Writing story set in coercive rehab; have questions...

[demitria]

First off: I'm not trying to capitalize on your suffering...I understand you get lots of that around here.  I'm just a hack writer who's never been published who writes stories set in fictional universes of her own invention for kicks, instead of writing "Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets This Month's Trendy Anime Goddess" fanfic or suchlike.  

My interest in the rehab experience is personal and multifaceted.  I'm a 38 year old ex-junkie who's been been off heroin and all needle drugs since 1992. During the period from 1990 to 1992 I spent time in two different rehabs, Charter Hospital and Fair Oaks, both in Sacramento county. These places didn't use the Synanon modality. They were astoundingly ineffectual in actually treating anyone's problems - you were supposed to learn to face adult realities by doing Jigsaw puzzles and playing Parcheesi in the TV room for hours - but they weren't evil...for which I am quite grateful.

I have, however, seen what was left of a few friends after they did a stint at Walden House, a Synanon offshoot in San Francisco, during the late 1980s/early 1990s.  One of them, an introverted guy I used to "chase the bag" with in the Haight, pretty much had his entire personality collapse after a half-year at Walden.  Another friend, someone I'd known in college, fared better...but she became a nonstop bullhorn for "The Program".  Going to dinner with her a few years back, I found she literally could not bring herself to discuss anything else with me for more than a sentence or two, especially since she knew I was on the methadone program--and therefore still an unclean leper outcast in her eyes. A third aquaintance showed up one day at the methadone clinic, with another woman holding her hand as if she was in kindergarten.  When I asked her what was up with that, she jerked eye contact away from my face down to the floor and quietly said she'd "gone back to Walden".  When pressed for more details, she said "I'm not allowed to discuss my Program with anyone." Her keeper gave me the dirtiest look I have ever received in my life.  

When I first found the Straight Inc. Survivor sites I was astonished - although not entirely surprised - at the depth of the abuse that went on there.  

In my stories, there's usually some sort of mind control going on - it's a theme I keep coming back to.  I contrast the insidious forms of it with something else that I see as less evil - a sort of persuasive charismatic influence that some people can have which moves other minds to follow it, and which can be used for good, evil, or - as in the case of most of my protagonists - more neutral purposes best described as mischief.  When you're in love or lust, for example, you can feel moved by the mind of the beloved...and might start doing things you would never have done before, like listen to the beloved's favourite band, which you've always hated...or start developing a strong urge to go to foreign movies, or watch stupid television programs, or eat foods you'd not appreciated the taste of before.  

In the story I am writing currently I take the narrative voice of a 17 year old male who has taken a new and potent form of hallucinogen which has amplified his influence powers to the point of actual mind control ability.  He is thrown into a rehab called Genesis Dawn by his father, whose company owns and operates it and uses the inmates for free construction labour for its many real estate developments. In the course of this adventure he meets a few other inmates who have various mental powers...and then, with each of them using his or her own particular gift, they proceed to turn the rehab firmly onto its ear. It has a little of everything: sad moments, funny moments, sexy scenes and out-and-out weirdness.  

Now finally the questions I want to ask.

1.  Was there ever a rehab actually named "Genesis Dawn"? It seems like there could easily have been, although a search has not produced any evidence of this. (I don't want scuzzy rehab lawyers breathing down my neck...)

2.  Has any rehab ever been known to use the unpaid labour of its inmate population in such a way as to be a direct financial boon to its administrators...which would effectively amount to slavery? I seem to recall that Synanon in its 1970s form did something like this.

3.  I've read the survivor stories, and heard about the "Game" people were forced to play on one another.  How was it that the implicit understanding of the forced nature of this confrontational abuse got lost to the victims of it? I assume it was a cumulative result of sleep dep, bad food and reality-disorientation that caused people to forget that the guy who was berating you and shaking his fist at you in the TR was doing this because if he didn't do it someone was going to do bad things to HIM, and not doing it because he thought you were on the level of something you'd scrape off the bottom of your shoe.  

I want to know as much as I can about exactly how these hell-houses operate. I'm going to postscript the story with a short note pointing out that while the rehab in the story is fictional, places just like it are not, and are operating without a whole lot of restraint.  And considering the Bush climate we're in, they're undoubtedly slated to get even worse.

By the way, my former counselor at the methadone clinic I go to was a Straight survivor - I believe he said his Straight was in West Virginia, or North Carolina or South Carolina. (Definitely not Florida.) He escaped after a very short time there, he told me.  His name was Woods and he was 15 or 16 at the time. This would have been in the mid to late 1980s. Just wondered if anyone remembers him because he was my favourite counselor, and after he left my clinic to go work at a different one, I missed him a lot.


I look forward to hearing from some of you.

