that approach is an objectively decent one, or simply a mechanistic reversion to prior programming. I won't mix words here. I have good memories of this experience, or rather, this experience detached from all other experience. It could very well be responsible, at least in part, for my embrace of minimalism since the time of the program; something which I'm completely fond of and constantly wanting to improve upon. But I am undeniably broken. I soberly come to this conclusion on a regular basis. It is a realization, and often a liberating one at that; the recognition of the existence of a problem as the first step to its resolution. One of the characteristics of being broken is that when I stop to consider that I, like a faulty kitchen appliance, was sent directly to a company which specializes in overhauling and repairing this very specific piece of equipment, only to find more problems down the line than previously existed, whether or not it is appropriate to do so, I can now call into question whether they a: did not address the problems that needed fixing, or b: created completely new ones where there were none (or at least not so many) before. If a god were my manufacturer, my warranty would be void on account of the seal being broken. I was serviced by a presumably authorized technician (and a bonkers expensive one at that), whom I now have the benefit of, if I so choose, holding accountable for any resulting damages. This is either a very healthy suspicion, or a very sad, transparent crutch, and it seems like neither stand to do me any immediate good. I'm leaning toward the latter, but I think it would be foolish to rule out the gravity of those eight weeks, and the part it may have to play in the person I am today, good and bad. At the same time, blame has that perfect wet snow consistency, perfect for hurling ball after ball at the target of one's choosing. Once again, I'm a little astounded at how unable I am to answer such questions for myself, questions which pertain exclusively to me and my own experience, questions which I should be the best equipped to answer. Therein lies the disconnect. I don't remember 21, much less 16, well enough to form my own opinion.
Consequently, two forms of therapy have arrested my attention, each of which appear to stir the the human being with the longest of spoons, renowned for bringing our long-neglected, crusted, caked remains to the surface. They are Reichian or Orgone therapy, and psychedelic therapy, accordingly. Both are subjects I have made great strides to better understand through discussions with practitioners, reading, membership with relevant organizations, and limited personal experience. Undergoing treatment in either is exceptionally (and increasingly) cost prohibitive at the moment, but I'm holding out for a break in the financial clouds. In the meantime, writing does wonders, as does the simple conversation, though rarely do any probe this deep into my personal history.
It would seem that this post could serve as a closing to the thread, just as much as it could spark new discussion. I leave that at the discretion of the community. In any case, you have my thanks for your contributions, past or future.
Allow me to reiterate that my intentions in posting here are not to pursue medical advice, only to generate dialog with the community and to give my curiosity some much needed exercise.
-Danny N.
New neuroses have entered center stage since the time of my initial posting, most notably that of acute social anxiety, the most severe cases of which result in a seldom-seen facial spasm. Gastrointestinal distress, tightness in the jaw, recently-discovered elevated blood pressure, and small, intermittent, involuntary bodily twitches are some of the more ubiquitous symptoms. Alcohol can provide occasional relief, which is certainly more bad news than good, as I have been known to use it precisely for that reason. One consequence of this anxiety is an inability to be assertive, forceful, or take the proverbial reins in interpersonal affairs, especially conflicts, especially romance. My resourcefulness, ability to articulate myself in conversation, mental acuity, decision making, creativity, enthusiasm, self-control, diligence, discipline, courage and self-confidence are all stifled by this. I will periodically get angry at 'it' before realizing there is no 'it' to be angry at.
But the content that concerns this forum is that which pertains to the troubled teen industry and my place within it. That said, my current proximity to and/or opinion of my 8 weeks in Utah is essentially the same, though if it's undergone any change or revision, it has only been to hold the experience in higher retrospective esteem; something about which I still have plenty of leery-eyed feelings. The unconscious desire to return to those extraordinary, otherworldly circumstances was a stated concern from my previous posts, and it remains a current one. I am at a loss to determine what I need, in this case and in all cases, so those things which profess to have 'it' naturally draw my attention, Walkabout Therapeutic Expeditions or otherwise. I'm reminded of those who seek to bring new converts into their religious fold, and while those methods are anything but foreign to me, (indeed, the hook is one so plainly cast, how could anyone not see through such a dubious pairing as engineered desperation and supposed salvation?), the subterranean forces of human beings will go where they please, when they please, with or without reason, permission, or any input from the "better judgment" of the individual.
This conundrum exists, in which I feel that any form of treatment or rehabilitation for any of these ills must consist of a stripping down of life's details -- returning to a simpler, purer place, from which to gain a clearer perspective -- coupled with the uncertainty of whether that approach is an objectively decent one, or simply a mechanistic reversion to prior programming. I won't mix words here. I have good memories of this experience, or rather, this experience detached from all other experience. It could very well be responsible, at least in part, for my embrace of minimalism since the time of the program; something which I'm completely fond of and constantly wanting to improve upon. But I am undeniably broken. I soberly come to this conclusion on a regular basis. It is a realization, and often a liberating one at that; the recognition of the existence of a problem as the first step to its resolution. One of the characteristics of being broken is that when I stop to consider that I, like a faulty kitchen appliance, was sent directly to a company which specializes in overhauling and repairing this very specific piece of equipment, only to find more problems down the line than previously existed, whether or not it is appropriate to do so, I can now call into question whether they a: did not address the problems that needed fixing, or b: created completely new ones where there were none (or at least not so many) before. If a god were my manufacturer, my warranty would be void on account of the seal being broken. I was serviced by a presumably authorized technician (and a bonkers expensive one at that), whom I now have the benefit of, if I so choose, holding accountable for any resulting damages. This is either a very healthy suspicion, or a very sad, transparent crutch, and it seems like neither stand to do me any immediate good. I'm leaning toward the latter, but I think it would be foolish to rule out the gravity of those eight weeks, and the part it may have to play in the person I am today, good and bad. At the same time, blame has that perfect wet snow consistency, perfect for hurling ball after ball at the target of one's choosing. Once again, I'm a little astounded at how unable I am to answer such questions for myself, questions which pertain exclusively to me and my own experience, questions which I should be the best equipped to answer. Therein lies the disconnect. I don't remember 21, much less 16, well enough to form my own opinion.
Consequently, two forms of therapy have arrested my attention, each of which appear to stir the the human being with the longest of spoons, renowned for bringing our long-neglected, crusted, caked remains to the surface. They are Reichian or Orgone therapy, and psychedelic therapy, accordingly. Both are subjects I have made great strides to better understand through discussions with practitioners, reading, membership with relevant organizations, and limited personal experience. Undergoing treatment in either is exceptionally (and increasingly) cost prohibitive at the moment, but I'm holding out for a break in the financial clouds. In the meantime, writing does wonders, as does the simple conversation, though rarely do any probe this deep into my personal history.
It would seem that this post could serve as a closing to the thread, just as much as it could spark new discussion. I leave that at the discretion of the community. In any case, you have my thanks for your contributions, past or future.
Allow me to reiterate that my intentions in posting here are not to pursue medical advice, only to generate dialog with the community and to give my curiosity some much needed exercise.
-Danny N.