Author Topic: Katie's Story  (Read 9432 times)

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Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #15 on: May 13, 2009, 04:29:07 PM »
sorry its been so long you guys, what with school and graduation coming up i have been extremely busy. yes maruska i am ok. i was sick on monday and tuesday so i couldnt really make it to the computer to post, vomiting and a keyboard dont mix well. lol.  ook. lets see. my granma and i had our conversation. ::puke::  :waaaa:  :eek:  :eek:

A few days after i heard from my grandmother my mom and I  were drinving an she told me that i was beginning to be more tha she could deal with she said something along the lines of " I cant help you ike i thought i could." she told me that I was going back to my dad's for a week to have a small vacation. i was immediatly  plaugued with guilt. i knew i had really messed up this time. not only had i let my mom down but i had proven myself right, that i was too much for anyone. My dad and diane didnt  want me, and my mom didnt want me either. I was beginning to feel like i wasnt wanted anywhere. so i got home and i packed. In my mind i thought that this little "vacation" was going to be good for me, to see my family and get my shit together so i could successfully live with my mom. what i didint know is that this little "vacation" woul turn inot 3 1/2 years. Thinking back now on those last hours with my  mom, i was so naive. she was so formal about htis whole thng. she said i would see her in a week, and that i didnt need to wrry abouyt anything. i was told that i had a ticket backto new mexico. i didnt knwo was that my round ticket stopped in dayton ohio. I held nicky for the last time on september 17 of 2005. he was so hppy then i felt like i was going through hell just to leave him for a week and i didnt realize that i was probably never going to see him again. :heartbreak:  :cry:  If i would have known i would have held onto him and never let go.

I said goodbye to my mom. i thought i would see her in a week, and i didnt understand why she was crying. I kept telling her that i would be home soon, to take care of nickey etc. She kept telling me, I know baby, i know. I got on the plane, and said goodbye to new mexico, my mom, and to nicholas.

The flight was uneventful. I got to dayton. I dont remember if it was morninng or night. i got home and my family was there to greet me. i was happy to see them, afterall i was on vacation. I remember bits and pieces of that week. i remember seeing madagascar as a family. Thinking of it i had no clue what was about to happen. I remember sleeping alot. my dad was home from work to spend time with me (I thought) I do remember going into our basement bedrom and seeing a suitcase packed with some things. i thougtht diane was going on a trip. I didnt realize that the suitcase with the stuff was intened for me, the pillow and toothbrush was mine. the hair ties, toothpaste, scrunchies, and brush were mine. the plastic bin. The stationary. It was all intended for me. I went on about my routine. I slept in all week. I entertained myself. I didnt realize that on thursady night i was going to be woken up at 3 am in the morning. i didnt relaize that i wasn't ever going to see nicholas again. i didnt realize that i was not only going to a boarding school/correctional facility/program. I ddnt relaize that I was going to be 1500 miles away from anyone i knew or loved in 24 hours.

Thursday started out normal i guess. I dont remember what happened during the day. I think we went to dinner, or something. I do remember watching a televsion show when my dad told me to get to bed. I got angry at him. I didnt get why my older brother could watch the rest of the show if he had school in the morning, and i was on vacation. The fight began. The smallest thing triggered it for me. I dont know why it made me so mad... I just snapped. I had to be held down for a long time. I remeber trying to fight my dad and brother. diane got into it, and i yelled things i shouldnt have. i didnt want her in my life. it seemed that everytime i had a blow up she was there to antagonize it. My dad tried to get me to take my meds, because he knew as well as i did that they would calm me down. Seroquel and zoloft. Seroquel would calm me down and make me sleep. zoloft would even out my moods. I didnt want to be forced to take them so i pretended to take them. I was let up off the floor, but i had spit them out , and hid them under my hand. I tried to run for my room, but my dad saw them on the floor. the fight began again. I finally gave in when i had to go to the bathrrom. It was over, and i was crying like a baby. I took my meds. My dad held me in bed for a while, as they took effect playing soothing music, and rubbing my back. I cried and cried. I felt so bad after the meltdowns. finally i closed my eyes and fell asleep.

3:10 am: I woke up to find my dad shaking me gently. there was a man and a woman in the room that i didnt recognize. they had handcuffs on their belts and what looked like a tazer. my dad left with the man as the lady told me to get dressed in something confortable.I was in a  long shirt and underwear, but I did so still groggy and confused. She toldme i was going to a boarding school fo 6 weeks to help me get btter. I didnt argue. I think i was too scared to push her. Plus i was still sleepy, and i knew i needed help. I started packing my things, when she told me i didnt need anything. I gave her a look of confusion. I grabbed a pen and paper and a book anyway. She called the man back in the room. He told me that we could make this easy or hard. they told me to hold my hands sat my sies as i walked down the stairs. They were on either side of me. I was taken out of my house and put into the back seat of a car. i was scared at this point... my dad got into the front seat backwards and tried to say good bye. I didnt look at him . I didnt want to go and i was scared.

