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evaderci:
In 1975, I was sent to Synanon, Santa Monica when I was 11 years old. I was not a troubled child, drug addict or afflicted in any way mentally. My mother was seduced by one of the Synanon fundraisers, "Rona", who convinced her that they had a "great summer program for kids." My mom shipped me off to Synanon from Chicago (probably so she could spend more time with her latest husband) for 8 weeks. She knew NOTHING about the organization. Strictly took Rona's word for it. I begged her with collect calls about 3 times a week to let me come home. I was subjected to "Games", incredible hard labor and verbal/mental abuse by my "dorm mother." I moved to Santa Monica about 5 years ago and must have almost completely blocked out my experience until I was walking past the Casa Del Mar one afternoon and my husband saw me go completely white. I asked, "What is that building?" When he told me it used to be the Synanon headquarters, I collapsed on the sand and everything came rushing back. The worst part is that for all these years/decades, I have had no one else to talk to. It is like the worst acid trip or night terror -- you experience it, but you can't relate it to anyone. I came back to Chicago a very different child then when I'd left. No one understood why the sweet, malleable, good student was replaced with an almost demonically mature girl who could make anyone cry with just words. I'd learned quite a lot in those games. My deepest hurt is that my mother will not accept her mistake in sending me there. Cannot accept that she just flat out failed as a mother to protect her child. She put her delusions and interests ahead of everyone. When I tell her that I want to learn more about her thought process in sending her 11 year old daughter across the country to some unknown "camp", she just says, "You never remember all the good things I've done for you." I wish I could just talk to someone about what it was like to be there as a child. As a child with no one to look after me, or comfort me. It was war. I was enlisted for hard labor in Tomales Bay for Dederich's wedding. I was tormented by every adult female to shave my head. The best memory is of the Vietnam Vet who lived in the hallway on the 2nd floor of the main building. He was too freaked out to stay in a room, so he camped in the hallways. He taught me to play chess and on my last day there, he let me win. I don't even know how I was let go. I know there were kids there that couldn't get out. There were 3 or 4 boys there who were really tough and they made themselves my older brothers. They taught me to swear, to dance, to fight, to fight back. I would've died there without them. I'm over-all an incredibly lucky person. I have lived an amazing, full life. Still, I have a lot of pain caused by my mother's actions and in-actions. My experience at Synanon is still a bit beyond my comprehension, but I'm hoping to find some sort of closure or at least commiseration. Maybe here? Thanks for reading...

Ursus:

--- Quote from: "evaderci" ---In 1975, I was sent to Synanon, Santa Monica when I was 11 years old. I was not a troubled child, drug addict or afflicted in any way mentally. My mother was seduced by one of the Synanon fundraisers, "Rona", who convinced her that they had a "great summer program for kids." My mom shipped me off to Synanon from Chicago (probably so she could spend more time with her latest husband) for 8 weeks. She knew NOTHING about the organization. Strictly took Rona's word for it. I begged her with collect calls about 3 times a week to let me come home. I was subjected to "Games", incredible hard labor and verbal/mental abuse by my "dorm mother." I moved to Santa Monica about 5 years ago and must have almost completely blocked out my experience until I was walking past the Casa Del Mar one afternoon and my husband saw me go completely white. I asked, "What is that building?" When he told me it used to be the Synanon headquarters, I collapsed on the sand and everything came rushing back. The worst part is that for all these years/decades, I have had no one else to talk to. It is like the worst acid trip or night terror -- you experience it, but you can't relate it to anyone. I came back to Chicago a very different child then when I'd left. No one understood why the sweet, malleable, good student was replaced with an almost demonically mature girl who could make anyone cry with just words. I'd learned quite a lot in those games. My deepest hurt is that my mother will not accept her mistake in sending me there. Cannot accept that she just flat out failed as a mother to protect her child. She put her delusions and interests ahead of everyone. When I tell her that I want to learn more about her thought process in sending her 11 year old daughter across the country to some unknown "camp", she just says, "You never remember all the good things I've done for you." I wish I could just talk to someone about what it was like to be there as a child. As a child with no one to look after me, or comfort me. It was war. I was enlisted for hard labor in Tomales Bay for Dederich's wedding. I was tormented by every adult female to shave my head. The best memory is of the Vietnam Vet who lived in the hallway on the 2nd floor of the main building. He was too freaked out to stay in a room, so he camped in the hallways. He taught me to play chess and on my last day there, he let me win. I don't even know how I was let go. I know there were kids there that couldn't get out. There were 3 or 4 boys there who were really tough and they made themselves my older brothers. They taught me to swear, to dance, to fight, to fight back. I would've died there without them. I'm over-all an incredibly lucky person. I have lived an amazing, full life. Still, I have a lot of pain caused by my mother's actions and in-actions. My experience at Synanon is still a bit beyond my comprehension, but I'm hoping to find some sort of closure or at least commiseration. Maybe here? Thanks for reading...
--- End quote ---
Wow. What a story. Eleven years old is soooo young to be put through this kind of experience!

We don't get many folk from Synanon here, in part due to the fact that they have their own site (see link above), and possibly also due to the experience inculcating a certain insularity in individuals, e.g., "we vs. them"; outsiders presumably cannot understand... The Synanon site being closed to the public also doesn't help matters much. No one gets to really learn many details of what people actually went through. (Plus, the site is managed by someone ostensibly, for the most part, pro-Synanon.)

However, fornits *IS* very much focused on similar (not same) such programs, most of which involve group peer pressure methodologies utilized to bring about change in individuals. Often at the expense of the individual. And frequently involving trauma that has a way of lingering...

Some of the programs on here actually evolved specifically from Synanon. If ya stay a while and read a bit, you might even get triggered by some of the practices, specific rites, etc. that bear eerily close resemblance to their origins. Or not so close, but still recognizable.

I am curious: how did your mom "ship you?" Did she employ a transport person, e.g., someone affiliated with or employed by Synanon? Do you remember this person's name?

AuntieEm2:
Dear evaderci,

Very sorry to hear you were subjected to this abuse. No one, especially a child, should have to endure this.

I am concerned that if you are in the process of remembering and revisiting this part of your past that you have a good support system around you--people who will listen and can help you understand all this, be there if you are having nightmares or flashbacks, or other symptoms other survivors have reported. You will find support here, but it's not quite the same. This can be a very difficult time, so take care.

Good luck,

Auntie Em

..........:
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none-ya:
A compelling story indeed.Tell me, you just happen to move to Santa Monica, And you didn't remember that's where synanon was? Why would you go back there?

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