Fornits
Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform => Straight, Inc. and Derivatives => Topic started by: Anonymous on September 13, 2004, 12:28:00 PM
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Can someone please pot a complete experience, detailed, at what one day was like at St4raight, including the interction betwqeen staff and other clients. It seems to be very different than seed experience. Did anyone go to Straight and Seed? What was the difference?
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Here's a pretty good post , if I do say so myself. The posts are run together sentences, but I think that helps to illustrate the weird, frantic state of mind that I was constantly in during my stay at Casa de Newton.
http://fornits.com/wwf/viewtopic.php?to ... forum=7&25 (http://fornits.com/wwf/viewtopic.php?topic=4649&forum=7&25)
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This is from a post a while back.
Just a taste of the straight diet.
:skull:
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Not the worst but one of many
My parents took me to Straight on October 20, 1980. My intake lasted 6 hours. Two teen girls coerced a confession from me. Yes I had smoked pot, tried drinking. They advised me that if I did not sign myself in they could have me court ordered to mental institution. Because I had admitted to doing drugs. And doing drugs was crazy. They said that I would be in the program for 2 weeks and after that time I could leave if I chose .After 6 hours I gave up. I couldn't take any more verbal abuse, or listen to any more evidence, more verification that I was crazy. I decided that 2 weeks was not so long. A mere 14 days. How bad could it be?If it became unbearable I would run away. I never saw a psychiatric professional of any sort. Not a doctor, not my parents not even an adult. I signed the papers as they instructed. It was my fifteenth birthday. I had no idea what I'd done.
We changed foster homes frequently, arbitrarily. It seemed they didn't want us to feel comfortable or more importantly, secure. I do not know how many foster homes I lived in those first few months. The first one was roughly 3or 4 days followed by a week or so at the second. After that there was a string of homes consisting of days at a time. My clothes frequently did not catch up with me. I wished they would at least let me carry a toothbrush since some of the homes didn't have extras and mine failed to appear so often. But there's just no telling how much damage a desperate teen could do with a toothbrush. I'm sure someone would have tried to off themselves with it.
One home was very comfortable, the parents at least to me, appeared wealthy. But my oldcomer was a sadistic little tyrant who took sadistic pleasure in her power. She invented additional rules like newcomers had to sleep naked on the floor. Newcomers had to watch her eat spaghetti or ice cream especially if they were on the pb & j diet. Newcomers could not sit in a chair. Moral inventories were often not long enough, legible enough. They frequently had to be rewritten. Her reviews were merciless. Other foster homes were so poor that squares of toilet paper were specified and limited to an exact number. Newcomers may use 5 squares or 8 squares. Many homes were overcrowded in those days. The bedroom typically consisted of a mattress or two on the floor and we slept 3 or 4 to a mattress. Locked doors and locked windows.A new foster home was always cause for anxiety
Open meeting review was always charming. " I deserve nothing" or "I deserve talk". As if that wasn't enough to drive one to feel worthless, the resulting verbal assault would drive the message home. Still the staff had more vicious tools in their arsenal of ego destruction. There were so many people in the program in those days so this took all day. It started with the lowest phasers as early as 7am. We sat on the concrete floor. We'd been in review for hours one day after I'd been there maybe a month and I raised my hand to a 5th phaser to request permission to go to the bathroom. She denied my request. Time passed and my need became more urgent. The fifth phaser went to a staff trainee who said no. I tried to hold it. Surely they would break for us to use the bathroom soon. At the back of the group Txxx Bxxxxx on first phase for months, was humming to herself. She hummed & rocked herself constantly. Even a fifteen year old could see that she needed psychiatric help. Serious help. I wondered why someone who was so obviously mentally ill was permitted in the program. Txx was lucky on this day. The staff was trying to ignore her rather than restrain her. I tired to focus on her humming. Maybe I could distract myself from the need to go to the bathroom.