The drive was fine i tried to ask questions but all i got in respomse is a short term boarding school for 6 weeks. i didnt know where. I kept asking to talk to my dad. The man said i could call him when we got to las vegas. We got to las vegas. The man didnt make any move to let me talk to my parents. I decided to call him on my own. I saw the lady go inot the bathroom. The man had his back turned and i began dialing collect on the payphone. He saw me, then grabbed the phone. his other arm  grabbed my arm and slammed the phone down. His grip was like steel and boy did it hurt.
I was put into another car, this one a van. The lady sat in the back with me, and there was no conversation this time. He was so mad at me for trying to call. He told me i could call my dad didnt he? Finally i saw it. A bug white builfing that looked like an old floks home. I saw cross creek for the first time, and i didnt know it then, but it would be my home for 3 1/2 years.
:-  :eek:
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline maruska

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #16 on: May 13, 2009, 05:03:46 PM »
Katie!
Glad to see you again and Thanks for sharing.I know it must be hard to write your story.I can only imagine how hard it must have been to live it.
I still don´t understand how anybody can do this to his own child... just the thought of it makes me sick. Whats wrong with those people?!?
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline FemanonFatal2.0

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #17 on: May 16, 2009, 02:04:15 AM »
Wow i remember that feeling. You didn't have even the slightest instinct that your "vacation" was a scam? when my mom told me to come home for a "vacation" I kinda knew something big was coming.

anyway looking forward to your next installment.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »
[size=150]When Injustice Becomes Law
...Rebellion Becomes Duty...[/size]




[size=150]WHEN THE RAPTURE COMES
CAN I HAVE YOUR FLAT SCREEN?[/size]

Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #18 on: June 08, 2009, 11:17:13 PM »
oh, my god, i am so sorry it hasd een so long you guys. well for those of you who do know me, you know i have been extremely busy, with graduating from high school! Yep. i am officialy a high school graduate fee and clear of the primary education system, lol. Anyways back to the story. I will probablybe writing again soon, i am getting a lap to for graduation so it will be a lot easier to write with access to internet whenever i want lol.

so, i saw cross creek. I remember sitting in the van, then when i got out, two men escorted me onto the premesis. I remember seeing the key cards, and asking them, "We are LOCKED in?" Thye seemed to laugh at my so called "joke". It was about 1 o clock in the after noon by the time we arrived at CCM. I was taken through the courtyard to one of the intake rooms, an boy... i felt like a freak show. I was being stared at, and pointed at, and talked about. I was the new kid on campus, and the only thing i could think of in my head was "Oh, great. I'm the fresh meat. here comes torture." Suprisingly, i was calm, and collected, however scared I was. Intake... dear god..

I was seated in the room with staff as i filed out paper work. I remember thinking to myself, "I am dreaming." or "This is surreal" I felt like the very paper was mocking me. "Why are you here?" was one of the questions. I was tempted to write, "I dunno, why the hell dont you tel me?" But, i could even finish the PACKET they gave me, because the girls walked in. 4 high phase girls, were there t answer my questions, but mostly they asked me questions. I answered them, but i dont even remember them now. I do remember listening to them talk about the program, the trips they took, the activites, such as line dancing, and choir and basketball, hikes, and kitchen work...
I just listened. One of the girls was my hope buddy, and she talked the most out of them all. I immediately like her, and when they "had to leave" she hugged me. It had been a long time so as akward as it was i just sat there.


I was told that i needed to take a shower. I thought i would get some privacy and cool off, wash off the reminders of the day... Nope.

I was told to take off my clothes, and I was given a towel. Ok. it is extremely hard to take off your clothes, while trying to cover yourself up. anyway.
I wasnt allowed to do it without supervision, instead i had to be watched to make sure i wasnt hiding anything.The woman watching me, was SCARY. She reminded me of a viking woman. she was very tall, and very large, with an expression devoid of anything...I felt like i was in a bad movie... there was alos a really nice woman, skinny, and kind. I was told to kick them my clothes, but to keep my bra and underwear.I was then told to get into the shower. I was relieved. i thought that  they would stop watching me, but yet again i was worng. They told me tosquat with the door open and cough. I guess they were making sure i wasnt hiding drugs in my butt.Then they had to "inventory my scars."I was told to sit on the toilet.
They had a nurse come in, and mark down every single scar,and mark on my body, then proceeded to ask me how old each one was, and god, i wanted to scream at them. I had fresh cuts on my arms and legs. So they loked at those, and asked it i had cleaned them. i lied, (thinking they would pour alcohol on me) saying i had. After the nurse left, they said i could get dressed.
"In what?"The skinny woman, handed me an orange shirt, and navy blue pants and said, "Here hunny." I finished getting on my underwear and bra and shirt. The first pair of pants didnt fit. Neither did the second. Or the third. The skinny woman did something i will never forget. She loooked at me (At this point i was in tears and I was nervous as hell, because they were talking about not having my size.) And said,"Dont worry about a thing darlin. I'll just go get you something." This comlplete stranger left, went to the store, and bought me brand new sweat pants and pajama pants, until the program could order my size.
I then had to get my hair wet, so they could "nix me". With that finished i was told that my "intake was over and i could go meet my group, and spend time with my hope buddy. I hadnt eaten yet so i sat in the middle of a hallway and they brought me something to eat; while my hope buddy sat next to me, chattering away...and even though my head was down i knew every eye in the entire hallway was fixated on me.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #19 on: July 12, 2009, 03:25:01 AM »
You know that feeling... like you have forgotten something, but somehow, no matter how hard you try  can remember? The last few week have been like that for me. I am not going to make excuses for  why I haven’t written in so long simply because there are none. Thinking about it... i guess i was afraid. i was afraid of confronting what I thought would never resurface again... my program.  I guess I was afraid of the fact that i would open up old wounds that  were just starting to heal… I guess what I am trying to say is that I was scared. Sometimes I look back on former posts and I think to myself  “Look! People care!” I guess I was afraid that after my story was out there… I wouldn’t be important anymore… like a notch I someone’s belt, its there, but after a while people forget the significance of it.