Black markets will always be with us. But they will recede in importance when our public morality is consistent with our private one.


http://www.tatteredcover.com/NASApp/store/IndexJsp?s=showproduct&affiliateId=000095&isbn=0618334661' target='_new'>Eric Schlosser, Reefer Madness

_________________
-dmt

[ This Message was edited by: demitria on 2003-07-25 00:29 ]

[Antigen]

Dear Demitria,
  Being a firmly avowed capitalist myself, it wouldn't bother me one little bit if you were to tap into the raw material of my experience, turn it into something of unique value and retire next year right next door to Stephen King.

  You might take offense and being compared to Stephen King. But let me tell you something. You know that one story, "Rage", that got him in so much deep shit? The one where the angry, introverted high school kid goes on a shooting rampage at school one day? Well I read that when I was about 24 and it made me cry. It let me know that, even if you have somewhere inside you almost unbearable rage and pain, it's still possible to mill it into something good.

Thank you SO much for noticing what happened to your friends and for not being part of the turning away. For that alone I think you've earned a reward somewhere along the line.

On 2003-07-25 00:23:00, demitria wrote:


Now finally the questions I want to ask.



1.  Was there ever a rehab actually named "Genesis Dawn"? It seems like there could easily have been, although a search has not produced any evidence of this. (I don't want scuzzy rehab lawyers breathing down my neck...)

Not that I'm aware of.

2.  Has any rehab ever been known to use the unpaid labour of its inmate population in such a way as to be a direct financial boon to its administrators...which would effectively amount to slavery? I seem to recall that Synanon in its 1970s form did something like this.

Yes, Synanon did that in the form of direct labour by commune members in commercial enterprises. Straight, Inc. did that, and I think this is common, by making clients provide services such as scrubbing toilets, answering phones and all kinds of other stuff and calling it therapeutic.

There's an extreme Conservative Christian cult called the Institute for Basic Life Principles and led by some scheister named Bill Gothard. They do the same and also make their clients do "volunteer" work around Indianapoles. They're a very influential cult, being the source for the "Character First" and "Character Counts" school/workplace/community programs. They run several boot-camp and boarding school type operations. One of them is The Character Inn in Indy. Graduates of their advanced seminars are farmed out to go forth and beat some sense into juvenile delinquents in various county and state intervention programs.

There are plenty of examples to work from.

3.  I've read the survivor stories, and heard about the "Game" people were forced to play on one another.  How was it that the implicit understanding of the forced nature of this confrontational abuse got lost to the victims of it? I assume it was a cumulative result of sleep dep, bad food and reality-disorientation that caused people to forget that the guy who was berating you and shaking his fist at you in the TR was doing this because if he didn't do it someone was going to do bad things to HIM, and not doing it because he thought you were on the level of something you'd scrape off the bottom of your shoe.  

Well, I'll just say that The Game was the Synanon term for it. Straight called in marathoning, confrontation and other stuff. Pimps call it keeping their bitches on lock down. It's not anywhere near as mysterious or unusual as people tend to think.

You're right that the sleep deprivation, constant inducement of low level stress and all the rest plays into losing one's grip on reality. But you miss an important point. Brainwashing really works. It's impossible for me to tell how often the person yelling and spitting in my face or taking away half my breakfast to force contrition for some imaginary wrong was just going along and how often they were sincerely washed at that moment. Hell, I can't even tell you for certain how often I remembered that it was just a game and how frequently I lost track of that secret little anchor somewhere in my mind.

I want to know as much as I can about exactly how these hell-houses operate. I'm going to postscript the story with a short note pointing out that while the rehab in the story is fictional, places just like it are not, and are operating without a whole lot of restraint.  And considering the Bush climate we're in, they're undoubtedly slated to get even worse.

Boy, are you gonna catch hell!  :smile: Sorry, I don't know the guy. Don't think there was a Straight located in any of those states, but there may have been.

Please feel free to contact me privately if you think I can help in any way.
http://fornits.com/contact.htm

Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked,  and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that  the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque  self-deception."  
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0517150735/circlofmiamithem' target='_new'>Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger, 1916, Ch.9

[Froderik]

Demitria, your name sounds not unlike that of a goddess; you have helped with my inspiration to make this post, bless your soul...

I had  this idea for a movie the other night that I'm inspired to replay for y'all right now, if you've got a mind to hear it...

