Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform > CAN ~ Collective Action Network

Katie's Story

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Original topic here:

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][/color]
--- End quote ---

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]
--- End quote ---

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.

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.

Miss Antsy Pam:
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 :-)


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?


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