Then… someone said something to me. She told me that the importance was to heal. Not to be well-liked or read, but to heal, and by  not writing I Have been doing the exact opposite.  I almost forgot why I Had started writing in the first place… to tell my side. To let my story be heard. To stand up for myself and stop what happened to me, from happening to anyone else… Someone else told me recently that we have to confront our fears. We have to dig deep and think about what may have happened to us in the past. THAT is the only way we will be able to heal our wounds… I guess I was afraid that instead of healing I would be hurting over and over again.

When you get a cut on your hand for instance. The doctor stitches you up, and tells you to be careful. You go home and you don’t listen and in the end, your stitches pull and you have to see the doctor again. You listen. Yes that last time hurt… but you realize that the doctor was right. For some people they have to pull open those stitches to learn. For others you can just be told. For me, I have to pull open the stitches… and once I do… then, and only then can I heal.


For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Katie Carter. I am Cross Creek survivor.  And I am opening my stitches.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline Oscar

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #20 on: July 12, 2009, 05:43:50 AM »
I am happy that you can use telling your story as a tool to heal.

None here are pushing you for a new chapter of your story, so you don't need to apologize.

Now where you are living on your own and away from a zone of constant confrontation it is important that you use whatever time you have left for work and school to come to terms with what did happen to you so you can move on. It is not the same as forgive, but now you have to focus what is important for you rather than what is important for your family.

Moving out is kind of scaring, no question about that. But several have been in the same situation as you, where you start out from a even worse situation than most youth because you were stolen from the reality, kept in a cubicle and not given the proper time to be trained in navigating everyday challenges.

Keep in contact with former WWASP survivors and use their experiences.

Remember to relax and recharge your batteries. Take some long walks alone where you can enjoy the freedom and discover the strengths you have inside.

I wish you the best of luck.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline katiesthoughts

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ANNIVERSARY POST ...YEAR ONE
« Reply #21 on: August 02, 2009, 08:45:38 PM »

 :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:  :birthday:



I am still being faced with challenge after challenge… trust issues are popping up over and over. Not only with my family, but with people I thought I could get close to… I guess this journal entry might clear up some of it. It is dated September 29 2007: two years and six days after I was put into Cross Creek Programs.

“In so many I ways I wonder why I am kidding myself- - But then I remember that somewhere deep inside me I am never alone, no matter how  much I feel it on the outside. In so many ways I can express what I am feeling at this moment. I barely even understand it. I do know one thing however… my freedom resides in my heart.”

I look at the past year of my life in wonder. Its been a year since I was pulled from Cross Creek… and not only am I surprised at how fast it went, but others are as well. I have developed relationships, graduated high school, moved into my own apartment, and got accepted into college. Who would have guessed? To be honest I did not expect myself to get to this point. I thought that my life would come to abrupt end sooner than that. In fact in some ways I was almost hoping and planning on it.

I have come a long way since Cross Creek and I wont be the first to admit that. Part of me want to deny that my life has turned out decent. No matter how many times I am told how well I am doing part of me laughs in the faces of those who tell me this. “How can you be doing well if you are not following the program??” It is then my turn to laugh. For even now, a year after I have left the blindingly white walls of the facility, there is still part of me that wants to believe in it. I don’t know how long it will take for me to finally let go of that part of me but until then it is a constant battle.

The truth of my situation… its hard to come by. Those of you who are program supporters come to read my stories to further support my father and his view; and think that what I am saying is a bunch of lies.. Those of you are not program supporters read my story and understand my pain. Then there some who cant decide which is right. That is not for me to decide, because in truth, none of us is right. It is all a matter of opinion.

I am not saying that it hasn’t worked for everyone, but most of the kids who go there, don’t come out the same way. I know it has taken me a long time to become the person I was before the program and even then I still have work to do. I was stripped of all senses of individuality… of personality. I am now just beginning to get that back.

The last year has been hard, and if there is anything you get from this post its this. I have struggled. I have been hurt but most of all I have become a woman that I am beginning to be proud of. Sometimes it seems as if I am still trapped in the walls of cross creek… but I know that I couldn’t feel the way I do now…and that feeling?