More time passed.It became painful. The meeting showed no signs of relenting. I could focus on nothing but my desperate physical need. I began signaling frantically. The 5th phaser looked sympathetic and again went to the trainee who looked at me and went to a junior staff member, Kathleen Winn. She glared at me and shook her head no.I was desperate. How could they not see that I genuinely had to go? My stomach was distended, grotesque. Frightening. I was sweating, crying. Begging. I wondered if my bladder would burst and kill me. Kathleen looked at me with a smirk. Disgust, contempt and a giggle. The senior staff member, Wanda Minton finally noticed. There was now a second girl Jill Sxxxx, also crying and asking to go to the bathroom. Other girls were beginning to raise their hands. Wanda shrieked at the group"If you girls have to go to the bathroom so goddamned bad you can go on the fucking floor cause you're not going!" I was sitting on my foot, shoving it into my crotch, rocking slightly, crying. Girls began to scoot away from Jill and I. Finally I couldn't wait any more. I thought maybe I could just go a little. Enough to relieve the pain and hold the rest until the end of the review. There was no stopping it. I sat in a big puddle of urine. Jill followed suit. We both cried silently. Kathleen looked at us and told us we were disgusting. She laughed. Wanda told us we could just sit in it. The review continued. Another girl went on the floor. I was no longer crying. Tears continued to stream down my cheeks but I was no longer in physical pain and emotionally I had just given up. I didn't care. Not about what they said, not that I was stewing in my own urine, not the smell or the disgust all around me. I emotionally checked out. It was as if it was happening to someone else and I was watching. Finally my name was called and I stood in my urine. A flurry of hands went up. All vying for the opportunity to tell me that I was disgusting, a piece of shit. Kathleen Winn began to laugh. Hard. Wanda looked at me with disgust, contempt. They both proceeded to tell me how disgusting, stupid, pathetic I was. I was humiliated, ashamed, helpless and terrified. On the inside I was trembling.Tears continued from my eyes but the sob in my throat locked up tight. I said nothing. Wanda advised the 5th phaser, Lxx Axxx to get a mop but that I was to clean up my mess. She gave me a rag mop but no bucket. I mopped and wrung it out with my hands in the girls bathroom sink repeatedly until it was cleaned up. I cleaned up all the urine on the floor. Mine, Jill's all of it. The entire group watched, even the boy's side joined in the fun. Occasionally Kathleen would look over and giggle.
This happened on two more occasions. At that point I decided that I would just drink as little as possible so I wouldn't have to use the bathroom. I needn't have bothered. I was put on the peanut butter and jelly diet for failing to cooperate. This limited my morning meal to 2 pieces of dry toast and a dixie cup of orange juice approximately the size of a shot glass. Lunch and dinner was a big hamburger bun with a teaspoon of peanut butter in the center. Sometimes a slab of jelly sometimes not. Usually frozen. One 6 oz cup of water at lunch and one at dinner. I went on the diet in early to mid November and was on it through Christmas. One day they called my name at sick call and told me I had a bladder infection. Gave me a little blue pill each day for about a week or so and then just as abruptly told me I was better. I realized at some point that I had lost weight. While sitting on the couch one morning, I showed my foster mother how I could fit both of my arms inside my corduroys and touch my knees. Corduroys that I had been barely able to zip up. They took me off the pb & j diet a few days later.
Of course exercise raps were pretty high on the list of intolerable therapies. Occasionally Wanda would lead us in an exercise rap. The timing of this appeared to be random. We would do no exercise for a week or two or even a month and then abruptly we would do a 2 hour session of exercises. We would do jumping jacks, sit ups endlessly, military style. If anyone fell out of count we would start over. Girls would have tears mixed with sweat running down their faces but we could not stop or it would result in more exercise. So we'd continue exercising and crying. That windowless warehouse in central Florida was brutally fucking hot without the air conditioning. The very walls would sweat. People would pass out. Beg for water. We were allowed only seconds at the water fountain in order to minimize the disruption to our "therapy". People frequently choked trying to drink as much water as possible in the limited time allowed. One of the newcomers that lived our foster home went home after a particularly brutal exercise session and drank water until she threw up. One day the girls group went to the carpet room for our exercise rap. I don't know why I thought this would be better. I just thought it had to be somehow. It was agony. Endless. My stomach cramped.Three girls fainted. When I got to the foster home that night my old comer asked me what the sores were on my back were. Turns out they were rug burns.