Ok here goes...(this is pure fantasy) You're sitting in group and staff stands up a lifer or a misbehaver, take your pick. The mechanized confrontation begins. The victim decides to start "acting out" in response. Staff says "We need some people to 'sit on' so-and-so..." Yeah, we've heard it all before...So it's right at that point that so-and-so's friends who happen to be in a BAD ASS STREET GANG KICK THE FUCKIN' DOORS OFF of their damn hinges and that's when the reeal party gets underway...machine guns start
ripping up the 7 steps hung on the wall, along with some lights. Then the gang leader cooly says, "Who wants to take this staff mofo out and beat his stupid fuckin' HEAD IN with this baseball bat?" No-one responds, but some of the gang gladly take up the leader on this suggestion. We see brains splatter on the white walls. Then when whatever gratuitous violence is over and done with, the rescuers lower their hands as if to escort the people in group out
the doors. The inmates leave the building. THE END.

Now that's what America wants to see. Some good ol' down-home ultra-violence. You wanna sell box-office tickets? You want people to HEAR the TRUTH? Well, you gotta throw in a scene or 2 like that and they'll be lining up...  :cool:

Love yas, FR13

[ This Message was edited by: Froderik13 on 2003-07-25 20:49 ]

[Antigen]

I'll tell you what, you cut from that to the kid to whom the fantasy belongs droning on about how much he loves the Program in general and the staff member in question in particular and it works for me. Oh, and we might as well let the kid rule his own fantasy and take the offer and the bat.

I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard was not what I meant.



---Richard Nixon

[JDavid]

and all the inmates will be ultra hott females & show lots of good scenes from the "phaser room".


[ This Message was edited by: JDavid on 2003-08-16 21:57 ]

[the inmatte]

::jawdrop:: this was the closest to drool
i               could find rock it ladies!!!

[85 Day Jerk]

Wow, after all these years, I finally am able to come up with a description of what comes over me from time to time whenever a disturbing memory of my experience in Straight Incorporated rises to the surface.  My experience was different from most clients in that I was a "jerk" in my program for the first 3 months I was there.  I witnessed alot, I observed, and I still remember.  The real damage did not set in for me until I went home.  The thing is, that I never did go home.  My home was with my mom and sisters and the program saw to it that I went to live with my father, who had a fatter wallet.  My neighborhood of 11 years vanished from my life.  I lost touch completely to my entire identity up until that point and was thrust into a new home and a new school, under conditions that were completely insane.  I had a full blown nervous breakdown that lasted around 19 days or so I am told.  I was taken out of group and forbidden to have contact with other members of the program unless they were there to "watch" me.  I was at first kept awake during the first 3 days, then Jim Hartz, the program director came to see me.  I cannot really remember what I said to him, but I said something that frightened him apparently because he left the program for good not long after.  I was completely out of my mind at the time.  In the days that followed, I noticed that I would be served a different lunch than what my "observers" were being served.  I suspect that my food was drugged because I would fall into a very deep sleep in the early afternoon and would be allowed to sleep until 9pm when our parents would come to pick us up.  At home, these maniacs actually entrusted me with the care of newcomer clients.  I am sure that I engaged in bizarre behavior, yet none of it was brought up in the group.  The only clear incident I remember was one evening during a severe thunderstorm, I got into an arguement with a newcomer, threw open the front door and pushed him out into the rain and told him to get the fuck out if he did'nt like the way things were.  I basically let him have both barrels by telling him that it was not my house, my mother, my father, my life, or anything anymore, and that I was just a fuckin puppet so we might as well leave together.  Because of the torrential downpour neither of us felt like leaving, and I guess my outburst was therapuedic in a sense, because I "got my mind right" not too long after this.  For the years the program had influence over my psychological make-up, I was forced to live as an actor in a terribly demented movie.  This movie was my life, as Straight had scripted it, only nobody ever bothered to yell "cut."

It took getting kicked out of the Army at the age of 20, and a frank discussion with a former drill instructor before I finally saw the light and realized that up until that point, my whole identity had just been a horribly cruel joke.  I have very little to do with my family anymore.  I dont blame them for what happened.  I just choose to not be around them because they just trigger more earthquakes.  Earthquakes of the Soul, and I don't think that is a healthy thing to subject oneself to.          Bob Patterson  intake date June 16, 1978...........graduated August 24, 1979

[Antigen]

On 2003-08-18 22:55:00, 85 Day Jerk wrote:

"I have very little to do with my family anymore. I dont blame them for what happened. I just choose to not be around them because they just trigger more earthquakes. Earthquakes of the Soul, and I don't think that is a healthy thing to subject oneself to."

Exactly! That's just my take on it, but I haven't been able to explain it very well, even to myself. Thanks!

If you met any of my brothers and sisters on the street, through work or any other way, so long as you never venture into the areas of Program and family, you'd probably like and admire them. They really are great people. There are just these little issues that make us all go ape-shit and act like assholes. Unfortunately for me, these little issues are just about the only things we have in common since we recieved all that "help" from Art Barker and Straight, Inc.

Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains.
-- John Muir