Is happy.

“And suddenly it isn't what it used to be
And after all this time it worked out just fine
And suddenly I am where I’m supposed to be
And after all the tears, I was supposed to be here” - “Suddenly” By: Superchick

I am almost confused. In the lyrics it says “I was supposed to be here”. And I am. I am supposed to have found fornits. I am supposed to go through the program because I am stronger. I am a force to reckoned with LOL.

I recently spoke to my mom. I leaned a lot of things that I haven’t known. And in all reality I was too blinded to see. She is actually not at all the person I thought she was. She was forced not to talk to me, forced not to care. My mother is not my enemy.  My mother loves me. Period. I know the truth now… and I know that a lot of things I have been told were lies concocted by other people. She told me recently “Don’t let ANYONE tell you that you are not worth it, and NEVER think that I don’t love you…” and though she may not know it… that has helped me know I am not alone.

This is my one year anniversary of freedom. LETS CELEBRATE!!!



My thoughts for you who are considering programs for your children:  Look at those stories around you. Look at the pain in the words of the survivors from these places. Then look at your children. Even if they have done things to hurt you and your family, do you want them to hurt? Do want them to cry themselves to sleep at night wondering if you still love them? Then please… please don’t send them to a program… If you love them, get them help some other way some other place. These programs have destroyed lives, homes, families. Look somewhere else, but just know that as a program survivor, I beg you. Care enough about your child, about your family… don’t put them though hell because that is where you are sending them.  
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline Oscar

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #22 on: August 03, 2009, 05:16:45 AM »
Congratulation

You have come a long way and you have done the work on your own. You have allowed yourself to get some of the issues out of your system by writing your story. Now where a year has gone, you must have realized that every word you put down represent some ounces of the contents you have carried around in our emotional backpack.

You can walk with your head up due to the work you have put in this process. Consider yourself lucky because you have gotten this chance. Every detainee released from a program is in a condition of shock. The program didn't take care of their issues but warehoused them and institutionalized them. Like inmates in prisons you had endured the torment and got used to living a life where everyday issues are taken care off. It is a shielded world. A program does not prepare you for a life. Sadly the victim list does prove that.

I have read your story from the very start. I cannot find that single point in your story that points in a direction where an inpatient placement is needed. Cutting is normal. Problems from a divorce is normal. Being used as delivery boy of harsh, unneeded messages in a torn family is normal.

Those issues were not dealt with in the program. For one reason only as far as I can see. You have not spoken to your mother for years. Why did you not get to speak to her in person? Answer: Because she didn't pay and she didn't go through the parent seminars so she was brainwashed enough. A big no in any program is to let a parent see the child without having the parent prepped.

39 month took it. 14 days inpatient therapy for both your parents and you would have made so much further progress.

But done is done. No one can turn the clock back. I am not telling you to forgive anyone, but just to move forward in life. Pick the people you want to speak with and don't use time on people you can be in the room with. If presense of certain members on the extended family means confrontation, do not see them even if it also means that means that you have to stop seeing some you do love. I had to make that choice without having been in a program. I can assure you that living with the decision is rather easy once you have taken it.

Some time to time you will find that some of things the program learned you will help you. It is because if you pull the program components apart, they on their own is recognized efficient therapy methods. Some of the material in the seminar do function, they are right, but it is the way you were taught, the use of force  and the black/white way of telling you that is wrong. The world will always be a kind of grade shades.

That means that you can choose to believe parts of the program material and not choose other parts without anything being wrong. You do only have to choose what parts which works for you given the situation you are in.

Now where your story is written down hide it for later processing. At some point in your life where you have both surplus and money, you could benefit from real professional therapy for a change just to fill the last gaps, but we are talking years. Right now reading this last post, I sense a very strong person who can make it. Believe in yourself, accept that life sometimes sucks and move on.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #23 on: August 11, 2009, 12:03:34 AM »
For the longest time after the program I have been assaulted by nightmares about the years I spent there. This post may seem horrifying to some... it is especially horrifying to write it... This post will not be in chronological order, however it may enlighten some of you... It sure scares the hell out of me, and I cant even imagine what people will say... even as I think about it I feel like a monster.

While I was in the program, one thing occurred to me above all else. I had to keep going. I had to survive whatever way I could. The first year I was assailed by feedback... my personal form of hell. I remember going into group and dreading it, The girls could, and would point out every weakness I had, saying things about my mother, about how I used my weight as something to hide behind, they mentioned Christy, cutting, saying things about how I was the cause for the divorce between my parents. Therapy group time consisted of sharing and feedback. I dreaded every moment. I learned to keep my head down, to be inconspicuous. I learned that good feedback consisted of finding every insecurity and using it against a person, making fun of their issues and making them cry. If those criteria weren’t met it was seen as unreal or fake. I learned very quickly that it was an eat or be eaten world.

That first year was torture for me. I saw feedback and the girls who gave it as the enemy. I realized that it was my only weapon to fight with. I turned what had hurt me so much and forced it onto others. I turned into one of them.