Like I said, not the worst. more or less typical I'm sure. You know what kills me though? For 20 years I somehow believed that this was acceptable THERAPY. That I NEEDED that at the ripe old age of 15. That being deprived of EVERYTHING and learning not to want or hope was making me a better person. Talk about brainwashed. It's just unbelievable to wake up after all this time and realize how utterly insane it all was :skull: :skull: No matter how great your triumphs or how tragic your defeats---approximately one billion Chinese couldn't care less.
--Lazlo's Chinese Relativity Axiom:
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A typical straight day stated around 6am. Get up, ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. Go to the bathroom while the oldcomer watched. My oldcomer would take me to another foster home that they carpooled with. We'd have breakfast. This home was poor and I never understood why the wealthier foster home they carpooled with didn't provide a real breakfast once in a while but they didn['t during my 1 week stay.The most watered down gooey runny oatmeal you ever saw. No milk. No sugar. Hurry up. Need to be out the door by 6:45.The oldcomers on 3rd phase would head off to school with one set of parents while the rest of us would head off to Straight. We were in Tampa so it required some time to get us over the bridge. We arrived at the building around 7:30, or 7:45. Raps didn['t start until 9:00 and there were not enough oldcomers to watch us all so they'd put all the newcomers into an intake room until the rap sessions started. We were packed in there like sardines. Sometimes we'd have to stand because they coudn't fit as many people if we were sitting. It was suffocating. Finally we'd head out for the first rap. But first let's have a song! "Over hill over dale we will hit the druggie trail as the straightlings go marching along" The boys leave and we go into girls rap. What's the first and most important rule?" Come on who REALLY wants to talk" "Get motivated Get off your asses!" "Move it" Arms flapping, chairs squeaking and sliding, girls grunting and groaning in desperation to be called. One girl stands and tells a story. She seems too old to be in the program. She has a long hard face. She tells a story about dancing in a bar. How she used to ask the customers if they wanted a sit down dance or a lay down dance. She is emotionless. People stand and tell her she's disgusting. Doesn't she feel bad Does she know how disgusting she ia? A total whore it is a miracle she is not dead. She sits down sobbing. Another girl stands and talks about having sex with her dog. I've never had sex with an animal. I don't know what a sit down or lay down dance is. I'm 15 and I've had sex exactly once. I don't want to be called on in this rap. I don't have any crazy stories like that. If I stand up they'll call me a liar and scream at me. I don't raise my head. A fifth phaser comes over and raises my hand for me. Waggles it in the air. I pull my hand away and she whispers to me"You better start motivating or you're going to end up on the floor". I motivate but avoid the eyes of the staff-I don't want to be called on. The rap finally ends around 11:00 . The boys are brought back in and we go into rules rap while row by row newcomers go to get their lunch. Mine is peanut butter and jelly. I peed on the floor last week and now I am on the pb & j diet. My sandwich is a large hamburger bun with a square of peanut butter at the center. It is frozen. I get my wter. I take a seat and eat the bread all around the outside. I tear off little pieces at a time to make it last longer. I save the peanut butter in the middle for last. It will be thawed out better that way and it is like desert. I save my water for last too. i drink it slowly in little tiny sips. They say lunch is over and I swallow the last of my water. Rules rap is continuing. Someone is relating a confession. No eye games is the rule. They are screamed at told they are full of shit. They were seen looking at the girls side. No girl will ever want to go out with a druggie loser like him. Start applying your program. Have a seat.
