Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform > News Items
Katies Story
TheWho:
--- Quote from: "Guest" ---
--- Quote from: "Guest" ---
--- Quote --- Kaite, contact these people anyway. Lawsuits against the people who tortured you, heal. Criminal charges are even better, if you can get the feds to help you
there is no healing without justice, imo
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I think this is a bit premature, guest. Katie hasn’t mentioned any torture that I can see with the exception of the public school system.
NeilW
--- End quote ---
katie has not described torture, she has described bullying. As someone who feels everything is innapropriately turned into "torture" on this website, you'd think you'd be more apt with your language
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Stick around, some people would define bullying as torture and abusive. You must have missed the colored t-shirt discussion.
Che Gookin:
Let's not be to premature about passing off torture as bullying. For all we know the "bullying" could have been the systematic targeting of one person by request of staff.
I've seen it before and if you know anything about CEDU such shennanigans are common place in their raps. Captives are reduced to tears or worst by other students in front of staff and often at the encouragement of staff.
I'd call that abuse and mental torture.
Anonymous:
--- Quote from: "Che Gookin" ---Let's not be to premature about passing off torture as bullying. For all we know the "bullying" could have been the systematic targeting of one person by request of staff.
I've seen it before and if you know anything about CEDU such shennanigans are common place in their raps. Captives are reduced to tears or worst by other students in front of staff and often at the encouragement of staff.
I'd call that abuse and mental torture.
--- End quote ---
the bulllying happened in a regular public school. You should edit that, dear, maybe :nods:
TheWho:
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.
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: kazzie2008@hotmail.com
TheWho:
--- Quote from: "Che Gookin" ---Let's not be to premature about passing off torture as bullying. For all we know the "bullying" could have been the systematic targeting of one person by request of staff.
I've seen it before and if you know anything about CEDU such shennanigans are common place in their raps. Captives are reduced to tears or worst by other students in front of staff and often at the encouragement of staff.
I'd call that abuse and mental torture.
--- End quote ---
Good point Che Gookin. If you read Katies story and the blog the abuse and mental torture incurred from the local public school system was unbearable. Katie was being abused terribly and her father pulling her from this destructive environment was the correct thing to do imo,(I don’t think anyone could effectively argue against this decision).
So if the local school system and local therapies are not working then there is only one logical next step and that is to seek help outside of the community which is what Michael did. If he cared about his money more then he cared about his daughter he would have just let her suffer thru school and hope she survived the abuse and suicide attempts long enough to graduate like many here suggest is the better route to take, ie doing nothing is better than any program.
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