I remember the day exactly. Group was especially difficult. the night before I had hurt myself in my room, scraping the skin off of both of my arms with my nails leaving jagged gashes. The staff found out the next morning and notified my family rep and therapist. In group that day nothing was said about it. I was waiting for the bomb to drop, because I knew that they knew. My therapist didn’t even cross the subject on why I was in an orange, and My cuts were hidden behind the baggy orange sweater we were allotted if it was cold. For a moment I was relieved he had not said anything... but then I realized that I wasn’t through the fire yet. Our family representative had a meeting with us everyday after group and when my therapist was gone she came over to me. "why are you in orange Katlyn?" I looked down avoiding eye contact. Its a submissive position that I had taken. If I didn’t look them in the eyes they couldn’t hurt me. "I... I hurt myself ma'am." I tried to sneak a glance at her but I was caught. her eyes bored into mine. "Lets see it then Katlyn" I didn’t move an inch as she pulled the sleeves of the sweater up over my arms. Some of the fleece caught on the skin and pulled. It hurt badly but I didn’t care. she was looking at me in the same way my parents had so long ago.

All of the sudden I was on my feet. she took me by the elbow and had me face the group with my arms out in front of me. "Look what she did ladies. THIS is why Katlyn is in orange.(She pointed out the raw gashes on my arms as she spoke) she decided to hurt herself." every single word that flowed form her mouth sounded like she was spitting it out. like it was painful for her to be holding the revolting thing in her hand. the revolting thing was me. There was a silence in the room, then one girl said to her "Can we give her feedback?"

The wolves descended upon me. For the next hour I was given feedback. Girl after girl... the same message, telling me I had copped out and that I was worthless if I thought cutting would help, saying I was setting a bad example this was the reason my parents didn’t want me at home, etc., etc., etc. I was mortified. The feedback process not only consisted of the hatred spewing from their mouths but for them to stand directly in front of me, look me in the eyes and tell me how horrible I was. I wanted to die right there. As each of the girls delivered their feedback I found myself wishing and hoping that our family representative would have had enough and tell them to stop. I was hoping in vain. It finally ended and I was allowed to sit in a chair and nurse my wounds. At that moment I realized that I could tune them out. I could survive the feedback and not listen. to go into a happy place so to speak. I realized that to be them I had to play at their own game. I HAD to become one of them. I promised myself that day that I would never allow myself to be hurt and humiliated like that again. I would defend myself, so that I would not have to be hurt again.

That night I realized that I could beat them. I would play and beat them at their own game. That night I locked part of myself away. I promised myself that one day I would open up my heart again, but until it was safe part of me had to be hidden from the world. I had to push away my thoughts of right or wrong, push away my nature to be kind and thoughtful. I locked up everything that was good inside of me, and let myself become a monster.

The next few months I watched and listened. I saw how the game was done. I was smarter than most people took me for. I made my own standards for feedback and every time I would give it, I would follow those to a "T": Pinpoint the insecurities and weaknesses of the person; Use those insecurities in the feedback, and make them cry. Tears were a sign of success.

I was relentless. I was harsh. I was cruel. I turned off every part of me that would see my actions as wrong. I had to because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have made it.
I soon became a favorite with therapists and the program director. I was strait and to the point. Harsh and "realistic".

I remember one day, the program director came into our group and pulled me out. He said he had a favor for me to do. I knew what was coming before he asked. He was going to use me as a weapon against someone. It was normal for me at this point. I didn’t look at him, and I didn’t speak as we walked to our destination. I was concentrating on turning off my emotions. We didn’t stop at one of the classrooms I had expected. We didn’t turn the corner to first floor like I thought. He was taking me over to the boys side.

I was terrified. We were told horrible stories about how the boys in the program would and hurt us if we got close to them. We were told they would only see us as stupid cunts, or free pussy. We were told that they would use and abuse us and they were not to be trusted. For a moment I was so scared I thought He was leading me to my death, and then I got my emotions in check. I was not going to be beaten at the game. I was not going to give in and give up after all the hard work I had done to finally make MYSELF safe.  I was not going to allow ANYONE to take that away from me. I used my fear to fuel my thoughts, and I was ready. I would not let anything get to me.

The director walked in first and announced they had a special guest to join them for group. The boys were excited. I heard one of them say "Is it my Dad?" I felt my heart trying to burst forth from its steel cage I had locked it in, because I felt sorry for him. I again checked out my emotions and left them outside when the director said " Katlyn, sweetheart come and join us please."

The feel of the room drifted from easy going excitement to tension in about a second. I was dressed in the usual uniform, my hair pulled out of my face. I felt naked. I saw the looks on the boys faces and realized that the stories weren’t true. Looking at each one of them I realized that the boys were just as scared of the girls as the girls were of them. I used it to my advantage. they were afraid of me and I used it. I sat down next to the director. I didn’t notice that I was shaking until he grabbed my hand. I don’t know if he believed he was giving moral support, or hiding my weakness. I controlled it. I pulled my hand away and looked strait into the faces of those boys. I was not afraid anymore. I was safe in my head and they couldn’t hurt me.