The girls go into the carpet room. We are going to exercise rap. It's covered in the pst above. It is insane. Crqazy. I will not cry. If we cry Wanda will make us exercise more. I can take it. I hate her. I hope she gets run over by a bus. I fantasize abut the ways Wanda could be killed. My stomach hurts. I want to cry. The exercises seem to go on forever. The exercise rap lasts about 2 hours. We may do anothr tomorrow or next week or next month. There is just no telling. We are all sweating profsely when we go back into the main room. Why son['t they turn on the fucking air conditioning. It is so unbearably hot. I am so thirsty. I am waiting for my 5 seconds at the water fountain. I will never tqake water for granted agian. It is more important than peanut butter sandwiches. More important than anything. Air conditioning might be a close second.Finally I get my turn at the fountain. It's no longer cold but it is at least water. I choke trying to drink it. It runs all over my chin and down my neck and that's fine with me. Itwill help me cool off. I'd like to put my whole face in the fountain. Maybe the not drinking so much is good. I've not peed on the floor in a week. Not had to beg to use the bathroom. Maybe I can just wear my water from now on. The group is singing again" I am straight hear me roar in numbers too big to ignore". They call on a girl to stand upand sing. She is not a good singer and stuuters and stammers through a song and sits down her face red as a beet. I feel for her. I would not be able to do that. I can't even stand up & talk much less sing. Another dreadful song. It is afternoon and we are hot and exhausted so they are trying to make us sing lively songs. Another rap begins. The group lags. People fall asleep while sitting up towards the end. 5th phasers go around shaking them by the shoulder. A guy is sttod up for sleeping. He is avoiding himself. He is fullof shit. What's going on with him. He starts to talk and hundereds of hands go up flapping like mad"ooh OOoh". Unbelievable. I wish I had toothpicks. I would put them in my eyes. I do not how to stay awake. I look a few seats over. A girl is stealthily carving into her arm. I watch in fascination. A 5th pahser dsomes over and pulls her hand away. She tell s the 5th phaser to fuck off. The 5 phaser tries to get her to sit up properly. Pushes her shoulders back. The girl tells her to leave her alone. The next thing you scuffling and then full on yelling and wrestling ensues. "Faces forward" a staffmember shrieks. The girl is restrained on the floor. Now I am awake. I don't want to be restrained. I know it hurts her. She's crying. It's time to sing again . Dinner rap. The upper phases are in and it's going to take forever to get food. But who cares it will be peanut butter again. They call on a fourth phase boy. He stands "How are you" the staff asks. He says he is doing ok he has been working on himself. As he talks all 300 hands go into the air. Moaning and oohing grunting and groaning arms flapping and and fingers slapping, chairs scaping across the concrete floor. He tries to continue but he knows he is in trouble.After a 45 minute verbal assault he is started over "Day one". He is sobbing as he is taken from the fourth phase side to the front row. My row finally goes to get food. They are having chili. It has a layer of bright red orange grease floating on the top. For once I'm glad that I only have to eat pb&j. I am jealous of their milk though. I think about how cold and thick it would taste. I would drink it in one big gulp. I decide I don't care. No use wanting things you can't have. We sing and stat evening rap. It is a rip rap. The first part of the rap is focused on a guy, the second on a girl. She is only a few seats away from me. I watch her hands first clench and then begin to shake as they scream at her and tell her she is a slut. I'm glad she is close to me because now I'll stay awake. I have to. With her in such close vicinity they'll definitely notice if my eyes start rolling. Must stay awake. Critical. I wear down slowly. I can't follow what anyone is saying. It is just noise. I'll try to hear my own music. I try to play "Tuesday's gone in my head". I want to play it exactly and this requires concentration. I strain to hear every guitar string every piano chord. Sometimes I try to watch television shows or relive some birthday party. Finally the rap comes to a close. We're singing agian. The staff comes up to read off homes. I can't wait to go to sleep. I'm going to sleep in the car I don't care what my oldcomer says. Suddenly my name is called. I am moving agian. The girl I'm to go home with stands. They read through several more home changes. My stomach is in knots. Why can't I stay someplace a while. How long am I going to be here moving form home to home. I am homesick suddenly. I can't think about my parents. That hurts too much. I think about my dog. I am trying not to cry. I don't want to get screamed at. I'm just too tired. Finally my oldcomer the new one comes to get me. She pus her thumb through the beltloop on my pants and holds tightly to the back of them with her fist. Where does she think I'm going to go?I wish I could run away. I don't even know where I am. Maybe I could run. I see nothing but scrub palm, pine trees and palmetto. Maybe I could hide and then hitch hike. We stand in line. "toes to heel" the fifth phasers remind us. We march out to the car. It is 9:45 pm. We get into the car. My new faoster mother says hello. I'm Mrs so & so. W come in very early in the morning because we have to drop you off at the building in St Pete and the drive up to Clearwater in time to get D### into school.You guys should go ahead and get started on your moral inventories. They hand me a pen and pad. I startto write. My 3 challengs are about falling asleep, not getting into my head and missing my parents who I don't deserve because I am a worthless druggie. My accomplishments are not peeing on the floor, accepting the fact that I am here and being grateful for peanut butter & jelly at dinner. I write 5 goals like staying awake, relate ing group,don't get into my head, don't think negative thoughts(ie missing my dog). I write a prayer asking God for help. I can't help but in my mind to beg God to get me out of here. I start to cry. My oldcomer asks me what's wrong I say I am homesick. She reminds me I have done all the necessary things to be here. I cry more. Her mother says it will be alright. My oldcomer tells hermother that she is enabling me when what I need is toughlove. Foster mom is silent. We get to the new house. My oldcomer watches me shower then takes her. We go to the bedroom. The room is bare except for a mattress on the floor. She loans me a t shirt since I have no clothes. I'll wear the same clothes tomorrow. I don't care I don't care about anything but sleep. She reviews my moral inventory but her heart isn't in it. She is tired and the review is mercifully brief. I t is after midnight. We lay down on the mattress to sleep. I am exhausted but my mind keeps drifiting to my bedroom, my dog and my parents. I cry silently. Finally I fall asleep. First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.
Gandhi
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Whoa! They must have developed a patent for their treatment model because your day matched mine almost exactly! Weird! I thought that Straight would differ somewhat in different states but I guess not. Thanks for sharing. It is important for me to recall the trivial things that I've forgotten about Straight that made it so unforgettable ironically.
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whiterabbit, you found a chink in my armour. When I work out today, feeling the cartilage slip in my elbow from being restrained, I'll know it's nothing compared to what the girls side endured. I am thankful that I had the luxury of battle, allowing me the illusion of daily victory without compromise.
WR, you are a brave woman and although our programs never "crossed", I feel as though I fought as hard for you as I did for myself. De Oppresso Liber. Jason
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I feel sick to my stomach reading WR's post. SICK. Words lurking in the corners of my mind...carpet room,homes, rules rap...uh that whole begging to pee thing. Its so amazing that I function as well as I do in my life. We really are survivors.
I wish I could get mad about it. I just feel...Spent, disgusted, and after all this time I am in disbelief about how horrible it was.
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But did any of you go to seed also. What were the differences between straight and seed. please answer if you experienced both places?
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Thanks guys. Sorry to be so long but I was on a roll.
I always admired the misbehavers. I tried to misbehave once. They actually laughed at me. I am 5 ft tall and after the pb& j diet weighed less than a 100 lbs. I didn't have the physical strength to do anything but wind up restrained. So I secretly applauded the misbehavers and tried avoidance & daydreaming until I finally cracked after 9 months on first phase.
When i tell these stories it astonishes me. I am always amazed that I just locked that up and thought it was just tough love for so long. It was sick wasn't it? I read our stories and think we are truly all survivors. Miller Newton thought we needed our brains cleaned! Anyone who believes any of that was therapuetic is brainwashed!The drug war places Leo in a round room and instructs him to piss in a corner.
--Antigen
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WR, I really appreciate you posting that. I found myself just drawn in. I am amazed about the details you remember, and cause me to remember.
What people who aren't from straight need to remember about stories like this is that it was just ONE day. Every day was like this. For me, I spent 20 months on first phase. I can't beleive I survived.
I, too, am a rather recent re-discoverer of the torture I endured. After about two years in there, I finally just bought that I deserved, even caused, all that shit to happen. Unlike many on this site, I did needed an intervention for my problem, but not that kind. And when I got out my family was way into the straight thing. Parents met in there (new step mom), stepsis is a grad. In fact, I still can't criticize it around the folks without causing major disturbances in the family.
After 2 years in there (now 17) I went back to my old school and a new world on the outside. There was Ollie North, Millie Vanilli, and lots of talk on TV about crack and I had no idea where the hell I was. I guess that's why I just chose to forget/repress the whole straight thing. When i talked about it with people who were in there. I would just get terriobly repressed. Hell, anytime I drove into VA from MD I would get depressed. I had to assimilate back into the world, bringing with me all these new neuroses. Shortly later I would tell my family "well maybe it's a good program, but I was just not a good fit".
