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

Katie's Story

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FemanonFatal2.0:
Good installment Katie, You should definitely study journalism.

I honestly hope your step mom reads this, then possibly she might realize what an effect her emotional abuse had on your psyche at this point in your life. I can't imagine what it would be like to actually prefer the mental hospital over being home, but I can understand your reasoning. It's not fair to a child in need to be isolated and cast out of their family, it sounds like your brothers were in some ways turned against you. Why else would they tell people at school? That's really just a cruel thing to do, everyone knows how harsh kids can be. I honestly wish there were more safe guarding against bullying in public school, but I guess its just a manifestation of our judgmental society.

I wouldn't be so quick to have hang ups with associating with the "goth crowd" your personal sense of style doesn't dictate who you are as a person, it should simply be a reflection of your taste in music and clothing, you don't have to accept the stigma as well. I went through a ton of phases when I was young, all that seem ridiculous to me now but that was just clothes and jewelry, I have always been the same person. I think in time you will be able to see the things that happened to you then, made you who you are today, and give it another few years and you will be saying the same thing, referring to now.

katiesthoughts:
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.
   
 :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout: 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

Che Gookin:
You are moving out of your parent's house soon right?

katiesthoughts:
Ok. I am dearly sorry to all of those who were reading my story. It had been a few days since the last instalment and I have been extremely busy. So to make up for some of the days I missed I will try to write more than usual.

So we left off when I was admitted to Dettmer. While I was there I learned a lot about holding back my emotions and my actual thoughts I became an expert craftsman of bullshit and I actually prolonged my stay there, due to lack of communication. The facility was locked down of course, but there was still the thought of scaling the walls and running away forever. My reasoning was that if never went home I would never be depressed, if I was never depressed I wouldn’t end up trying to kill myself and my parents would be happy and things would go greatly. Like a clip out of “Leave it To Beaver”. Everyone has there own dreams and fantasies. Mine was irrevocably wrong.
I was discharged and I went home again. This time I tried to make things different. I became more and more distant, only speaking when I couldn’t handle the silence anymore. At one point I didn’t talk to anyone. I would hide and when provoked I would yell.  That was life for me. I was barely home and when I was I wasn’t a happy camper.
 It seemed to me that when I wasn’t home my family was somehow better, and when I was home I got a reality check of how screwed up my family really was. It was scary for a while. You know how you eat too much ice-cream and it starts to taste real bad? Then a few months later you have some and miraculously it tastes good again? Well, that’s how I felt. When I wasn’t around them I missed them. When I was around I saw how crappy life was.
   Dettmer stayed with me. I learned to keep my emotions in check…. most of the time anyway (but when put under a lot of pressure eventually a carbonated soda pops right? Yeah. Me = carbonated soda; pressure = KABOOM!) I had to stop cutting, because my parent would check my arms. I had to check in with them every hour to make sure I wasn’t with Christy. NOT by phone of course. I would have to physically check in at the house.
But, even with a stricter structure for me things at school were declining even more rapidly than before. Diane and I would have hour long screaming matches, and I was a wreck. I was pushed down the stairs one day at school. I strained my wrist, and I had to have a cast out on it. I was so hurt and frustrated. I felt like the biggest loser in the world.
 A few days later, my Dad had to pick me up from school for some reason. I fell down the stairs again and this time I was knocked unconscious for 4 minutes. I guess my dad was freaking out trying to wake me up, and screaming for someone to call 911. I was put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital. I woke up while in the ambulance very confused. My dad was following in his car so I was alone. The paramedics had oxygen on my face and I was crying. They calmed me down saying I was going to be alright. I knew I wouldn’t be. I kept thinking to myself, after all of this why can’t I die? Is there some twisted god up there letting me suffer?
   After that my classes were unbearable. Due to lack of sleep I would doze off in math class and my teacher would let other students drop books on my desk to scare me awake. I would hang out with my English teacher everyday during lunch. He was the best teacher I ever had. I was a poet then… he would read everything I wrote. We would talk about the trivialities of everything and whenever I was in his classroom I felt right with the world. Like there was something that was worth living for. I think back now, and he was one person who really made me think twice about wanting to give up on life. During all of my different hospitalizations my biological mother and I had been talking over the phone. That December I went to visit for Christmas. It was a reprieve form the hell I was in. Yeah there were problems but god, it was better than home. Seeing her was such a relief for me. In her arms was the most adorable and angelic thing I had ever seen. Nicholas. (After my parents divorced my mom had 3 more children. 3 little boys. I knew Bryan and Benjamin.) My mom had part time custody of Bryan and Benji so they werent there. Seeing Nicki was like seeing a part of heaven in a body of the cutest little boy. Nicholas was born 3 months premature. He was so small at birth he could have fit in the palm on my hand. He was born 76% deaf. He was truly a miracle. He also had an auto-immune disease called lupus. This disease causes his body to produce antibodies that attack his own cells. His internal organs are affected and they harden at an abnormal rate.
   Learning this I became devoted to him. He was the cutest little ladies man. Leaving my mom and Nicholas at the end of those two weeks was hell for me. I didn’t know when I would ever see them again.

   Getting back to school…………I began to skip classes and hang out in the office. Faking sick was getting really old. Finally the counsellors had enough. The called my parents saying that I had two choices really. I could stick out the rest of the year IN class and not skipping or I could stay home for the rest of the year. At this point there was like 6 days left of 8th grade.
   I got home from school and Diane was yelling at me saying I would never amount to anything, I was a fucking drop out I would end up pregnant on the streets etc. etc. I was angry and all I wanted was to get away from her, from my dad, from my brothers. I needed an escape. I called my mom and told her what was going on. She immediately told my dad that I was going to spend the summer with her. I flew out to New Mexico that Saturday.

Those first few weeks were like paradise. I was wanted in the house. i was needed. I was a part of the fmaily again. But as it has hapened before it was too good to last. I didnt have many friends there and at first it was fine with me. But being 14 years old i got lonely. i began to search the aprtment complex for friends and i found them. A few were my age but mostly they were older. Tracy was my favorite. She was  24, and lived right next to us. i would be home during the day since my mom was at work, and my brothers were at day care so after i did my chores i went over to tracy's. I had quit smoking due to the restrictions for nicholas's health, but being with tracy had me starting up again. my mom didnt know i was hanging out with people older than me and when she found out she was uncomfortable. she didnt want me to go on the same path i was on at my dad's. Things startd to go bad after she found out about  me hanging out with tracy she grew really rptective. I found myslef doing more and more chores around the house. In some ways having a 5 and 6 year old around the house gets rid of loose energy in other ways it puts on a whole lot of mess! I was cleaning up after them all the time.
I grew more and more short with them not understanding why i was the one to clean up after them. when they were with their dad things were great the house was clean and me and my mom did fun things together. Even nicholas was happy. Dont get me wrong. I love my borthers and i miss them terribly but being 14 and having to clean the crap off of the tub and tiolet seat before I could stand to use them got really old! Me and my mom began to argue. I missed my dad and believe it or not i missed diane. I talked to them about once a week. And my mom was very difficult when i wanted to call them. She didnt understand why i wanted to talk to them after diane's comments all the time. July turned to august. I began to grow distant, and i was nervous all the time. i felt that i couldnt make any mistakes this time. I had to be perfect so that my mom and i could have a relationship. I didnt want to screw up this one too.


OK folks thats all i can handle right my mother and i havent talked or heard from each other in about 4 years and as you will read later things got worse. I am angry at her still due to impressions forced on me by CCM. I cant seem to erase those thoughts from my mind. Writing about her makes me miss her terribly and right now, i cant write any more it hurts too much.

