Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform > The Seed Discussion Forum

honk if you remember the seed

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Johnny G:

--- Quote ---Johnny G wrote
It is kind of a closed society when the only acceptable discourse concerns rehashing various platitudes (the seed sucks, barker sucks. etc.) and idle threats;


So let me get this straight. You've come to praise Barker,
--- End quote ---

I don't see how this gets misconstrued as praise , as I said - it must not be combative enough.

If all I wanted to do was lob insults or idle threats then I would have gotten that out of my system a long ago;
This has all been repeated ad infinitum over the life of this forum, so it no longer has any impact.

BTW:  As I said, I didn't spend a lot of time in the group after year one, so not many PBJs .

none-ya:
I just want to know , how is it that you don't hate those people.  I guess I'll never understand why anyone who could simply walk away from thier captor, oppressor, jailer, kidnapper, cult leader,ect... at will. Why would they stay?  Sounds like Stockholm syndrome.
http://sniggle.net/stock.php

Johnny G:
It has a lot to do with the context

Unlike many (maybe everyone) on this forum, I had already convinced myself that I was screwed up, so I didn't go in kicking and screaming about how I wasn't that bad - pretty much everyone looked like they had it more together.

Unlike most on the forum, I was not brought in under duress - it seemed like a good option - I came up with the "deadorinjail" line long before I showed up at the seed.

I was not a happy go lucky kid, life sucked big time;

I was the perfect candidate for cult membership.

I wasn't court ordered, My attorney recommended I go somewhere to get out of circulation for a while;

Antigen:
Ya know, nun-ya, I don't really hate these people either. I hate what the whole thing did to my family and my mind personally. And I think it's sad as hell that people like Art and Libbi and the rest of the cadre have spent their lives wrapped up in an insular little cult. I once got a call from Libbi's sister in law asking for help in getting a message through to her brother. They evidently hadn't spoken in years and she couldn't be sure if whoever was answering the phone at the Seed was passing on the message that the family had been trying to contact him. Probably not. They probably thought they were protecting him by saving him the temptation to talk to splits, pulls and fuck-ups.

Very sad. And my family is the same way to a lessor degree. I'm an apostate to the Seedling/Drug war religion and therefore pretty much cast out of my family.

But I probably wouldn't go to the trouble of publishing and muck raking on the topic just for that. I think people who run these kinds of organizations are dangerous to the public and to future generations. Even though the telling of this story is painful and embarrassing to the people involved, that really is not my object in telling it. My only object is to encourage debate and understanding of the phenomena so that, hopefully, they will lose the power to abuse future generations.

karenshoe1:
Until last night, like some sort of epiphany, I realized that that part of my life could explain for a lot of the things I feel now. I felt betrayed by my parents for putting me there, although I've always professed to love them very much. I remember not being able to tell them what really went on in there for fear they would raise Hell, and I, in turn, would wind back up on the "front row." Remember the "front row?" It's your worst nightmare; means you had to start ALL over again from the beginning. Like a jailed inmate counting down his/her days to freedom all goes away in the blink of an eye because of some perceived wrong by "them". Suzy Barker, Art's niece, Libby McDonald, just plain bitch are some of the few I remember. I remember having to clap, smile and sing some special song whenever Art graced us with his presence. We were told, but I never saw, the famous "Jackie Gleason Limo" he would pull up in; presumably given to Art by Jackie because they were such good friends. I remember falling to the ground from heat exhaustion outside performing forced exercises (no A/C indoors, remember), and the famous peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made in the early a.m. but not served to us for hours later, while the jelly would roll down my wrists. Couldn't go the the bathroom though to wash up...constantly accused of lying about needing to use the bathroom. Accused of wanting to get out of the current "rap session" bc it must be hitting too close to home for me. I remember making stuff up to stand up and speak just so I wouldn't be the one they "hit" on that day. "Standing you up", I think they called it. I remember spending the night in stranger's homes dying to ask them for some food to eat, but feeling rude for thinking it instead. In retrospect, Art had no overhead. The staff were "volunteers", PBJ's were the standard food, the strangers fed you in the morning and at night if you were lucky; there was no A/C costs, the chairs you could pick up at any garage sale, and so my parent's hard earned money went straight into the bastard's pockets. I think it's only fair that he participate in funding my therapy today. I have so much more to say, but I need to know if anyone is really listening to this. I've needed to say this for over 36 years now. Thanks.

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