So I was very surprised to find out like 2 weeks ago that I still have some PAIN about that place. What's going on? I thought straight had made me some kind of "master of my emotions". But when I began thinking about some shit from then, and read a bunch of you all's posts, I started crying. Remebering the alienation, fear, humiliation, being trapped, hopeless. How I finally gave up and just "rotted" in there.
Sorry for running on
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I now what you mean Shady. I can't believe you were on first for 20 months! After 9 months on first phase, countless foster homes,2 escape attempts, 3 runs on pb&j, 3 pee on the floor humiliation sessions and having my diary read to the group I finally just mentally gave in. I believed that I had caused and deserved all those things and all the things that came after. I thought it was acceptable therapy.
Even years later after I thought I truly had locked all those memories away, even when I was relatively successful someone asked me if I thought I needed drug treatment as a teen. My response after 19 years? I did all the necessary things to be there. It popped out of my mouth before I could even think about it. Later I wondered why that was still my response but then who wanted to think about all that insanity.
I have only unlocked some of this & started talking about it a few months ago. And finding all these websites was a shock. It really has helped me realize that I'm not crazy, that I could not possiby earn that type of treatment and that ['m not alone. This forum while sometimes outrageous, sometimes cruel and sometimes just childish has been therapuetic. I hope you find the same.I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.
--Clarence Darrow
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I am beginning to have that feeling, too. I used to think: "why spend all this time 'bitching'" but now I see that everyone needs to work this through (or not) in their own way. In fact, I have some bitching to do, too. While the people on this site are by far not therapists, they understand a fundamental part of my psyche like no one else can. I feel like I know you, saw all that stuff happen to you, even though I was not there.
It was not 20 consecutive months. I would spend 6 to 8 months on first, earn second and run away that night or the next. Broke my Dad's heart...but I simply could not stand the fear I felt when I left first. Was sure I simply had to be perfect, and everyone else was. Finally I realized I had no hope, and just sat there, bare minimum stuff, hoping I was just melt away.
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last post was me, sorry
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When I ran the second time we called HRS-Florida's Health & Rehab Sevices. They would not help me and my parents wouldn't let me come home. They even gave the staff my diary. Of course they stood me up and read my entry about losing my virginity to the group. A verbal onslaught of "whore" "selfish ungrateful bitch"etc etc ensued until I just broke into hysterical laughing & sobbing. I went to the hitler fostr home where my oldcomer invented extra rules. I was started over, back on Pb & j, unable to speak for 2 weeks(not that I wanted to )and then finally just ignored. Left to "sit in my shit" as they used to say. There was no hope. I could see no way out. I learned not to want anything. It was pointless and just led to disappointment. Hope was a let down. I languished that way for months. An occassional pathetic attempt at misbehavior or even suicide. I spent hours wondering wha it would be like to die. Was I dead already? Would it hurt if I killed myself? Would I really go to hell?Then there were the days of just fighting to stay awake or the ones where I passed all day barely hearing a single word said. Going to a world inside my head, one that was saner, kinder, more peaceful than my day to day reality. In many ways that "melting away"as you called it, was the worst period. It was less painless in some respects because I didn't care, didn't feel as much pain but having no hope was like slowly dying from the inside out.
It's incredible isn't it, to see the stories here, to really remember. All the years you spent telling yourself it wasn't that bad, it was me or I deserved it wash away and you're 15 again and horrified. Hear your own story from someone elses perspective. Someone who hasn't been tainted. Or imagine soemone did those things to your children. It's suddenly shocking.
Welcome aboard. Survivor. :wave: The function of the press is very high. It is almost holy. It ought to
serve as a forum for the people, through which the people may know freely what is going on. To misstate or suppress the news is a breach of trust.
--Mr. Justice Brandeis
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Hey Shadygrove - I wonder if I know you..I was in VA str8 from 82 - 85, my name is Alex L. I know what you mean about the feeling when driving into NoVA from MD. If you'd rather not disclose your identity on the board, you could PM me...
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Don't think I could know you unless you came back to group as a graduate on OM nights. I was in there some years later, 87-89.
WR and everyone...thanks so much for the warm welcome. I am chilled and comforted at the same time for the same reason. You were there.