P.S. If my mom is reading this... Stephanie Lynn Bilkey, if you are reading this i love you and i am sorry. please if you can call me or write to me. i miss you and i love you. :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:


Please email me with questions or comments : kazzie2008@hotmail.com

katiesthoughts:
look everyone i am dearly sorry that i havent written, i have been so busy with school! I am senior this year so there are alot of after school activities that hold me there unitl at least 10:00 pm , and then i have to do homework, take a 5 second shower and get inot bed to redo it all again the next day. However my involvement with our High school musical, "Anything Goes" is almost over, our show is finally being performed on friday, saturady and sunday this week, and after that i dont know what i'll be able to do with myself!

SO, back to the story, last i left off, i was at my mom's and things were going ok. Soon we moved out of are artment closer to some support system for my mom, and closer to my new high school. The move was really difficult for me. I was nervous about ym new school, and for the longest time i was afraid i would not find any friends at highschool. I was so nervous, because of the iussue at my last school. I was a loner there, and i was so nervous that i would end up being one there to. New mexico was very different from ohio. There was no humidity, and the heat was almost a bliss. I began to lose weight, not of my own doing, but of lack of food. My mom wasnt very well off, and often i gave up my dinner to feed my little brothers. i didnt mind however. I thought often, that a meal would go better with their stomachs not mine.

My mothers ex, the father of brian and benjamin, wqould have them druing the week most of the time, and when they were with us, me and my mother tried to make things fun for them, taking them swimming, watching movies at home. We really tried to make their lives less hectic after having to be switched from house to house every week.

It was the first house my mom  had ever had on her own. It wasnt a mansion and wasnt a slum, but to me it was perfect. My bedroom  was half of the living room, with a curtain seperating the two. i loved that room. School began, and i was wrong.

For me i was so nervous, but as i went to school that first day i was clearly mistaken about not finding frineds. they were evrywhere. I had friends up the wazoo! I felt that my life was going right for once. I was the mananger of the varsity volleyball team and often io spent my nights at practice then went home and cooked or hung out with my mom. My paradise wouldnt last however. i started to get inot the wrong group of friends.  I swear i think that i am a magnet for trouble, cause everywhere i go, i get into it.

My friends were the same sort of group as they were in ohio. In a way hanging out with them made me feel like i wasnt alone and that i wasnt the only one in the world with problems. Our idea of fun, was at lunch hour to goof off, running around our huge courtyard screaming  "The chickens are coming!" We would almost die laughing.

I became friends with a few girls who were bisexual. At that point i didnt see a problem with it, and i believed that i was as well. To be safe, i was cautious and never overstepped any boundaries, but i did have a so to speak "girlfriend". (Thinking now, i was exploring my sexuality anbd i was confiused, so i am GLAD i grew out of that...)

I began cutting agina. My mom had no clue, and i wasnt going to be the one to tell her about it either. It was shallow and small but still it was my addicttion. my friends would try to get me to stop and to see that my life was worth moree that trying to hurt myself. It was strange, In Ohio, with christy they saw cutting as a relief and they supported me in it. Here they saw it as a plea for help, and they diagreed with me, trying to get me to stop. I felt horrible. i would cut in places to hide it. Not only was i hiding from my mom, but now i had to hide it from my freinds.

I did well for about 4 months at school. good grades, and everything. I was a good student and i loved my classes, (EXCEPT MATH, I STILL CANT STAND IT) :beat:

My mom became involved with a church for the beginning of my stay with her. we didnt talk about it ever, so i didnt really wonder. one day on our way home picking up Nicholas from daycare, she stopped by the building. I read the sign. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints". I was 15. I had no clue what this was. I gave my mom a questioning glance and she said, "I'm A mormon." It took a moment to register. Polygomy, cult craziness. "NOT MORMON!" I was astonished. :jawdrop:

She gave me an ultimatum. I could ive with her and follow her beliefs, and her rules or i could go back to ohio. Of course I picked what anyone would pick, after living with Stepmonster. I started going to church with her. I began to conform. I was babtized. I didnt follow it. asfter all it was just a title. I didnt believe the ajrgain, but i wanted to make my mom happy. I was a master pretender, so this was just another role.

school bacame hectic for me. i broke up with my girlfriend. I tried to not to cut myself. I tired over and over. But as you will read later.... trying is never enough.

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