The therapist asked one of them to share. He looked up for a moment then shook his head saying ,"Not in front of a girl" The director did something I will never forget. He got up out of his seat and asked the boy to stand. I thought he was going to hit him so I prepared myself. Instead of hitting him the director pulled the boys chair to the middle of the circle facing me. He told the boy to sit. And as he did , the director came to my side and said "Honey, this is important I need you to face him and listen to what he says Ok???" I nodded. He led me to the middle of the room, and sat me right in front of the boy. our legs were almost touching. He looked petrified. I knew what my face looked like. I had rehearsed my expressions so many times in the mirror so nothing escaped. it was a mask of calm and collectiveness. It was a hard lined expression with my eyes boring into his.

His breathing was haggard as I I stared him down. finally he started sharing looking everywhere but at me. My eyes were locked on his face, finding his weaknesses, finding his flaws. I couldn’t break my concentration. It was vital I find out what he didn’t want me to know, or I would become his prey instead of him being mine. He spoke about how he had used drugs to get into women's pants. He spoke about how he had molested his cousins, but the therapist kept shaking his head. It was not what he wanted the boy to talk about. Finally the boy gave in. He looked me in the eyes and said "I raped my sister" I was shocked but I didn’t let it show. He continued talking about what he did, and giving details I don’t think anyone should have heard. He looked at me the whole time, as if pleading with his eyes. He was silently asking me to have mercy on him. I could see his apology for what he had done in them. I could see the remorse there. I couldn’t feel it. I could not let my guard down. I had to survive.

He was finished. I was asked to give the boy feedback and I did. I was relentless. I was harsh. I was cruel. I could see his heart breaking as I tore him up. I felt no pain for what I was doing, only a sense of survival. I can remember the dead look in his eyes as I told him how sick he was. I remember the downturn of his lips as I told him that he was perverted. I remember the tears as I asked him what his sister thought. How she felt. I remember everything about that face as I tortured him.
I will never forget it.

As I said I became a monster.

I knew what I had become and the part of me I locked away was revolted by it. I would look at myself in the mirror and not recognize what I saw. I would see someone who looked like me, but was an imposter. The eyes staring back at me were not mine. The game I was playing was one of deception and lies. I was winning, I was going to beat the bastards at their own game. I was going to make it.


The nightmares I have been having lately also bring to mind another face. A little girl.

Again, the director had called me out of group for a “favor”, and again I knew what he meant. This time he spoke to me as I walked with him. He told me how proud of me he was and how good of a person I was. In my head I thought, “Good asshole. It means that I can fool you.”

As I walked into the meeting, I searched the room for the person I was going to confront. It was a little girl, maybe 12 years old… blond hair and bright blue eyes. She started to cry and shake as I looked at her. I knew at that moment that I was a monster. When a small CHILD looks at you and begins to cry you know what you are. And I knew. And I still do. I knew at that moment that I would regret for my entire life what I had to do to survive. I knew that I was someone who was going to hell. My heart almost shattered at that point but something inside of me kept it locked away. I heard a voice in my head telling me “DON’T LET THIS KILL YOU! SHE IS NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE”. I knew what I was, and for the last time, I sealed away my heart. The girl was afraid of me. She knew I was going to tear her to pieces and so did I.

I was frightening. I was scary. I was heart broken.

The feedback was delivered. I saw her eyes go lifeless long before her hands stopped shaking. She was dead inside. I knew from that moment that she was trying to fight it. She was trying to survive just as I had. And it killed me. I wondered what she would be like later on. If she would become a monster just like everyone else.

I will never forget her face. In my dreams it haunts me. In my dreams I see her there shaking and crying and I turn into a monster, fangs and teeth. I kill her with everyone watching and then the people begin clapping. As I look down and see the mangled body of the girl her eyes are still staring at me. I scream.




I am so sorry for what I had to do.
I am sorry for what I did.
And I wish I could take it back.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline Oscar

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #24 on: August 11, 2009, 12:48:16 AM »
Whatever they did to you, whatever they made you to do, do remember that every man and woman have a breaking point. You just reached yours.

You are not alone. Read about John McCain:

Quote
They took me up into one of the interrogation rooms, and for the next 12 hours we wrote and rewrote. The North Vietnamese interrogator, who was pretty stupid, wrote the final confession, and I signed it. It was in their language, and spoke about black crimes, and other generalities. It was unacceptable to them. But I felt just terrible about it. I kept saying to myself, "Oh, God, I really didn't have any choice." I had learned what we all learned over there: Every man has his breaking point. I had reached mine.
You were taken to meetings after meetings. At some point they got to you.

The reason I want you read this story is that inside the story there is something to learn:

Don't feel bad about either the girls who hurt you or the girls and boys your hurt. You all were just following orders in a psychological war. You have to move on. Hate forwards the leaders who ordered it is another story. From the story:

Quote
Now I don't hate them any more—not these particular guys. I hate and detest the leaders. Some guards would just come in and do their job. When they were told to beat you they would come in and do it.
I am not going to lie to you. The nightmare will come and go. Not for 5 years, not for 10 years, but for the rest of your lives according to other survivors.

The main lesson is however that you should never hate yourself. Neither for the person you are, nor for the actions you did.

Whenever they appear, write them down and get them out of your system. Then move on and fulfill the potential you do have despite of what they have told you.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Miss Antsy Pam

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #25 on: August 11, 2009, 09:40:06 AM »
Katie....

I can only imagine how hard it was to write that installment.  However, by doing so, you have freed yourself from the chains that bind and take you down.  People in your situation or something similar do the same thing; it is purely a matter of SURVIVAL.  You did what you had to do to make it thru your YEARS of torture.

Please, please remember you only did what you HAD TO DO in order for YOU to survive.  Everyone on these forums knows how this works with the upper levels and the new kids.  Do not beat yourself up for doing what anyone would have done in your situation.  You may be judged by some Fornits readers, but they are only words and words cannot kill you.  

New things will come to light as the days and months pass, but you have the opportunity now to make YOUR LIFE different and better than it ever could be.  Look at what people like Femanon had to endure and look at her now.  She is DEVOTED to this cause and channels her energy into doing something positive and something that makes a difference.  I respect her more than MANY other people in my life even though she is not my biggest fan because I did something to her that was wrong.  Even with that, she had the ability to forgive (maybe?) and to continue working together for a common goal.

Remember sweetie...this will be a journey and NOT just a destination.  You will have to process many things over the ensuing years, but what they say is TRUE...what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!

Much love,
~pam    :rose:  :peace:
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »
United we stand....divided....we fail!

Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #26 on: August 11, 2009, 09:53:16 PM »
This passage was an enlightened one, I wrote this morning. I felt as if it should be shared.


Today I watched the sunrise. I don’t know why, but today I felt like I should be there. To see the sun streak across the horizon filling the new day with its golden light, chasing away all of the fears of the night before. I watched as it slowly crossed its way over the treetops glistening and golden. The bluish tint of the sky grew lighter and lighter as I watched… it seemed to beckon to me, telling me the secrets of the world. I felt compelled to watch as the light rose from the deepest pits of the night. The hands of darkness seemed to reach out and fade as the sun drove them back. The sunrise seemed to take longer than I expected, washing away all of the fear and doubt I was holding in my body…

You must never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins… This phrase hit me as I watched the sun leak across the sky. Why would someone want to spend time in the night of someones life, when the day was so glorious? When the fear and doubt of the moon clawed its way from the depths and controlled the soul and body? Why not see someone’s life in the light? I wish I would have wanted to see the sunrise earlier in my life, maybe I would feel differently. Maybe I would be able to forgive myself.

As the sky gradually began to lighten I felt a fear. I felt that if I didn’t see the gradual change in time that I would somehow miss out on an important lesson. I feel like I should be here, in this moment, watching the sunrise, as if for the first time. I don’t remember any sunrise before this one, and in a way I regret that. I wish I could remember feeling this way before but somehow I don’t believe I have.

I don’t know why I suddenly got up from my bed to watch the sunrise. I don’t know why I feel I have to write this, maybe its because I know something now, that I didn’t know before. Maybe now I am open to seeing things as they are not as they should or could have been. Even know as the claws of sleep bat at me, I am forced to watch the sky lighten… like I am forced to unlearn some lesson that long ago I had been told, but somehow over the passage of time I had lived.

I had once told someone that I was a night person… I cannot believe that now. The trees are not alive in the night, the flowers petals are closed to the assailing darkness. I am not a night person. I was meant to live and walk in the day time. So is everyone else. I cannot live my life in the dark. And I cannot live in a cage. That is where I was. In a cage, housed and treated as an animal.

The birds sing their songs to the light, beckoning its rays to caress their lives. To some it signals the passing of another day, to others it signals the birth of a new time. I am not sure which I believe at the moment, but I do know that right now, where I am is where I am supposed to be. All around me the animals know that dawn is coming. They rise and scurry about, welcoming the passing of the night. For some it is a relief, that they have made it through without succumbing to predators, for others it is a time of rest.

The sun is continuing to rise… and I am  going to be ok. I am going to continue to survive, just as it continues to rise.

I am currently working on seeing things the way they should be seen, but it is difficult for me to do so. I have to look at life in a different perspective than what I was taught for 3 ½ years, and I struggle.

I am working on forgiving myself with the help of a few trusted friends, but I wanted to say again, that I am deeply sorry for what I did. I hope that if there are any survivors , out there who I lashed out at know that…


I am so sorry. Words can never express this. I wish every single day of my life, that I could have done something different, but I know now that I could not. I had to do what I did, and the only thing I can do now is to show that I am not that person. I am a good and kind person. I am compassionate and I love people. I am sorry. So so sorry. Please. Forgive me, so I can forgive myself.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #27 on: August 18, 2009, 04:29:02 PM »
This post is dedicated to those who have been my support, who have helped me through everything. To those people, you know who you are. Thank you for everything. I love you. :rose:


Hope is a funny thing. Sometimes it eludes you… and other times it hits you with a force like a tidal wave. In the last few days I have felt both…strongly than I have in a long time, stronger than I have ever imagined. Like being whipped around in rip tide… Its strange in that sense. Like for some unknown reason I was to be challenged. Pushed to my limit. But as always it seems that my limit is just out of reach. Instead of breaking against the rocks of a craggy shore, I surface from the water I was being whipped by. I sputter and gasp for air, knowing that each breath I take only solidifies the fact that I am alive. My breaking point was just beyond my reach, like the distant shore. I knew my struggle to reach it would only tire me and lead to my end. In my subconscious I wanted to break only to know that nothing could bother me anymore. If I was broken, nothing could hurt, there could be no pain. Then I realize that to feel is human…

Thoughts, and perceptions have been hard for me to voice lately. Like a gag is stuck in my throat, keeping me from saying what I think, and what I should. I have been unable to write as if  someone had mutilated my hands so that words could no longer flow from them. But now things are slightly clearer. I can speak if only in a whisper and my hands once again have the strength to write out the simplest words. Like an inmate seeing the sunshine after incarceration I rejoice… instead of celebrating freedom however, I rejoice in my quick tongue and fluid hands. These symptoms were the result of a fear. I am still not sure what that fear exactly is, but it does not seem so crippling now.

Some people say that  18 years of a person’s life is spent, growing into the person they will be. I don’t believe that. I believe the person you will be varies from day to day, you just happen to carry along the baggage and lessons of youth, adolescence and adulthood. A person grows every second. The human mind has a capacity to learn new reactions and lessons in the time it takes to take a deep breath. Therefore, we do not only grow every second, but we also are carrying along past experiences to help us to better deal with the future. There is no growth into the person you will become. Saying “You are growing” or “You have grown” or “Such Growth” makes it seem as if there is no choice. There is always a choice. We do not “grow” into the person we become… we are that person every second of our lives.

For the longest time I have found it hard to be happy. Not in a sense that I was depressed, more of numb. Happiness for me is not easily achieved. These last few days… for a few brief moments… I have felt happy. I have felt hope. Some say that laughter is the medicine of the soul. No the shallow giggles of a love struck school girl, or the barking laugh of an old man; but the eye rolling, breath taking, gut ripping, tear jerking hysterical laughter of the truly free. I experienced this last night. Laughter truly is medicine. Not only did I feel more relaxed and calm but suddenly the fear I was chained by seemed to loosen its hold around my heart. As I wiped the tears of joy away from my eyes for once, I knew that even if things got bad, if those who cared about me could make me laugh, I would be ok. I would live. And I could be happy.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »


Offline anythinganyone

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #28 on: August 19, 2009, 02:22:17 AM »
I would agree.  Lots of laughter is distracting, and it helps you look through things in an optimistic light :)

I think fuckin' CCM actually considered laughter a form of avoiding, 'cause, you know, anything that stops them from taking complete control of you and what emotions you feel makes them unhappy liek. :/
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline katiesthoughts

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Re: Katie's Story
« Reply #29 on: August 22, 2009, 06:17:31 PM »
A few days ago I was hit with a storm. Not only physically but emotionally. That day the weather hit my house with a force I didn’t expect. That night, my emotions hit me with a force I couldn’t handle. I was hit by a decision to make, and in that moment I was reminded of my experience at Cross Creek. I felt that no matter what I did I would revert to the person I was forced to be in the program. I could see the faces of the kids I had hurt swimming in my head, I could feel the same emotions choking my throat. My breath caught in my chest as the panic engulfed me. My head spun as the pain thrashed at my being. I wasn’t going to survive this. As I began to search for anyone to lean on, I found someone.

In that moment I didn’t know what else to do but to tell someone. I began to realize that strength has nothing to do with silence; which is what I have been taught for a  long time. I felt like I was turning back into the person I was in the program, and I was afraid of that. I was so scared of what I would do to others I began to form a plan in my head.

I was going to avoid everyone. To isolate myself from everyone, hold everyone at arms length, so that I would never have to hurt anyone again. I voiced this idea and was faced with the reality of it. It was a cowards choice. I began to come to terms with what has been driving me slowly insane. I am afraid of being emotionally alone. I am afraid of being so secluded I revert to the behaviors that were FORCED upon me in the program. I also realized that in a way… being alone was not as frightening as I thought it was. I have dealt with it before, and for some reason it became less and less intimidating and scary. I now had the CHOICE to be alone. I had the power to decide whether or not I would be alone. No one would be able to force me to do the things I had done before. I had control.

I still hold a huge amount of guilt over my head for what I did in the program, and in a way that guilt is what keeps me moving forward. Every time I think of what I have done, every night when I have the same nightmare, it only drives me to push against it. I still struggle DAILY with my experience in the program. I am still crippled by fears that have been pushed upon me…But unlike the time I spent there, I am able to choose how I live now. And I am choosing. I am going to follow my heart, and try as hard as I can to make up for my actions. As I deal with things my support system continues to accept me with open arms. I find it hard to actually understand, but then again, some things… well they are past words or human comprehension. I do understand though, that I am not, and will never be alone.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »