Fornits
Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform => CEDU / Brown Schools and derivatives / clones => Topic started by: blownawaytheidahoway on January 11, 2007, 09:21:42 AM
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http://http://blog.myspace.com/blownawaytheidahoway
"Where's my Dad?" I demanded.
I was losing my freedom. This was the first thing to happen. To me. Something was happening to me and I never saw it coming. What I did see was an off white sedan. Driving away. A long, dusty wake in the driveway cowardly waved goodbye- a bumping- dry as bones- trail of dust, flicked out behind the bouncing back wheels of a rented Mercury. The off white vehicle that I had been sitting in an hour before, was leaving me behind. It wasn't even 8 A.M.
My last words were dry in my mouth as it snapped together in my mind. I began to turn decisively toward a threatening sound but I was too late. I tried to prevent the attack with a hand. Raise it. Dammit! The silvery bear had my wrists. My wrists were immobilized! Long mustache hairs of a graying variety reached triumphantly from his nostrils and in an up/out direction almost meeting his red framed spectacles. The frames had little horns on them as did the bushy gray eyebrow hairs that peeked out from above the lenses. I remember almost nothing about what he was wearing in between his scraggly head and furry toes. It wasn't formal. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Instead, he wore enormous sandals. His toes were gigantic. I realized as I gandered at those stately dogs, that the big toe- the snout to my dog- was damn near as big as my whole foot. I began to get very scared as the threatening words and sounds came into focus.
Richard Anderson's peculiarly dull, rounded words floated around in my light head. "Program," "processing," "clothes off."
Whoa. Back up. Clothes off? I know I didn't hear that right. I can't move. I'm trying to but my wrists are unmistakably bound to this stranger though I am trying to back away. Simultaneously, he is telling me to take my clothes off. A woman I've never seen before stealthily comes out of the shadows with something sharp! I wish I had woken up- or torn away and was running and being chased and THEN woke up, but I didn't. I won't exaggerate. I will be as plain as I am able about my 'processing'. My 'orientation'- my admittance into Boulder Mountain Academy was on July 11th, 1988 when I was fourteen-and-a-half years old.
ONE
These are not the opening lines of a novel. These aren't characters that I made up. This is not something that happened inside my head. This happened to me. My Dad abandoned me in a sickening scenario. Starting from day one I would be way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere. Idaho! Close to the Canadian border was BMA.
I was woken up damn early in the morning by my father. I came along for the airplane ride. That, and we were going skiing. In July. To reciprocate the good intentions of my father, I agreed to look at a boarding school that was near the slopes. It was pretty cold at six in the morning, I surmised perhaps there'll be some snow up higher in the mountains. We had gotten in from the airport pretty late. I was still pretty much asleep as we made our way from the hotel that morning in a rented off white Mercury sedan from Bonner's Ferry's only Kootenai Inn.
The slowing of the rather ordinary car had woken me a few times before I felt gravel under wheel. I shook the sleepy cobwebs from my mind. Where were we? Was that a ski lodge? Wait. There were kids older than I walking parallel to the road we were driving. They emerged from three equal looking brown, wooden, one- storey dwellings. I put my straw hat on my head that nicely held back my long, brown, hair. It was so thick and wavy that I almost let my mother talk me into cutting it a few weeks before. I checked out some of the hotter female specimens.
I adjusted the straw hat as we slowed by a giant wood bay to my left. There was a lot to look at, the surroundings were strange and the trees were foreign. I had been to see other schools before so it wasn't that strange to be looking at a bunch of strangers who were close to my age. But like the trees, everything was different. Larger. This wood bay was gigantic. There was enough wood stacked up there to build a great pyramid. There were these magnificent, stringy, tamaracks gliding by to the right- these huge trees created a wall; a dense curtain prevented seeing beyond. I gazed up at mountains that were jagged and uninviting. They were a different species of mountain than mine in ol' Virginia. The Blue Ridge Mountains were rounding, luscious, and feminine. They were nothing like these masculine peaks, Clifty on one side and Katka Mountain on the other. These rose up like angry deities out of the clouds, daring and forbidding.
A couple of dogs barked as we slowed near some parked cars. The dogs were bigger too. We ignored the dry, bored barks and stretched our legs as we properly departed the automobile. Another dog had detected our arrival and came proudly bounding toward us. Impossible to ignore, so big and black was Sancho that even my father exclaimed out loud, as his dark, lumbering swagger approached.
Richard Anderson and two burly students walked towards us. Richard introduced himself to my father- Richard- and to myself. Richard Anderson said these two boys would show me the campus. I hated that word. Campus. Ken Banger and Charles Wallman eyed me suspiciously and tried to peer through my sunglasses. They asked me if I liked my hair long and what state I was from. We walked.
As we walked, we passed other kids. I felt shunned, like I wore something that made me repulsive. The waking kids flashed quick, furtive glances in my direction, then their necks would snap back to carry them a quickened pace toward their destinations. We seemed to be the only people not walking quickly, Ken and Charles were letting me lead this tour without me knowing it. We didn't pass anyone in conversation, the only voices around seemed to be our own.
We walked down by a lake and a sauna, and into a building they called Camelot. There were six bunk-beds in each unit. I was dizzy and confused by the time we reemerged out into the July sun. The units had all been carbon copies of each other. There was almost nothing to differentiate the personalities of the people who slept in each bunk. I noted no music posters. No pictures of girls, or pictures of friends at home, not even photos of families much of the time.
As we walked down a different rustic dirt road they pointed out an obstacle course on our left. I had heard of such things. Rope courses. Swings, platforms, and a giant cargo net made from thick, braided strands were almost obscured from view by the forest. They called this big patch Merkle Forest. We were on our way to the farm by the entrance to the campus – near the place where smooth state road turned easily onto the bumpy driveway that had woken me earlier.
Here, in Idaho, the cows were bigger than the ones I used to irritate in France, while I was cultivating my rat- tail, the summer before.
All in all it was a quiet morning, and all the animals seemed happy to see us, even the ram they affectionately addressed as "Rambo." Both of my guides were from California and neither had been to Virginia before. Charles said he had to leave San Francisco on account of a drug problem. He had a tattoo of a cross on his arm. He seemed pretty cool but clearly was "assisting" Ken. Ken sort of sketched me out a little on that walk because he was so bland. Flimsy, like a puppet missing a hand, he seemed to be just…a shell. Charles was a little more sharp. I don't mean smarter. Just the way Ken seemed like the blue ridges, Charles was jagged like the peaks surrounding the campus. Charles then asked me if I knew that I was going to be coming here today. I said we were on our way to go skiing. There went that damn quixotic sideways glance. Both of them looked around this time. I was getting suspicious.
Finally, idiotically, another question sprang to mind. Why were they here? It was summer. There is no SCHOOL in summer? Right? There's summer school- I had become familiar with that. But a summer boarding school replete with ropes courses and a lake? I asked a direct question.
"How long since you were last at home?"
"I went on a five day last month" Ken replied in an even more vacant stare ahead.
"Five day visit, he means."
Charles was looking at me in that sidelong fashion to see if I was putting it together. I wasn't. I lit a cigarette. They said they would wait until we were up at the House. They could smoke there. I asked why not here like me? They just said that that was the only place allowing smoking. Whatever, I decided, taking another drag. We ambled that way. I looked down and puffed some more. I noticed they were wearing identical work boots. I looked up to say something but we were approaching the House. This was where the kids had been walking and where we had parked the rental. It was a giant building. Dreams, starting with a climb into the entrails of the building from one of the two staircases, still haunt my spirit.
Next to the staircase that my dreams take me floating was the small office where I was "processed." Cavity searching is not a proper way to end the tour of a facility, I insist. I don't want to make light of this, as it was with eery resentment that later learned most students were not searched like this. I did not have anything contraband; especially not IN my person. Apparently, Richard felt no differently about my exterior, because my clothes too were about to become history.
I was scared, and for the first time in years, I wanted my Dad. Being gently veered toward that doorway I finally asked aloud after him for the first time. The door opened and the top of Richard Anderson's head appeared. He stooped to get out the door as Ken and Charles disappeared. Richard's balding head- flecked with longish, black and white wisps, sweaty, and hanging on for dear life- rose back to a human position atop of the neck. He ushered me past him into the room and closed the door. Things darkened some as he stood between me and the window next to the door. He asked me how I like the school. I said it was 'alright' but that I wanted to talk to my father.
Nancy was already in the room but had such a diminished presence. It seems factual that without the display of her weapon of choice, she was perfectly invisible. Richard closed the door behind me as I walked in. I found Nancy in the room and saw her holding something. Something sharp? The sun glinted off. A magical, slow- motion moment ensued as then I looked to Richard. Richard was looking at Nancy. I looked back at Nancy. Nancy turned and willed me to follow her gaze through the window.
To say the air goes out of your lungs when becoming faced with something shocking, terrifying or outright surprising is an understatement. Here's how it goes: first the heart stops, drops, and rolls, like it and all of your blood is on fire. I've heard it called skipping a beat, but it's more like feeling an anchor drop to the bottom of your stomach. Then the steady- and often pleasant redundancy of the inflow and take of air by lungs suffers an incredible shock. Air escapes, "Where's my father," but the process to intake air anew is retarded by the brain because it is absorbed in that most exact and immediate sense. Sight. An off white Mercury sedan fled away from the scene.
I balked. I did try out of instinct to maneuver, but as I said, it all clicked into place simultaneously, who could really react? Nancy went bounding ungraciously out of my line of vision, accompanied by the sound of sharp metal edges grazing against each other. The flash. The corresponding image that I caught in my periphery was the opening of an enormous pair of scissors. Opening with one slick, wavering, metallic note while I gazed without comprehension at the off- white Mercury sedan. It was slithering and bouncing down that dirt road like some kind of insane, albino snake on treaded wheels.
The anchor in my stomach steadied me, and Richard Anderson held my wrists. My hair was cut off in an instant. A most unpleasant shift occurred in my body as a slanted line of freshly cut hair fell onto the floor. Compensating from the weight, I teeter a little towards the man whose pressing his fingers into the flesh on my arms. I wanted to be indignant. I wanted to fight. I wanted to escape. I really, really wanted to wake up. This grey beast stopped any movement I made. With his branch like arms holding me away I was both out of leg distance, and unable to summon any strength to use his weight against him.
My senses finally came back, and the blood started rushing around inside me again. This was indicated by the overwhelming thumping of my heart in my burning ears. I obeyed my adrenal glands primal urging, and pulling up the gastral anchor, I tried flight. No go. When these small phsysical exertions had transpired, I still hadn't taken in a breath. When I finally did, it was a beaten, sad, stale, defeated, and utterly foreign northwestern woody flavor. Disgustingly, it had been tinted by the breath of Richard Anderson, peppered and contaminated after coming through his mustache.
"Calm down!" Richard squeezed my wrists like a tube of toothpaste.
"We're just gonna do a quick search of your clothing so we can get out of here. You're not leaving the campus with your father. You don't want this fight, and I am not having any of that. YOU GOT THAT?"
So, I lost my clothes.
"Nancy, take his jeans. XXXX, take off your watch now. And put it with that stuff. Good. Take off your shoes. Socks. Hand them to Nancy. Check him. OK? Alright, good. Now turn around and take off your underwear, I want to make sure you don't have any drugs so bend over."
My face was flush and the remainder of blood in my veins drooled back into my ankles as I exposed my asshole to Richard. Shame. I was embarrassed, and frightened, and angry all at once, bent over like that. Richard briefly acquainted himself with my bunghole. Dizzy and weakened, I thought I almost sensed I wasn't in my body for a stint. I think I witnessed a smug smile while winking at Richard, I was viewing the room from above, or peeping into the scene from the window.
Nancy finally handed me some clothes. I had never seen duds like they handed me. The jeans were as hard as mica. They were shaped like folded brown grocery bags. Boxy, rough, and downright ugly, these jeans were already in the room before I had even gone on my tour with Charles and Ken. Two colorful flannel shirts accompanied the jeans. My jewelry, a small pocket knife, my cigarettes, my lighter, and my watch all disappeared from the corner of the desk, never to be seen again. I saw no stitch of clothing that I owned ever again. I think most fondly on some metal that was on my hands and neck, and my floppy, straw hat from earlier that morning.
maybe i'll see you at www.myspace.com (http://www.myspace.com)
-blownaway
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MySpace SUCKS! :P
Your page is good, though. Not bloated, like all the other shit on that site.
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Yeah, it may suck. But it's like blogs a couple of years ago; it's where the eyeballs is at atm.
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Absolutely agreed. If you want to be found, that is the place to be found at.
As for my reclusive self, I'm strictly a livejournal guy. I can post my shit, and have some level of control over my friends list. (As opposed to four hundred people asking if they can add you in one day.) In addition, livejournal gives you the option to turn off indexing, so your posts won't show up in a google search.
Not to detract from blownaway's myspace page, though, cause that stuff needs to be up somewhere, for sure.
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you can filter your myspace page to only accept friend request from peeps who know your email address or name or other options. My page is set to private so only my friends can see it. Check it out at: www.myspace.com/drlongjon (http://www.myspace.com/drlongjon)
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Hey blownawaytheidahoway,
Anyone ever tell you you're a great writer? Nice work. Good to hear the following feedback, too:
"Not to detract from blownaway's myspace page, though, cause that stuff needs to be up somewhere, for sure."
Anyone ever tell you this oughtta be a book and that you're the one to write it?
It's amazing how much your blog made ME remember about RMA and Cedu, and agreements, the campus, and so on.
Your blog blew me away.
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thanks for your support, friends.
Thanks for empathizing, even if it's hard for you to be so sentimental, UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE FALL.
sing it sonny.
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blownaway, I have read your blog and indeed, you have NAILED it ALL on the head.
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blownaway, I have read your blog and indeed, you have NAILED it ALL on the head.
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That's some potent prose there! Write on, write on!
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Excellent work! You had me at the "Where's my Dad?"
Cripes, is this the place where Lon Woodbury got his start?
Let us know when the next installment is up.
:nworthy:
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I found my glasses, so I could finally make out the small print and read the whole thing.
Brings back a lot. I can't believe you remember all of the names of the mountains!
I was shocked to read about the cavity search. I lucked out on that. Thank fucking god Richard didn't process me, even though he was my senior counselor. I actually don't remember who did.
The fact that you can remember all of the rap agreements amazes me.
Interesting account of an incredibly rare bestowing of a rap pass by Caroline, as well. You should have gotten that in writing and framed it. You could sell it on ebay. "Super rare, near mint rap pass from Caroline Wolfe."
I vote for using the staff's real names. I don't know if there are any potential legal problems with that, but think about it. Fuck 'em. People should know who these bastards are.
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The fact that you can remember all of the rap agreements amazes me.
That's why this kid impresses me so much. He was able to maintain enough congenial contact with his basic humanity to have been and remember in detail having been the boy who was utterly incensed by the shit that he witnessed; inside and out.
I wish I had had your strength and clarity
:nworthy:
I vote for using the staff's real names. I don't know if there are any potential legal problems with that, but think about it. Fuck 'em. People should know who these bastards are.
So, what's a little paper among family?
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That's why this kid impresses me so much. He was able to maintain enough congenial contact with his basic humanity to have been and remember in detail having been the boy who was utterly incensed by the shit that he witnessed; inside and out.
I wish I had had your strength and clarity
No shit. I didn't remember him, and when he and I first spoke over the phone, he said,
"Wait, you were in one of my propheets!"
"I was?"
"Yeah, I think it was the Truth."
"Oh yeah. I went through that again, huh."
He remembers things about people in MY OWN peer group that I don't remember, for fuck's sake.
Our conversations mostly consist of
"Do you remember so-and-so?"
"No"
"Do you remember so-and-so?"
"No"
"Do you remember so-and-so?"
"Yes, I mean wait....no."
Love those schizoid tendencies. ::ftard::
I can't fucking wait for this book to be published. I think it will help fill in the blanks for a lot of people.
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One of the most disturbing aspects of the program was how much I don't remember, because I remember what you said your cousin's best friends' aunt's name was from a conversation 10 years ago.
I remember the feeling of my first night at CEDU. Total fear. Total shock. And that "What planet did I end up on" paralysis because NOTHING about that place felt right. I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone. The quintessential Stepford-from-Hell experience. Everyone had their script and frozen smiles... and no one was going to deviate. IT was the uniformity of response and demeanor that really tipped me off. I mean, if you go into any HS today, you will experience a healthy variety of response. School is great--it's okay--it sucks! Not at CEDU.
Shanlea
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This story needs to be told and you're the one to tell it, blownaway.
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next installment forthcoming.
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next installment forthcoming.
Here is the opening and what is right now free and available for public consumption. Numbered copies of this (and the some of the following chapters) will soon (2 weeks) be available for purchase.
Negotiations began yesterday with printer, but I'm excited enough to repost the changed opening here. Sorry if it seems familiar to some of you.
Please send me a private message if you are interested in receiving the physical manuscript from my first printing.
-blownawaytheidahoway 11/07
(i know what month it is)
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http://blog.myspace.com/blownawaytheidahoway (http://blog.myspace.com/blownawaytheidahoway)
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Good God that hit home for me.
My only critique is that I wish he went to Cedu RS so it could even further hit home with the staff and what not that I went through it with.
I remember having to bend over and show my brown starfish to the gay staff member that checked me in. My big brother was there who was gay coincidentally as well.
NOTE- not that there is any thing wrong with being gay but it would be the equivalent of a guy getting to peep in on a girls strip search. (Would it not?)
That strip search didn't come back until this morning reading it over my morning cup of coffee. What a crummy cup of coffee it was.
I had started some initial memoirs from my memory and I got to say that Blownaway nails his and with very detailed, articulate, reminiscent words and accounts.
Cedu RS had the wood cutting, building named Emerson where our propheets were held, smoking section, similiar "processing" process, first day impressions, dorms, shit- almost all of it.
I am looking forward to seeing how much more he gets into the raps. The raps were some of the absolute most frightening parts. Good start though and spot on with the agreements.
Sad thing is...we all know much of what is to come!
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This may be just the thing my parents will need to read to understand what I went through. Thanks blownaway!!! I can't wait to read the rest.....
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One thing I found curious.
They did anal cavity checks for the boys, but not the girls. Due to the fact that strip searches were same sex only, one couldn't really cry foul in terms of improper harassment if it happened to the girls, too. I mean, yes, I know that it was abusive and unnecessary to whomever it happened to, but I always wondered the reasons behind that discrepancy in intake protocol.
Fuck, man, I got to take my underwear off behind a bathroom stall and hand them over the side to the counselors and older students. Still humiliating, especially because I was on my period at the time, but at least no cavity check.
I mean, what, are guys better at smuggling stuff in their ass than girls are? It doesn't make any sense to me, especially since girls have an auxiliary hole to stash stuff.
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One thing I found curious.
It doesn't make any sense to me, especially since girls have an auxiliary hole to stash stuff.
AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO STILL FINDS THAT CURIOUS?
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Blownawaytheidahoway takes place during the height of the "Drug War" in 1988, at a most rural environment outside of a little town named Bonner's Ferry, Idaho. This account is real, and many stories of subsequent "therapeutic boarding schools", sprang from the early "success" days of the CEDU schools. Similar accounts of nightmare facilities now abound, and there have been articles in virtually every major newspaper, magazine, and talk show in the American mainstream about the whole shebang of "tough love".
Over a period lasting almost three years I was subjected to some strange goings on at the place my parents sent me as a "troubled teen". I was treated not as harshly as some true stories out there, but the mental abuse, and anguish described have turned out to garner interest in a variety of readers. I've now compiled my memories, and told the story almost to it's only fictional last page.
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When can we buy/read it?
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Good question.
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blownaway for pointing me here, this is a great forum.
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Hey Allia, thanks for shouting out, stopping by, and posting intelligently. Please send your friends and anyone who will give a shit to these threads, they are our story, and it's an important facet of (un)"American" history. And, Yes...as much as I don't want to have to fight this fight, This genre of private facilities and the transgressions associated with them must become history. It's got to stop somewhere, and evidently, the only people who give fuckin' fuck fuck, are the ones who went through it.
There's the occasional friend, a true one, who did not go through the program, there's the occasional guidance or otherwise counselor, shrink, priest, rabbi, or lover who may just get a sense of what you went through, and care. But often even a cry for help to any of these is brushed off, or worse, misinterpreted. All we have is the validation of our stories, and the opposite. The fruit loops that know it was cultish, totalitarian, fear and coersion based quackery, but still think they deserved it, still think they "learned" something (rm) amazing, that makes them different from all the other monkeys. Their stories are just as valid if they think, feel, and know (honestly in their hearts (I'm not sure it's even possible) that without their CEDU education they'd be deadinsaneorinjail) a life interrupted from drug abuse, physical abuse, gang activity, or extreme examples of "fucking up", saved them the above calamitous option.
The FACT that CEDU was closed down- for all its magical charm- for fraud and abuse just about sums up what went on there.
I'm not going to be accountable for knowing some of what I SAW, there, what I HEARD , and what I KNEW to be wrong, is still going on. Fuck that, CEDU can change it's name, WWASPs can get some inside oversite bureaucratic mind slave to "watchdog", but as long as there is ever a kid (a fucking child, CPS) as upset for as long as I was, and lied to about what his real options are...I'm on board with the activism to stop this ABUSE.
PROVO, SECRET HARBOR, whatever, it's disgusting there are literally thousands of them. Whether the confirmedly bizarre CEDU mindgames or a dog cage and restraints...who thinks anyone besides US who've been through this stuff can decide what's ACCEPTABLE? what a word, and it's just another thought/ word that they bent.
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When can we buy/read it?
I'm working on the cover design, and waiting for the go ahead from Langley.
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blownaway wrote:
The FACT that CEDU was closed down- for all its magical charm- for fraud and abuse just about sums up what went on there.
I know you are aware of this, blownaway, but just to clarify for others, my research indicates that CEDU has simply been reincarnated under new owners Universal Health Services. Rocky Mountain Academy did shut down, but the web site forwards to Boulder Creek Academy and the phone numbers are the same. Ascent and Northwest also still operating. BCA has the same key staff as they did in 2005, including program director (Paul Johnson), education director (Marjorie Timms), and several others. It was the same psychiatrist, Ulrich, until about 60 days ago. They still have raps, they still have levels, they still isolate kids.
It's been asked before, but how can we take away their oxygen--take away the flow of money? Somebody--maybe you or castle--noted that rising home mortgage interest rates were working in our favor because they are likely to keep some kids out of these programs; no cash, no incarceration. I fear that as long as there is profit in it, it's almost impossible to stop them.
As has also been mentioned, if effective, compassionate community-based mental health services for adolescents were more widely available, that could provide a better alternative for some percentage of parents who might work with the teen at home rather than sending their kids to RTCs.
Alia23, welcome. I am not a survivor, but a concerned relative with a niece who has been in BCA for almost 2 years, incommunicado. I am very grateful to people here who have patiently offered information and support and guidance, and hope you find the same.
AuntieEm
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True but For us folk that graduated RMA by 90' who lived through the "HERE FOREVER" era having RMA shut down even for a day is a major victory.
It was a milestone event for former students to help us put that experience in better perspective and put it behind us.
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I don't understand! I don't understand!
I thought these cedu clones were shut down?
There are raps on the old cattle creek route 1 site north of Bonners Ferry this week?
Is that right?
It must fucking end. The raps were the torture. the trick to catch the king. the one thing that made the brainwashing happen. GOD MAKE IT STOP. I thought it was over. are you sure auntie em?
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:( Oh, Guest, it is my profound hope that I am dead wrong, but the evidence says otherwise. Because no family members other than her parents have been allowed any communication whatsoever with our niece since she was sent there in early 2006, it is not possible to know for sure.
But here is the evidence I have that raps are still being used.
1. The BCA web site gives the students' Daily Schedule:
http://https://www.bouldercreekacademy.net/campus/dailyschedule.pdf
And this from the BCA web page describing campus life (bold added to copy below by me):
Each student's daily schedule varies as they progress through the school. Wake-up time is approximately 6:30 a.m., and dorm responsibilities are handled by each of the students. Breakfast is followed by a morning meeting called "First Light," which includes philosophical discussions, exploration of current and past issues, leadership sponsored activities, personal goal setting, and play. "First Light" is a time for all of the students to gather, share information, and spend time getting to know more about each other.
At Boulder Creek Academy, morning activities may include academic classes and service commitments such as working in the wood corral, landscaping, gardening and woodworking. Students have the opportunity to participate in each of these areas, which increases their "hands-on" experience and enhances their group interaction skills.
Lunch is followed by afternoon classes, meetings or activities. Group discussions, Raps, are held three afternoons per week, and elective classes are available on the other two weekdays. Outdoor recreational activities such as volleyball, basketball, soccer, softball, snow shoeing, wilderness trip preparation, and running can also be a part of the individual students' daily schedule. Dorm time begins at 4 p.m. and dinner is served at 5 p.m.
2. Staff members currently in executive positions at the school are the same people who were in charge before the bankruptcy in 2005: Johnson, Wilson, Tompkins, and Timms. See http://https://www.bouldercreekacademy.net/about/leaders.shtml
3. Complete isolation from family--this is the same modus operandi as has been practiced there for years, according to former students here on Fornits. Oh, and no axe murderers in our family that I know of--just normal, loving folk who want to see their relative.
4. Her parents continually use language like "she's manipulative and lies all the time." "Completing the program" is paramount to them.
And near as I can tell "completing the program" is about time served, not therapeutic goals achieved.
AuntieEm
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And, yes, according to you all, this is what I've heard called the "Cow Creek" campus. It is Route 1 Bonners Ferry.
From time to time I see raps written out as "RAPS." Is it an acronym?
Took me a while to make the link between CEDU and Charles E Dederich University, which is persuasive evidence of the continuing connection to the Synanon cult.
I'm so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Guest. I agree this must end.
AuntieEm
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I can't remember Rap being an acronym.
I think it derived from the 60's slang term Rap. As in "hey man, we were at the dead show with these cool cats and we ended up rapping about world peace for hours. It was real deep man".
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I don't understand! I don't understand!
I thought these cedu clones were shut down?
There are raps on the old cattle creek route 1 site north of Bonners Ferry this week?
Is that right?
Yes. Probably in one of these fine facilities located in beautiful, rural Idaho.
P.S. Wednesday is a rap day.
I can't remember Rap being an acronym.
I think it derived from the 60's slang term Rap. As in "hey man, we were at the dead show with these cool cats and we ended up rapping about world peace for hours. It was real deep man".
Yes, rap was a slang term popular in the 60s for "talk". "Hey man, what's up? Wanna rap for a while?" This is where the program term rap came from. I'm willing to bet the farm that CEDU was the first facility to use that term.
I believe it is also derived from its parent word "rapport".
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I don't understand! I don't understand!
I thought these cedu clones were shut down?
There are raps on the old cattle creek route 1 site north of Bonners Ferry this week?
Is that right?
Yes. Probably in one of Dont forget these facilities (http://www.flashearth.com/?lat=48.624682&lon=-116.408546&z=16.1&r=0&src=yh)
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"Her parents continually use language like "she's manipulative and lies all the time." "Completing the program" is paramount to them.
And near as I can tell "completing the program" is about time served, not therapeutic goals achieved."
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AuntieEm, I think your neice is lucky to have you. And you know, knowledge is power. Have you tried asking her parents to read through the posts in this forum? Just tell them that it can give them another perspective.
I was at RMA from 1990 to 1993, and while I did get some benefit, there was also a lot that went on that was just wrong. There's a reason they shut down (and it wasn't simply because they went bankrupt).
I didn't know until recently that the school was running again. It's Friday, I remember what this day was like. Knots in the pit of your stomach and just praying to be as invisible as possible. Wow. I feel for those kids.
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There is almost no communication between her parents and family members on either side. Our punishment, if you will, for raising concerns and asking questions about BCA's "treatment" was that the trickle of info we were getting dried up completely. Yes, I often think I should try one more time to put the facts in front of him, but her father has already made it clear he rejects our view. We need other options.
AuntieEm
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Tell him to call me up. I'll tell him the good AND the bad from what I remember.
I'm sorry that it's created a rift in your family. Something similar happened with my family, and it became a source of misused power, this witholding of information and communication. I was only partly joking about telling him to call me, I think anyone of us would help if there was a way that we could. The offer's out there.
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True but For us folk that graduated RMA by 90' who lived through the "HERE FOREVER" era having RMA shut down even for a day is a major victory.
It was a milestone event for former students to help us put that experience in better perspective and put it behind us.
That ginormous poster haunts me. It was like it was strategically placed to taunt us every time we'd come up those damn stairs.
Heeeerrrrrrreeeeee .... FOOOOOORRRRRRREEEVVEEERRRRRRRRR
ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah
It was, yeah.
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Ok, it doesn't really haunt me. But damn, that thing was huge.
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True but For us folk that graduated RMA by 90' who lived through the "HERE FOREVER" era having RMA shut down even for a day is a major victory.
It was a milestone event for former students to help us put that experience in better perspective and put it behind us.
That ginormous poster haunts me. It was like it was strategically placed to taunt us every time we'd come up those damn stairs.
Heeeerrrrrrreeeeee .... FOOOOOORRRRRRREEEVVEEERRRRRRRRR
ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah
It was, yeah.
I don't know where they got this voice from nowhere person ...guess I wasn't logged in when I wrote it. oops.
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I don't know if you're not logging in correctly or not but I did read in another forum that there may be someone 'hacking' the fornits site and pulling pranks similar to what you are experiencing.
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...
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I'm pretty sure that was end user error, ie. me.
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That ginormous poster haunts me. It was like it was strategically placed to taunt us every time we'd come up those damn stairs.
::roflmao:: ::roflmao:: ::roflmao::
You mean this?
(http://http://www.wholenotherthing.com/other/hereforeverupyourass.jpg)
Yup. I made that. Part of it, anyway. Used to be sooo proud of it, too. Now I look at it and go "What crap."
Hehe. Why do I feel like I am being baited?
Could just be my runaway I-am-the-center-of-the-world solipsism. But in my defense, I know a couple of people who *would*, indeed, joke with me about that.
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Hehe. Why do I feel like I am being baited?
Could just be my runaway I-am-the-center-of-the-world solipsism. But in my defense, I know a couple of people who *would*, indeed, joke with me about that.
Nobody hacked me. I'm just ... shall we say new. I didn't sign on before I posted those comments and now I've properly learned my lesson. If I don't want to be a voice from nowhere I must sign in first. Got it.
Wow though. I can't believe you still have a picture of that...or that you had a part in its design. I can understand having some pride in it at the time, honestly there were moments when I was there that the sentiment didn't freak me out, when I actually was appreciative of being a part of it all. I know that some people out there will disagree but I would be remiss if i didn't put that out there.
My memories are fuzzy, and I can't wait to read blownawaytheidahoway's book (turns out oddly enough that Blown was my first big brother at RMA, he graduated a month after I got there, and we just reconnected). I feel that it will really bring everything from that time into focus for me. I've been reading through these posts for the last week or so, since this forum was brought to my attention, and I understand and can relate to what everyone has said. I have at times said to people that if I hadn't been sent there I don't know where I'd be. Not that I fear I'd have ended up dead or in prison, but at the time I was sent away there was some serious drama going on in my family. Things that had been going on for years. Bad stuff. Physical stuff. I was headed down a path that probably would have ended up being detrimental to me, and my friends (though I loved them and considered them my only family) haven't all ended up where I assume they'd want to be now.
I've had a lot of stuff come up in the past weeks, things that I didn't realize could still effect me this way, but I still can't say that I'm not thankful for the experience. It made me a lot stronger, it gave me a sense of self that cannot be taken away (by myself or anyone else). I survived and completed things that I would not have thought I was previously capable of. And yeah, there were staff there that completely abused the power that they had. Caroline scarred me in ways that will never completely heal, along with some of the other staff that should never have been in the position with children that they were. But I was close with one staff member who gave me love along with the so called "tough love". I don't know if any of you knew John Aaron. He was hardcore, and he told me a lot of things that I didn't want to hear, but ultimately he was an amazing figure in my life, and the relationship I had with him allowed me to heal a lot of my issues with my father. He was a good man. I don't know what happened to him, I heard he was one of the die hards that stayed with the school until it became as monstrous as I heard it became. But I'm digressing.
I want to hear about people's wilderness challenges. Because that was the one experience for me that truly made me who I am today. There was no agenda out there. I truly believe that that was one of the few things the school offered that was pure. Maybe some of you disagree, but I'd like to hear from all of you on that.
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Dammit! That last post was me, I really truly thought I was still signed in but apparently fornits booted me after a few hours. Annoying. I am most definitely not a voice from nowhere. I'm coming in loud and clear from so cal. Anyway. I still want to talk about wilderness challenges. Thoughts?
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What the hell is up with John Aaron? Why does everyone have such a hard on for him? ::huh::
I knew him pretty well, and he sounded like he was much more of an interesting guy back when he was a smoke -jumper... then CEDU took away his nuts and handed him a summit key.
re: the hacking mention. I just got thrown off, because normally anonymous postings were listed as "guest", and now they are listed as "a voice from nowhere". Today was the first time I saw the change, so I got confused.
Yeah, I did that stupid fucking poster. Most of it, since I was the school's art whore, and I was soooo proud of that "honorable" distinction. Oh we need a banner, oh, we need a poster, oh, we need someone to design the new childrens propheet scroll, oh, hey, can you draw a dolphin for my little sister? She's coming out of the truth tonight! a.r.t.w.h.o.r.e. I actually got talked to in a rap when I was in quest because I did something that didn't meet their standards.
So, when they said, hey, there's a new staff workshop coming up, it's a big deal, and we want you to design the poster, make it, and have anyone you'd like to help you out with it. Now, as the here forever poster was your eyesore, mine was the camelot poster from the staff workshop which was held years before. Granted, it didn't have the school's horrible taunt "here forever" up there in gothic blackletter, (in my defense, I didn't do those. I suck at typography) but it still totally sucked. As a result, I felt honored that I could put something up to replace that piece of crap. And but so... the here forever poster became the new piece of crap.
What did they end up replacing that with, BTW?
Interesting you bring up the wilderness challenge. I think that was the only time during my stay there that I can actually still consider peaceful and enjoyable in retrospect. We went to the owyhee desert.
For me, normally anything that causes any kind of sensory association with the school is negative, especially if I smell something similar to what it was like there. I know that every so often I will be somewhere and smell something that smells almost exactly like Idaho dirt in the fall, just as the morning frost begins to melt. The only reason I know this is because that's the smell I smelled every morning as I started my work detail for my fucking full-time. I'd climb up on the rock wall with my tamping iron and shovel, and catch that sickly sweet whiff of the clay and soil that I had been using as mortar for the rocks. And then I would take my shovel and break through the frost that was still there, so I could start my work.
As a result, whenever I smell that smell, I associate it with isolation, hopelessness, survival, futility
When I went to the owyhee, that was the first time I had ever smelled sage. At first, I hated it. I thought it smelled like rotten mustard. But by the end, I loved the smell, and I still love it. The whole expedition itself had its annoyances, but was mostly removed from bullshit, despite the fact that Richard was one the support staff.
Seriously, the best time I ever had at that school was on my four day solo. I was finally away from all of those FUCKERS!!! The staff, the school, my utterly shitty peer group who I hated with every fiber of my being. I was by myself! I realized that, with the exception of the shorter solos that we had on the quest and discovery, this was the first time I was going to be entirely unsupervised. For four fucking days! Woo hoo! Several people in the peer group were like "oh I'm scared to be alone." "oh how on earth am I going to survive four days on one bag of gorp?" "oh, what if an animal eats me?"
Oh suck it up, you sad twats, do you have any idea what a fucking break you're getting? The staff are going to come by and check on you for a few seconds every day by walking by, making sure you are still alive, and dropping off whatever ridiculous envelope, from one of your friends in the peer group above yours, that has some quote from martin luther king jr. or from the book jonathan livingston seagull, and THAT IS IT!
So, with this newfound sense of freedom, do you know what I did? NOTHING!!!
And it was AWESOME!
So, when I smell sage, I think... sanctuary.
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I'm on a tangent at this point i think, I've had a few really good Belgium beers tonight. But I just thought of something else I wanted to say. I'm currently at a turning point in my life (I've had a few others as I'm sure we all have). I was laid off from my job 6 months ago, and at first I welcomed the down time. But at a certain point it becomes a problem. Don't know if any of you have experienced the unemployment check coming in, it creates this sense of not really needing to be completely accountable to anyone. But it ends and then you have to figure out what it is that you're going to do. I got lucky and found a position as a loan officer with a really solid company. And then I managed to have myself a complete anxiety attack, and it was all the old fear, doubt, terror really...and the whole RMA thing came into play. The fact that we know WAY too much about our insecurities and doubts...the internalization of all of it...it really hit me. It was like the perfect storm. And now I'm at the end of the week, I seem to be being successful, and honestly, I'm taking 5 milligrams of zanax a day, for the last few days. It's made everything manageable. I don't know why my mind works the way it does. And I wish I didn't need that to make me able to deal with this. But, fuck, it really has made all the difference anxiety-wise. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I still struggle so much, relationships, myself, I think things into the ground. And it's not like I remember the tools or whatever, but it's like it's ingrained in everything I do. But I wouldn't trade it. I have moments at that school that mean the world to me.
I still want to talk about the wilderness challenge.
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I wrote about the wilderness challenge in my previous post. After I was finished bitching about the here forever poster. The whinging was definitely a deterrent from reading the rest of the post. :P
Hm.. funny... as I was reading your entry, and you started talking about the stress you were going through, I thought "I bet a xanax would help" and then you immediately follow up with that. hehe.
I have been fired from my fair share of jobs, and not laid off but FIRED. Or, I did the you-can't-fire-me-if-I-resign-first thing.
I've been on unemployment, state disability, federal disability. I've gone from fully functional to tanking the next week and not being able to hold down a job. I'm in school again getting my second bachelors in a field that I hope will have a long enough lifespan to get me a nest egg before everything is outsourced to those fuckers in India. I've also managed to whittle down my prescriptions to a manageable amount, thanks to a decent shrink, and have started alternate forms of treatment such as acupuncture, tuina and craniosacral therapy. (I didn't buy into this crap until my friend gave me a treatment and holy fuck does it work.) I've started an exercise regimen, and I'm eating better. (but still not often enough.)
Anyway, yeah, that's my current list of coping skills/strategies.
And then I managed to have myself a complete anxiety attack, and it was all the old fear, doubt, terror really...and the whole RMA thing came into play. The fact that we know WAY too much about our insecurities and doubts...the internalization of all of it...it really hit me. It was like the perfect storm.
I think one of the worst side effects of that school is hyper-vigilance. Always second guessing, obsessing about how stupid you are when you make a mistake, profusely apologizing (or at least, I do, but I'm getting better at it.). I've learned to just kind of let go. okay I fucked up. so what. it's over. When I have thoughts that disturb me, I float above my head and say "okay, there's a thought... and there it goes." As my yoga teacher once said... "sometimes you just kind of have to sit back and watch things appear and disappear."
I find that is useful with *any* kind of invasive thought, no matter what it is or where it comes from.
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fantastic advice castle, but most people can't just "watch it go by", invasive thoughts need the shift in perception and self perception. The more shit you go through, the harder it is to know that without an outsourced expert.
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Stina
All warnings for not mixing alcohol with certain drugs are accurate yet exagerated. However, the alcohol warning for Xanax needs to be heeded. More than a few beers with Xanax your'e asking for trouble.
It is fair to say there were some good staff there (john aaron in your case). But those rare helpful staff/student relationships were squashed by the overwhelming long lasting mindfucking cultish toxicity of the place.
The challenge was great. But to me it was just another blue-ball activity there. Looking back on it the following would have made RMA a billion times better.
1. take away 90% of the staff, (worst case scenario replace them with lobotomized adults)
2. have kids go on a challenge trip every 60 days
3. 1 (two hour) group rap once every 2 weeks. minimal yelling/crying/indicting/emotional issue drama tolerated (when truly needed) - not mainlined and required. I'm talking bare fucking minimum here folks.
4. 2 (90 minute) 'one on one' therapy sessions a week with a bonafide caring experienced psychiatrist.
5. Replace propheets/workshops with a few 1 day (9am - 5pm) forums that allow kids to prepare for post graduation issues.
6. Get rid of the 'fix it' mentality. Let teenagers be teenagers. You can't fix a kid (or human for that matter ) like you can fix a transmission. Teenagers act out because they came from unhealthy homes. All they need is to develop and experience the sense of 'home' and 'family'. Caroline screaming her head off putting the fear of god into everyone is not what goes on in a healthy home/family.
You got a 180 teenagers that have behavioral problems???? Plant a bunch of good mentors around them and they'll gravitate to them at a natural pace. You think 'troubled teens' like being troubled teens? Fuck no. They want a sense of home and family but have had home/family turned on them and injured by it. So at first they'll be wary but if kids have 1 uncanny ability it's the ability to quickly determine if someone is lying or not being genuine.
Holy shit - did I just give away the million dollar idea for free? I guess the problem is is that you can't create that environment. It's too expensive and the ratio of troubled teens to the pool of qualified staff is 1:billion. Therefore you get these chop shop, TBS's whose agenda is based on $$$ profit. They use power hungry cult loving staff to operate their smoke & mirror apparati to manipulate desperate parents to buy their lie.
Castle
You nailed it. On of the long lasting detrimental effects is Hyper-vigilance.
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oops double post...
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Stina
All warnings for not mixing alcohol with certain drugs are accurate yet exagerated. However, the alcohol warning for Xanax needs to be heeded. More than a few beers with Xanax your'e asking for trouble.
I appreciate the concern...they were small beers, and I have been on the receiving end of lots and lots of zanax and lots and lots of alcohol, on purpose, and have many a war story. This is unique in that I don't want to use it to get high, I was super careful, this is the first time that I've taken it in the doctor prescribed way, and I'm finding that it is working wonders. But I do appreciate the warning. I just love myself a good Belgium beer.
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Word
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What the hell is up with John Aaron? Why does everyone have such a hard on for him? ::huh::
Yeah, I did that stupid fucking poster. Most of it, since I was the school's art whore, and I was soooo proud of that "honorable" distinction. Oh we need a banner, oh, we need a poster, oh, we need someone to design the new childrens propheet scroll, oh, hey, can you draw a dolphin for my little sister? She's coming out of the truth tonight! a.r.t.w.h.o.r.e. I actually got talked to in a rap when I was in quest because I did something that didn't meet their standards.
First things first, I don't recall ever having a hard on for John Aaron. I could be wrong, seeing as my memories are so hazy, but...trust me, it took me a long long long time to appreciate him. He was just really the only staff member that bothered to really get to know me, plus he was the first really healthy adult male friendship I'd had. So maybe I did have a hard on for him. hmmmmm.
That art whore stuff is h i l a r i o u s. I actually laughed out loud. And that's good because I'm a little annoyed with the Chargers and have been in a foul mood since they blew it in Minnesota earlier today. I'm also a little annoyed that I care that much about football. It's a new thing in recent years, but dammit, My name's Stina and I love the Chargers (just not today).
Anyway, whatever. I was talking to my mom earlier today, and she brought up this memory she had of a time she came to visit me at RMA and I was on work assignment for whatever asinine reason. And they told her that if she wanted to come see me she'd have to do the work assignment with me. So that day I was filling in potholes with gravel on the upper road to the house. This consisted of dragging a wheelbarrow back and forth to the stupid gravel pile conveniently located down by the farm. So my mom decides that this is ridiculous and why aren't we just using the gravel that's built up by the side of the road? Now I knew that there were going to be repercussions, but hey, my mom suggested it and I innocently went along with it. And not 5 minutes later Steve Rookie comes out of the house and actually got into a cat fight with my mom. It was the best thing ever. My mom telling Steve Rookie where he could stick the gravel. It was beautiful.
My mom had a whole new respect for the bullshit I had to put up with there from then on. And told me on my homevisit a month later that if I wanted to stay home I could. But at that point I wanted to finish it. Plus I thought I was in love (uh huh). Of course he split right after that. Ain't love grand.
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Stina
That's a great story - you're mom telling Rookie to bugger off!
The chargers did set an NFL record today - 109 yard missed field goal return. But unfortunately this year the Packer's seemed to have mystically traded their win/loss of last year with the win/loss of the charger's season last year.
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The challenge was great. But to me it was just another blue-ball activity there. Looking back on it the following would have made RMA a billion times better.
1. take away 90% of the staff, (worst case scenario replace them with lobotomized adults)
2. have kids go on a challenge trip every 60 days
3. 1 (two hour) group rap once every 2 weeks. minimal yelling/crying/indicting/emotional issue drama tolerated (when truly needed) - not mainlined and required. I'm talking bare fucking minimum here folks.
4. 2 (90 minute) 'one on one' therapy sessions a week with a bonafide caring experienced psychiatrist.
5. Replace propheets/workshops with a few 1 day (9am - 5pm) forums that allow kids to prepare for post graduation issues.
I agree, there should have been a challenge every 2 months. Being out on those mountains was the best I ever felt at that school. And that's saying something, considering my peer group went out in January, it was so fucking cold, with those enormous backpacks and those goddamned cross country skis. I HATE those things. And traversing, good lord. I was pretty much convinced that I was going to die somehow, whether it was hypothermia, or being eaten by something, or falling off a mountain...I just knew that I wasn't going to be coming back. Of course, none of that happened. Although one of the kids in my peergroup went headfirst down a 10 foot treewell. That was actually pretty funny. But having that sense of accomplishment and peace was very cool. Although I could have done without the 100 mile run back to campus.
And yeah, it would have been nice if there had been some post-graduation preparation instead of just expecting all of us to fall flat on our faces and cutting us off from the only support group we had for 6 months after leaving. That was bullshit.
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Yeah, my mom's pretty mouthy. Probably where I get it. Remember how Steve Rookie and his dog looked exactly alike? That always creeped me out.
Cromartie did have a kickass run, but wtf is up with Minnesota's running back? Good god that guy's a freaking beast!
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Katka didn't have a wicked coke habit nor did she yell at people
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Stina Was that you at hodads the other day ?
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I think one of the worst side effects of that school is hyper-vigilance. Always second guessing, obsessing about how stupid you are when you make a mistake, profusely apologizing (or at least, I do, but I'm getting better at it.). I've learned to just kind of let go. okay I fucked up. so what. it's over. When I have thoughts that disturb me, I float above my head and say "okay, there's a thought... and there it goes." As my yoga teacher once said... "sometimes you just kind of have to sit back and watch things appear and disappear."
I think this is absolutely true. Hyper-vigilance. Every little thing turns into a big production in ones head, because for 2 and 1/2 years (or however long you spent there) every little thing WAS a big fat production. That place was one weird bubble.
On another note...Paul Bunyan Day! I completely forgot about that until I read a post about it somewhere in here. That was absolutely ridiculous. Can you imagine if the rest of the world had some way of watching all the crazy day to day goings on there? Like that Jim Carrey (?) movie where he's on an island but doesn't know it and to everyone else watched his life on TV? What an absolute freak show that would be.
Does anyone remember the kitchen lady who looked exactly like the evil sea witch in the Little Mermaid?
Or how about going swimming in the pond but having to make sure you never put your feet down because of the leeches?
And does anyone else have the experience of never being able to get out of a supermarket without hearing a song from RMA? It's always either that or some horrible muzak version of Sunshine on my Shoulders in an elevator.
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I have absolutely no idea what a hodads is. So probably not.
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Its 10 minutes from qualcomm
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It wasn't me, although I do live in San Diego. I'm North County coastal though, and I try to avoid going south at all costs. I have severe road rage issues, and the traffic is enough to send me careening over the edge. There'd be some news story about how a north county woman went completely insane and did something illegal on the 805. That would be me.
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First of all, re: hard-ons for john aaron: oops, cause I meant have a hard-on for figuratively. Basically really really like.
And they told her that if she wanted to come see me she'd have to do the work assignment with me.
:o
WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??????
That is the most fucked up thing I have ever heard, and fortunately, the stupidest policy RMA could ever have, because it totally demystifies their coercive tactics. As you saw, when your mom called bullshit and said that you could stay home. Good for her, by the way.
My Dad and stepmom were total program parents. They loved the fucking parent workshops and thought they were amazing, whereas my mom thought that they were weird and stupid. She later apparently confided in my aunt that RMA didn't do a damn thing for me. Why she didn't tell me this is anyone's guess, since I heard it from my aunt, and not her.
It was really hard for parents to get a clue about what was going on once we broke. We all smiled and seemed so bubbly when we hung out with our families. Partially due to the indoctrination, and partially because we were just so fucking relieved to see them and be away from the school. And, in your case, even when you were given the opportunity to stay home, you decided to go back to school and finish. Finish what? Most kids didn't even get a high school diploma. The rationale to "finish" a school like that defies logic outside of that context, but within it, we say to ourselves "I wan't to finish the program." I want to go through the summit, and I want to stand on stage at graduation. We now sought out what simultaneously terrified us, even though we were conscious of the fear and terror, we wanted to stick it out, because quitting was such a shameful thing at that school. "Go the distance!!"
I'm not, btw, saying that this was your own process regarding your decision to stay on, but rather, mine. I used to be terrified of being pulled from the school. I wanted to stay and finish. Even as early as Quest.
What exactly were we completing? Hell, that's what. We wanted our badge that had shown that we had been through all nine circles of hell. (Interesting coincidence, btw. dante's nine circles of hell... CEDU's 7 propheets + 2 workshops = 9) whoaa... ok, that's fucking weirdly synchronous. *shiver*
Although at the time, we didn't think it was our final descent, we thought it was ascension.
Another weird coincidence... do you know what type of people suffer on the ninth, worst, and deepest level of Dante's inferno?
traitors.
I am SO fucking referring to the old CEDU program as the nine circles of hell from now on. Boss!
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Yeah we wanted to graduate so badly because it was our only insurance policy that we wouldn't be fuck ups after we left.
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First of all, re: hard-ons for john aaron: oops, cause I meant have a hard-on for figuratively. Basically really really like.
I know, I was being a smartass.
And they told her that if she wanted to come see me she'd have to do the work assignment with me.
:o
WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??????
That is the most fucked up thing I have ever heard, and fortunately, the stupidest policy RMA could ever have, because it totally demystifies their coercive tactics. As you saw, when your mom called bullshit and said that you could stay home. Good for her, by the way.
That's pretty fucking ridiculous right? My mom was actually pretty great the whole time I was there, really supportive. She never got all crazy pro-program like some of the other parents.
And, in your case, even when you were given the opportunity to stay home, you decided to go back to school and finish. Finish what? Most kids didn't even get a high school diploma. The rationale to "finish" a school like that defies logic outside of that context, but within it, we say to ourselves "I wan't to finish the program." I want to go through the summit, and I want to stand on stage at graduation. We now sought out what simultaneously terrified us, even though we were conscious of the fear and terror, we wanted to stick it out, because quitting was such a shameful thing at that school. "Go the distance!!"
I actually did get my diploma, fat lot of good that it did. I believe I got science credits for digging out that nasty pond at the farm, and oh my god! Do any of you remember the annual "chicken appreciation day"? Holy shit. That was as bad as any Caroline rap. Disgusting.
I think that, for me at least, finishing the school was as much about trying to make all of it mean something, completion maybe, I don't know. Just so that it wasn't all for nothing, which sounds silly now, but back then, the Summit and the I & me was like the holy grail.
What exactly were we completing? Hell, that's what. We wanted our badge that had shown that we had been through all nine circles of hell. (Interesting coincidence, btw. dante's nine circles of hell... CEDU's 7 propheets + 2 workshops = 9) whoaa... ok, that's fucking weirdly synchronous. *shiver*
Yeah, the badge that said, "See? I fucking did it, Ok? Can we just move on now and stop talking about my mom giving me oatmeal instead of frosted flakes and the havoc it's wreaked on my life?"
Another weird coincidence... do you know what type of people suffer on the ninth, worst, and deepest level of Dante's inferno?
traitors.
That's very interesting. I'm going to go do some reading on Dante's 9 circles of hell.
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Stina
Well said.
PS You got oatmeal? I was on a steady diet of pureed banana peels and ice cubes. Damn, I guess I need to call up ESTE and do some adult workshops so I can dig deeper into my Breakfast cereal pain.
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None of the others really correspond, I found. With the exception of maybe the first circle. But you have to really dig for it.
Seriously, think about it. The summit is the culmination of how extreme we can betray each other. In there, we are asked to do things far worse than any of the previous propheets, even the i want to live and the brothers keeper. We were ready and willing to slap our best friend in the face. We fought like dogs for four stupid plastic chairs, looking like one of those cartoon fight clouds from something like andy capp. We told each other we were takers. We told each other we trust you, we don't trust you or we don't know if we trust you. We looked in each others' eyes and fucking told each other to die! I said that to one of my best friends. I still don't know why I didn't give her a "you live" vote. And the worst of all? We betray ourselves, because nobody gave themselves a "you live" vote. The staff point it out and shame us, despite the fact that the whole thing was set up to make you feel like you don't deserve a live vote.
Telling your best friend to die? I dunno. You can't get more traitorous than that.
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You got oatmeal? I was on a steady diet of pureed banana peels and ice cubes. Damn, I guess I need to call up ESTE and do some adult workshops so I can dig deeper into my Breakfast cereal pain.
Sign me up too. I need to talk. I have lasting lamb stew trauma.
I'm only partly kidding, this stuff was nasty. 8 years old and I got in trouble for dumping it in a drawer of my mom's dining room armoire and covering it up with her good lace tablecloth. I was still at the age where if you can't see it it magically ceases to exist. Let me tell you, that stew did not smell any better a week later when it was tragically discovered.
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I just got shivers reading castle's last post about the summit. That was BRUTAL.
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Mine was a tuna sandwhich with bizarro black olives that were the size/appearance/taste of large african dung beetles. I was forced to eat the sandwich. It took me a good 10 years to appreciate a good olive.
I guess when I run my anger about that 'beetlejuice' will come out of my nose and I'll need 70 yellow kleenex boxes worth of tissues under my black rap chair.
Thatsssssssssssssssssss righhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhht!
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Mine was a tuna sandwhich with bizarro black olives that were the size/appearance/taste of large african dung beetles. I was forced to eat the sandwich. It took me a good 10 years to appreciate a good olive.
How does that really make you feel dish duty? (I'm stroking your back in upwards movements).
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None of the others really correspond, I found. With the exception of maybe the first circle. But you have to really dig for it.
Seriously, think about it. The summit is the culmination of how extreme we can betray each other. In there, we are asked to do things far worse than any of the previous propheets, even the i want to live and the brothers keeper. We were ready and willing to slap our best friend in the face. We fought like dogs for four stupid plastic chairs, looking like one of those cartoon fight clouds from something like andy capp. We told each other we were takers. We told each other we trust you, we don't trust you or we don't know if we trust you. We looked in each others' eyes and fucking told each other to die! I said that to one of my best friends. I still don't know why I didn't give her a "you live" vote. And the worst of all? We betray ourselves, because nobody gave themselves a "you live" vote. The staff point it out and shame us, despite the fact that the whole thing was set up to make you feel like you don't deserve a live vote.
Telling your best friend to die? I dunno. You can't get more traitorous than that.
Man, that just brought a huge flashback rushing back in. I think that was the turning point when I realized I wouldn't be talking after graduation to a lot of the assholes in my peer group. I must've had that selfish a group, most of them saved a vote for themselves. I never would've begun to think about doing that. I was really broken up and crying during that. I kept saying to Rudy, "I'm not God. I don't get to decide these things." With a couple exceptions, the rest of them were numb and blank. Actually, not blank. They looked at me with disgust. I was "weak" and taking things too seriously. It meant more to me, it really struck home in too real a way, deciding the fate of others. Throwing people out of a lifeboat. That was my big moral split with them. I kept it to myself like everything was still normal afterwards, joking around in the weeks leading up to graduation, but I pretty much knew I was surviving and escaping on my own, with no help from the assholes through this whole period of my life.
The slapping and the mad scramble for the chairs, man, don't get me started...
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Man, that just brought a huge flashback rushing back in. I think that was the turning point when I realized I wouldn't be talking after graduation to a lot of the assholes in my peer group. I must've had that selfish a group, most of them saved a vote for themselves. I never would've begun to think about doing that. I was really broken up and crying during that. I kept saying to Rudy, "I'm not God. I don't get to decide these things." With a couple exceptions, the rest of them were numb and blank. Actually, not blank. They looked at me with disgust. I was "weak" and taking things too seriously. It meant more to me, it really struck home in too real a way, deciding the fate of others. Throwing people out of a lifeboat. That was my big moral split with them. I kept it to myself like everything was still normal afterwards, joking around in the weeks leading up to graduation, but I pretty much knew I was surviving and escaping on my own, with no help from the assholes through this whole period of my life.
The slapping and the mad scramble for the chairs, man, don't get me started...
That really really sucks. I wish that you'd had people commiserating with you. The only way I got through that workshop was that the people in my peergroup and I had created a bond (not unlike war buddies I guess). I know exactly what you're saying about the lifeboat thing. I felt the same way. Who am I to say who goes and who stays? And what about writing your own obituary? Or was that the I want to live. I dunno. That was some heavy shit. The rest of my peergroup had written all these glowing obits and were standing waiting for me and I'd just written all this sad depressing stuff, I was the only one still on the floor. It took all the staff and about an hour to get me off the ground. Jesus. I'd forgotten about that. Anyway, I feel you, that's all I meant to say.
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The rest of my peergroup had written all these glowing obits and were standing waiting for me and I'd just written all this sad depressing stuff,
OMG me too!!! Everyone's was great, and mine was totally melodramatic, morose and hopeless. The staff even commented on it afterwards. I think in some sort of group feedback or modified rap type thing, I can't remember. I don't remember ver batim what they said, but it essentially meant "damn that was one fucked up obit."
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The rest of my peergroup had written all these glowing obits and were standing waiting for me and I'd just written all this sad depressing stuff,
OMG me too!!! Everyone's was great, and mine was totally melodramatic, morose and hopeless. The staff even commented on it afterwards. I think in some sort of group feedback or modified rap type thing, I can't remember. I don't remember ver batim what they said, but it essentially meant "damn that was one fucked up obit."
Castle, you and I, we're soulmates. From the morbid, soul sucking, completely melodramatic obits to the hand held (or whatever) Hitachi...you and me baby. We got it made.
I don't know what my deal is but I just had a flashback of that 80's sitcom, with the regular (if somewhat insecure) New Yorker and his sheepherder cousin from somewhere-akistan who lived together. Help me, what the hell was that show?
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You know what's terrifying? I think I still have the obit I wrote in my summit notebook.
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The rest of my peergroup had written all these glowing obits and were standing waiting for me and I'd just written all this sad depressing stuff,
OMG me too!!! Everyone's was great, and mine was totally melodramatic, morose and hopeless. The staff even commented on it afterwards. I think in some sort of group feedback or modified rap type thing, I can't remember. I don't remember ver batim what they said, but it essentially meant "damn that was one fucked up obit."
Castle, you and I, we're soulmates. From the morbid, soul sucking, completely melodramatic obits to the hand held (or whatever) Hitachi...you and me baby. We got it made.
I don't know what my deal is but I just had a flashback of that 80's sitcom, with the regular (if somewhat insecure) New Yorker and his sheepherder cousin from somewhere-akistan who lived together. Help me, what the hell was that show?
Perfect strangers with Bronson Pinchot.
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Thank you. That saved me an internet browsing trip. I liked that show.
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You know what's terrifying? I think I still have the obit I wrote in my summit notebook.
I have the whole fucking summit notebook, actually. I even have it in PDF because Idaho wanted a copy of it. I told him that if he shared that information with anyone I would have his head on a railroad spike.
Not only do I have the obit, I have the ripped out piece of newspaper with some girl's address and phone number who I met in the mall during the urban challenge... for the exercise. Not for any sort of fun.
I also discovered that I have everyone's stretch written in explicit detail. What they wore, what they had to do. I can't remember if everyone had to write that in their notebook or not. I know I had to, because our peer group staff member, Shannon and I were in charge of making sure everyone's costume met all of the requirements.
I broke out those notebooks out a few months ago and it blew my mind. I found my summit, i&me and full-time, in addition to my summit portfolio.
I wish I still had my personal journals, as I feel that would paint a better picture of what I was really like there. Isn't it weird to have a period in your life where you are not sure if you remember yourself the way you truly were?
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URBAN CHALLENGE?!?!?!?!!!!!!! Jesus. It just keeps coming. I had completely forgotten about that too. WTF was that all about? I mean really. My mind seriously just got blown. I need a minute.
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I just went into my storage...found everything. I'm not all that organized generally but I've always kept my scrapbook, journals and notebooks in the same box. And I'm going to go through it now. Should be interesting. I look through my scrapbook every few years, because all my pictures are in there and I still talk to quite a few people from school. But it's been a long time since I looked at anything propheet or workshop related. And what Castle said is true, it's strange to think of looking at something you wrote and felt in another time in your life and not recognize yourself.
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Wow. I forgot how fucked up the summit was. The obituary shit was warped. Some memories are coming back to me that blow my mind...
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That ginormous poster haunts me. It was like it was strategically placed to taunt us every time we'd come up those damn stairs.
::roflmao:: ::roflmao:: ::roflmao::
You mean this?
(http://http://www.wholenotherthing.com/other/hereforeverupyourass.jpg)
Yup. I made that. Part of it, anyway. Used to be sooo proud of it, too. Now I look at it and go "What crap."
Could just be my runaway I-am-the-center-of-the-world solipsism. But in my defense, I know a couple of people who *would*, indeed, joke with me about that.
It's a pretty poster. It was always aesthetically pleasing, but the quote freaked me out fairly occasionally. Which had nothing to do with the artwork. So, I'm a fan. Of the artwork. I'd love to see new stuff. I had a little sister who was an amazing artist. If I can find me a scanner and get her permission, I'll post something she made me that still to this day is on my wall at home.
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i have been trying to read through my journals since i started therapy like 2 months ago. i just can't do it. its too terrifying. like people were talking about that fear that its all going to happen again, being re-enrolled or something, starting from the beginning... and thats how i feel about going into those notebooks, i am afraid to reexperience it...
i don't know if i have to or not but it seems like i have to... i keep hoping that something will change and i won't have to anymore. but then there is the part of me that wants to, that doesnt wnat to have to hide anything from myself anymore. i am so sick of pretending internally. its such bullshit and its all so arbitrary anyway and crazy, i should really be allowed to be whatever i want to be, even if i want to be a killer, so what, killers get hunted down and killed, if thats what i want to be maybe there's a reason.
i dont want to be a killer, but i dont know what i want to be. cedu robbed me of that time in my life, the time that people think about their lives, try to decide what they want, who they want to be. the fucking dreams propheet. i felt like Vanessa in Freeway - o you want to hear more of my innermost fucking secrets? they stole our dreams. so now i am done hiding things from myself. i am done letting others tell me who/what i can/can't be. i will allow myself the time to decide slowly, i will be the nurturing loving parent to myself that i never had. i will brainwash myself with kindness and goodness and love and help myself be all that i can be which will not a include a soldier or a corporate automoton.
amen? (for those of you who don't pray or don't know, amen means 'let it be done' or 'i stand in agreement with that comment' so dont worry i have absolutely no interest in any of you becomming christian. i use amen like slang. why should religions be the only ones who get to use it?)
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Yeah, reading through my summit, i&me and full-time notebooks after 20 years was pretty fucking embarrassing. And some of it was rather telling. There were parts when I actually wrote lucidly and talked about how stupid I thought all of this shit was. It surprised me.
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how come I can't PM you?
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how come I can't PM you?
who are you trying to pm?
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Please keep yourselves safe when you decide to explore old journals, notebooks, or otherwise re-live the experience. May I suggest you tell a therapist or trusted friend that you intend to do this. (I hope you have someone who fits that criteria.) Ask him or her to check on you. I would hope you would not do this without a support system of some kind.
I find your stories traumatic and I didn't live them. Please take care of yourselves.
AuntieEm
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a valid concern, it always kicks up shit. every day I visit this stupid addicting website.
know you peeps can use me as a therapist. I'll advise practical revenge scheme solutions, and wiley smeer campaigning and mudslinging.
Happiness is a warm yes it is...
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a valid concern, it always kicks up shit. every day I visit this stupid addicting website.
know you peeps can use me as a therapist. I'll advise practical revenge scheme solutions, and wiley smeer campaigning and mudslinging.
Happiness is a warm yes it is...
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I want to get something started from others that were abused in serious manners from the staff at RMA.I have legit proof of the staff that fucked with me and wonder how many others are out there and what we could do legally.
I also know of and witnessed staff doing all sorts of drugs while I was a "student".
I could give a shit what these people do but we were already being screwed with enough weren't we?
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PEOPLE: keep coming. keep sharing. keep replying. the support that i've found from my friends (entirely made up of people I never or hardly even talked to in program) on this website is priceless. I so appreciate that people are continuing to find this forum.
The mind games at RMA and CEDU were especially "respected" for a long time, there is no doubt that in many cases, and with combined personal histories, that that therapeutic quackery CAUSED lasting HARM.
You know what I actually feel right now, for the first time in a long time...
Forgiveness
Grace.
And god it feels creepy- even
LOVE
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that's pretty amazing. I am really happy for you. Being lied to, betrayed and abandoned by your own family then punished for the justifiable rage it brings is no small thing. I have really appreciated your writing and hope to see more of it. Its hard when you realize that even if you reconcile with the family that betrayed you, things can never be the same as the were or could have been. I hope you continue to heal and process things. I know your comments and writing have helped other people be able to speak out too. ::cheers::
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Inspiring
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Inspiring
"NED NEIDERLANDER
my favorite shtar, when I was little i would see all you pictures, i was most inshpired!"
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i dont want to be a killer, but i dont know what i want to be. cedu robbed me of that time in my life, the time that people think about their lives, try to decide what they want, who they want to be. the fucking dreams propheet. i felt like Vanessa in Freeway - o you want to hear more of my innermost fucking secrets? they stole our dreams. so now i am done hiding things from myself. i am done letting others tell me who/what i can/can't be. i will allow myself the time to decide slowly, i will be the nurturing loving parent to myself that i never had. i will brainwash myself with kindness and goodness and love and help myself be all that i can be which will not a include a soldier or a corporate automoton.
Alia, I so hear what you're saying. Those years where you're supposed to be dreaming and thinking about who and what you want to be, what career you want to go into, the life you want to build for yourself, I spent that time hauling wood around or digging out ponds or building rock walls in ridiculously cold temperatures. By the time I got out, I tried Jr. college and couldn't focus, I ended up dropping out because I was sooooooo bored and didn't have any kind of goals. Plus I had very little practice sitting in a classroom. I don't regret it though, it gave me time to tour with the Grateful Dead until Jerry died. But I would always compare myself to friends who seemed to be where I was supposed to be. I'm 32 now and was lucky to be kind of pushed into getting my real estate license and in the last month I landed a good job that hopefully will launch my "career". I still don't feel like an adult though. But it's ok.
And yes, the fucking dreams propheet. Fuck. My negative statement was "you're right dad, I'm worthless" Over and over and over again. That was one of the hardest ones to deal with.
I think at some point we have to forgive our parents (or at least let go of the pain/abuse/anguish of all of it). I really believe that giving that kind of stuff energy keeps it in control of you. We do need to nurture ourselves. And brainwash ourselves with kindness and love. But I also believe that there's a need to address what's holding us back, and I think that's a big reason a lot of us come here.
amen? (for those of you who don't pray or don't know, amen means 'let it be done' or 'i stand in agreement with that comment' so dont worry i have absolutely no interest in any of you becomming christian. i use amen like slang. why should religions be the only ones who get to use it?)
AMEN!
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Please keep yourselves safe when you decide to explore old journals, notebooks, or otherwise re-live the experience. May I suggest you tell a therapist or trusted friend that you intend to do this. (I hope you have someone who fits that criteria.) Ask him or her to check on you. I would hope you would not do this without a support system of some kind.
I find your stories traumatic and I didn't live them. Please take care of yourselves.
AuntieEm
You seem like an amazing woman. Will you be my aunt too?
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You know what I actually feel right now, for the first time in a long time...
Forgiveness
Grace.
And god it feels creepy- even
LOVE
I'm so glad. And I'm so glad that we've found eachother again. You know how sometimes things just fall into place? That's how I feel about all of this. I'm happy that you're finding some kind of peace and I'm happy that we're in eachother's lives again.
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fuck, I don't even remember that negative statement part of the dreams (otherwise known as the "what the FUCK was that all about?" propheet.) and I certainly don't remember what mine was.
What I do remember were the nightmares we had to draw of ourselves with black crayon. It felt like we had to look at them for hours. Then we went around and looked at everyone else's. I remember one person in my peer group, who always got a lot of flack for being "hard" and tough, (despite the fact that he was actually a rather sweet guy, he just had muscles and liked to lift weights), had one of the most disturbing drawings I had ever seen. He basically drew his head as a cube, i.e. a block of stone. It creeped me the fuck out, because it was the most hateful self-portrait I had ever seen.
Then Bruce yelled at me in the rap afterwards about my own nightmare drawing, saying "Yeah, that's your nightmare. A fucking witch!" Yet another issue staff continued to bring up with me throughout my entire stay there. God forbid should anyone at that school have pagan beliefs. As everyone knows, "religion" is one of the summit/lifespring false belief balloons.
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I have something to say about Bruce that I've kept to myself for a long long time. I seemed to be the only person who had bad feelings about him while I was at RMA, and so was submissively bullied into keeping my opinions to myself. But I am not a big fan. I was in a rap with him in the first few months I was there and he kept harping on me that I must have had some molestation in my past because I'd "been such a slut" before coming to the school. And I kind of remembered some abuse like that (not worth going into here, because, really, what does it matter...i don't know if anything like that happened to me, I just have issues with men and that could have come from anywhere). But I told him in that rap that my father had molested me. And it wasn't true. And I ran my shit about it and carried it with me for months before coming clean and saying that it never happened. Plus I had to talk to my dad about it on his first visit with a counselor there, which killed him. But after I told the truth I got reamed by two girls who shall remain unnamed because I had lied about it and they had actually gone through it and I was a bad person, etc. I actually carry that with me to this day that I lied about that and caused harm. I have a little self hatred for that.
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dude - the dreams propheet (including the month before it and 2 months after it are probably the worst 3 months I remember at RMA). The long, cold, dark winter days at the farm. Randy being Randy and going through the Dreams? Bad times my friend, bad times. I never thought Quest would end. I despised the older students graduating at that time.
That reminds me of my discovery (canoe trip) preparatory day trip. Towards the end of the day they put us on a 1 hour solo near a bitchin creek that was beggin to be swam in. Of course the rules included no swimming during the solo.
I remember sitting there thinking this is so gay. People like Tom Waters trying to get all 'Thoreau' on me - this is bullshit! "Why does everything that RMA plans/makes/designs have to be so retarded"? Sitting there frustrated that I was a hostage at "year round dipshit camp in the Idaho woods" got my blood boiling. After working myself into a combat grade lather I eventually snapped. The kind of snap you dreamt of every day at RMA. You know the kind of snap I'm talking about - where you daydream of things like smoking in the walk in refrigerator while eating as many saturday night deserts possible. So I looked to the horizon and said, "fuck it, dishduty's going for a pleasant afternoon swim whether Tom Waters likes it or not". For 1 brief shining moment dishduty became solorulesfugitive.
It felt very liberating.
I was somehow caught and soon enough the day trip was over and we were heading back to RMA. I desperately clung on to the liberating moment as it quickly slipped through my hands during the van ride home.
I bought myself a solid week or two of work details and senseless yelling about disrespecting my upcoming solo. I still went on my discovery. And you can be damn sure I took great pride in doing my bunsen burner camping stove dishes.
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I wasn't fond of Bruce and he definitely wasn't fond of me. I don't think he ever indicited me. Maybe in the Dreams when he had no choice.
We'd walk past eachother on campus and he'd always look at me with the biggest 'hand in the cookie jar' look ever.
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I forgot to say that I take complete responsibility for it. I was in control of my own actions. It's not that I blame him, I just have some resentment regarding the whole thing. I can remember the rap where I was called out with complete clarity (which is unusual). It was brutal. I felt awful about the whole thing.
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What I do remember were the nightmares we had to draw of ourselves with black crayon. It felt like we had to look at them for hours.
I remember the black crayon. Jesus. That drawing is probably still sitting in my dreams journal.
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The kind of snap you dreamt of every day at RMA. You know the kind of snap I'm talking about - where you daydream of things like smoking in the walk in refrigerator while eating as many saturday night deserts possible.
ROFLMAO
absolutely
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I wasn't fond of Bruce and he definitely wasn't fond of me.
Check this out...you know how everyone gains some weight at RMA, whatever. So we were doing our scrapbooks and my girls had a bunch of pictures of all of us, and we were PG 41!!!!!!!!!!!! Whatever. Bruce had a part in cutting out all my pictures, and he made me overly pear shaped. Ok, so pretend you have a full length picture of me and made my arms and legs skinny but gave me big thighs and big hips. Which was completely inaccurate, I look back at photos of myself and it wasn't like that, I wasn't necessarily thin, but I surely didn't look like that, I was always pretty proportionate. But he decided it would be funny or whatever. He always seemed like he was super gentle and loving, except with me. And I always used to wonder what was wrong with me that he didn't see potential in me. He sucks. Hard.
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I want to share something with all of you, because I'm not really concerned with anonymity necessarily. I had a major anxiety attack 2 weeks ago, and I could go into detail with past shit, but I feel it's unnecessary right now. I found a psychiatrist on my insurance plan who opened her door to me wearing an old school Leucadia tiedied shirt and made me feel completely welcome. I've never been diagnosed anything before, and I thought I would resent it, but it actually was really helpful. So apparently I'm bi-polar type 2, with ocd and panic disorder. And now I'm taking low doses of klonopin, and all of a sudden my life is a huge success, seriously. I always wondered why I had these ups and downs, nothing was ever stable for me, and now, I feel good, no anxiety about anything, I'm kicking ass at my job, and she's also referred me to a clinical therapist so that I can work through my shit, cause I don't want to be on these drugs forever. But honestly, it's like I feel like normal (?) healthy people feel. And I used to abuse these pills, self medication or whatever, but I have no desire to get high from them anymore. It really is amazing. So just wanted to share that. Just what's going on with me.
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Stina wrote:
AuntieEm wrote:
Please keep yourselves safe when you decide to explore old journals, notebooks, or otherwise re-live the experience. May I suggest you tell a therapist or trusted friend that you intend to do this. (I hope you have someone who fits that criteria.) Ask him or her to check on you. I would hope you would not do this without a support system of some kind.
I find your stories traumatic and I didn't live them. Please take care of yourselves.
AuntieEm
You seem like an amazing woman. Will you be my aunt too?
Well, dang, that made my day. Sure, Stina, how nice of you to ask. And I needed your kind gesture today.
It's been very rough going lately -- it now looks like we may not see our niece for several more years. They appear to be grooming her parents for one of the "finishing schools" for 18-24 year olds.
Auntie Em
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Stina wrote:
AuntieEm wrote:
Please keep yourselves safe when you decide to explore old journals, notebooks, or otherwise re-live the experience. May I suggest you tell a therapist or trusted friend that you intend to do this. (I hope you have someone who fits that criteria.) Ask him or her to check on you. I would hope you would not do this without a support system of some kind.
I find your stories traumatic and I didn't live them. Please take care of yourselves.
AuntieEm
You seem like an amazing woman. Will you be my aunt too?
Well, dang, that made my day. Sure, Stina, how nice of you to ask. And I needed your kind gesture today.
It's been very rough going lately -- it now looks like we may not see our niece for several more years. They appear to be grooming her parents for one of the "finishing schools" for 18-24 year olds.
Auntie Em
*headdesk* *facepalm* *fistwall*
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whoa. did you just find this out?
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It's gotta be Benchmark right? or that thingie in Colorado? what's it called?
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Castle wrote:
*headdesk* *facepalm* *fistwall*
How did you know? It was just like that.
I don't know which one, but go to the (gawdfabid) NATSAP web site and the Program Directory Search http://http://www.natsap.org/search.asp. Then you type in Idaho, boarding school, and young adult 18 and older, and you get Clearview Horizon in Sandpoint, and Innercept in Coer D'Alene.
My money's on Innercept http://http://www.innercept.net/ because it looks expensive, and guess who's listed as the Executive Contact? (Air sickness bag is located in the seat pocket in front of you...) George Ullrich, M.D., who was the consulting phychiatrist at BCA until about 3 months ago. The web site copy will creep you out, guaranteed.
I don't even know if the parents see it coming. I heard "She's college material," and "Of course, it will have to be a college that can accomodate her needs." Then about 18 hours later I woke up crying because I realized what that meant. Her parents have been mainlining the Koolaid for almost 2 years now. BCA must love them.
Who is it on this site who was sent to "finishing school"? Was that you, Castle? Or Psy?
Auntie Em
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forced Finishing school?
This shit never ends.....
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Well, dang, that made my day. Sure, Stina, how nice of you to ask. And I needed your kind gesture today.
It's been very rough going lately -- it now looks like we may not see our niece for several more years. They appear to be grooming her parents for one of the "finishing schools" for 18-24 year olds.
Auntie Em
Jesus, I'm sorry to hear that. One way or another she'll be ok, and she's lucky to have you in her corner. If there's anything we can do...
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It's been very rough going lately -- it now looks like we may not see our niece for several more years. They appear to be grooming her parents for one of the "finishing schools" for 18-24 year olds.
Auntie Em
Have her parents said that she won't be able to see all of you (the rest of her family) when she eventually comes on a home visit?
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One thing I think we can all be thankful for... a scathing sense of humor. I've been noticing that in a lot of the posts. Am I wrong? We're severely dysfunctional in many differing ways, but I think we all have that. It's something, right?
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Laughter is my best medecine.
How I missed my saturday night lives @ rma
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Stina wrote:
Have her parents said that she won't be able to see all of you (the rest of her family) when she eventually comes on a home visit?
Home visits? Home visits? That's some kind of mirage in the desert.
There has been no communication whatsoever with any family member other than her parents. Both sides of the family, not even siblings, not her grandmother, no one. Almost 2 years now. Some letters were allowed to be sent, but we later learned none had been given to her. I'm not sure she's been allowed off campus with her parents more than once or twice.
Of course we are told this is all her fault, and that but for her bad behavior (and ours), we would be able to see her.
Auntie Em
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Stina wrote:
Have her parents said that she won't be able to see all of you (the rest of her family) when she eventually comes on a home visit?
Home visits? Home visits? That's some kind of mirage in the desert.
There has been no communication whatsoever with any family member other than her parents. Both sides of the family, not even siblings, not her grandmother, no one. Almost 2 years now. Some letters were allowed to be sent, but we later learned none had been given to her. I'm not sure she's been allowed off campus with her parents more than once or twice.
Of course we are told this is all her fault, and that but for her bad behavior (and ours), we would be able to see her.
Auntie Em
This makes my blood boil. Want to go on a road trip with me and bust her out of there?
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Stina wrote:
Have her parents said that she won't be able to see all of you (the rest of her family) when she eventually comes on a home visit?
Home visits? Home visits? That's some kind of mirage in the desert.
There has been no communication whatsoever with any family member other than her parents. Both sides of the family, not even siblings, not her grandmother, no one. Almost 2 years now. Some letters were allowed to be sent, but we later learned none had been given to her. I'm not sure she's been allowed off campus with her parents more than once or twice.
Of course we are told this is all her fault, and that but for her bad behavior (and ours), we would be able to see her.
Auntie Em
This makes my blood boil. Want to go on a road trip with me and bust her out of there?
Only if the car can fit 150 people. We can call it the freedom train.
Yeah, yeah, I know you weren't asking me...
Man, I should totally just go up there, say I am alumni, and ask to run an inter-school last light where both NWA and BCA attend. (Alumni would do that when I was there.) Then just get up in front of the house and tell everyone to get the fuck out of there as fast as their little legs will carry them, and hopefully get out enough info before the staff physically drag me from the pit.
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The psychedelic 40 grit sandpaper cushions from the pit would do an exorcist style 5150 white jacket containment on you if you try that
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You guys sure cheer me up.
The road-trip-with-a-bolt-cutter plan got a lot of discussion early on. Ultimately realized I can't help her much if I get sent up for kidnapping, or if her father sues us into pennilessness.
Castle, you going out there under the ruse of holding a kumbiya moment is actually pretty intriguing.
I've not been able to elaborate on the details here in a public forum, but we have explored and continue to investigate ways to communicate with her, to get her independent legal counsel, or to actually get her out of there. It's terribly complicated really--the bastards have a lot more experience dealing with people like us than we have dealing with people like them--and it requires perseverence to find people who can help beyond offering sympathy, or referring you to someone else. For example, it's hard to find an attorney who has the right stuff: the necessary law background, familiarity with the widespread reports of abuse and death in the programs, and a license to practice in "Imaho" (in the entire history of the State of Idaho there have been fewer than 7000 attorneys who passed the bar there). Plus some backbone and a devious mind, if you get my drift.
But I'm working on it, and welcome your ideas. Your insider perspectives, hard won as they were, have been invaluable to me. I so appreciate the support and encouragement.
Auntie Em
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When it was house around the pit time, we were already there. Even if you were straggling in the adjacent dining hall or outside all it took was one reminder to come quick. I never saw anyone blatantly late for anything at BMA.
The pit was the central focus after our well earned lunch. Lunch, and the bi- weekly scheduled menu was the guide for me on knowing what day it was and how I would be. It was pizza. The single best meal at BMA very signficantly signaled Wednesday. A rap day. I despised Monday's French Dip sandwiches (shout to Castle) because it meant I had to eat a rap after lunch. The same principle ruined the pizza on Wednesday's, and every meal on a Friday was also tainted with the poison of knowledge that it was a rap day. The apprehension attributed to raps cannot be overstated. Raps were no joke. I felt the poisonous fear, and it contributed greatly to my personal fears about what this nightmarish facility was doing to me. The poison infected the campus audibly in the afternoon on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. An observer walking around campus would be struck by the overwhelming volume and intermittent screams, outbursts of vulgarity, and the more mature voices of the counselor's overseeing it all. The noises that emanated from the rooms of raps adjacent to my own is imprinted on whatever part of my brain that stores sound bytes. It's because I was still new that it all still seemed new.
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Pedro held up the final rap list that would become a rap sheet as soon as it hit the hands of the person facilitating that days rap. and repeated the process, even doling out an unusual compliment to one of the upper schoolers who'd be in that rap. Was that a code for him to be pseudo staff? Having a dangerous upper schooler in your rap could be as bad as having a rap with a power staffer. I still couldn't understand everything and I noticed changes occuring in myself while this novelty of the place wore off.
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Building on Che and Psy's picket-the-facility approach, you could stand out there on a M-W-F morning with a sign saying "Never attend another rap!/Free bus ticket anywhere in the US."
Sadly, I hasten to add that I've been advised that any complicity in removing a student from campus could get you in deep legal trouble, so I'm not advoacting that.
It pains me to hear you talk about how much you dreaded the raps and how central they were to the brainwashing. I wish I could turn back the clock and give you all the gift of a normal childhood (even though most "normal" childhoods are somewhat screwed up and traumatic).
Auntie Em
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next installment forthcoming.
Here is the opening and what is right now free and available for public consumption. Numbered copies of this (and the some of the following chapters) will soon (2 weeks) be available for purchase.
Negotiations began yesterday with printer, but I'm excited enough to repost the changed opening here. Sorry if it seems familiar to some of you.
Please send me a private message if you are interested in receiving the physical manuscript from my first printing.
-blownawaytheidahoway 11/07
Can you let me know when the book is availbale? I was at RMA at the same time you were and my eperiences still huant me.
(i know what month it is)
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my experience still haunts me too. Welcome, new news is on the way, I can't wait to share it all with you, The project is evolving quite a bit.
It's very hard to capture the less solid nuances of what went on, and most importantly for us, how it was done.
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my experience still haunts me too. Welcome, new news is on the way, I can't wait to share it all with you, The project is evolving quite a bit.
It's very hard to capture the less solid nuances of what went on, and most importantly for us, how it was done.
-
I just listened to Somewhere for the first time ALL THE WAY THROUGH now, no cheating. and It made me want to kick
dishdutyfugitive
in the balls.
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I said,
Kick me in the Jimmy.
Again, harder.
-
Stina wrote:
Have her parents said that she won't be able to see all of you (the rest of her family) when she eventually comes on a home visit?
Home visits? Home visits? That's some kind of mirage in the desert.
There has been no communication whatsoever with any family member other than her parents. Both sides of the family, not even siblings, not her grandmother, no one. Almost 2 years now. Some letters were allowed to be sent, but we later learned none had been given to her. I'm not sure she's been allowed off campus with her parents more than once or twice.
Of course we are told this is all her fault, and that but for her bad behavior (and ours), we would be able to see her.
Auntie Em
This makes my blood boil. Want to go on a road trip with me and bust her out of there?
Only if the car can fit 150 people. We can call it the freedom train.
Yeah, yeah, I know you weren't asking me...
Man, I should totally just go up there, say I am alumni, and ask to run an inter-school last light where both NWA and BCA attend. (Alumni would do that when I was there.) Then just get up in front of the house and tell everyone to get the fuck out of there as fast as their little legs will carry them, and hopefully get out enough info before the staff physically drag me from the pit.
no prob., we now have SCHOol buSSes
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Stina wrote:
AuntieEm wrote:
Please keep yourselves safe when you decide to explore old journals, notebooks, or otherwise re-live the experience. May I suggest you tell a therapist or trusted friend that you intend to do this. (I hope you have someone who fits that criteria.) Ask him or her to check on you. I would hope you would not do this without a support system of some kind.
I find your stories traumatic and I didn't live them. Please take care of yourselves.
AuntieEm
You seem like an amazing woman. Will you be my aunt too?
Well, dang, that made my day. Sure, Stina, how nice of you to ask. And I needed your kind gesture today.
It's been very rough going lately -- it now looks like we may not see our niece for several more years. They appear to be grooming her parents for one of the "finishing schools" for 18-24 year olds.
Dollars to dimes they have her slated to go to Benchmark Young Adult School (where I was). At least when I was there there were a bunch of kids who were in CEDU schools just previously. It's more accurately a "finishing off" school though. I wouldn't recommend it.
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same kinda cool bullshit happened to my friend.after the penis people came. Rea triedto tell him his grades sucked or something. and that it was his fault. it probably was. halfly. but the conclusion is the best. my brother, he was like, you know what what; you took me on god knows how many other things in the last 6 months and i've actually been in class 2 days (AND HE WAS BEING NO SHIT). what do you want me to do? a D. No fuck that (Rea), you're gonna pass me.
and he of course did.
icomeanon
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sleep it off -
post tomorrow.
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bro,
you really got to go to some writing classes.
you really got to get your shit together.
you leave us no other choice but write you off for being a an enigma wrapped in a conudrum twisted in a riddle..
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the penis people are back
they firehosed you in carmen earl hot box juice
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Just so it is stated here for the record.:
Richard Armstrong was the staff that did my orientation. He also started at least one company- a very important aspect of the troubled teen industry- the "escort" business. Richard Armstrong also worked with additional staff he borrowed from Rocky Mountain Academy, a Twila Stephenson*. When Twila didn't want to mix business and pleasure with Armstrong... he didn't see it that way. So, our former counselor from RMA, who forced me to bend over and show him, up close and personal, my privatest of privates when I was alone with him for the first time as a fourteen year old who had just been left 3,000 miles from my everything, went on to DRUG and RAPE and unconciouss co- worker who turned off his advances! a few years later.
This "school", or ahem, "ACADEMY", employed an entire atmosphere of fear, lies, and deception. Worse, it claimed, demanded you believe, and finally swore the opposite: that it functioned with Truth, Love, and Honesty. A child who is left at a place like that, and encouraged to adopt the confusing ideology of the place, will turn out very, very, perplexed (to put it perfectly innocently) for a long time.
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...went on to DRUG and RAPE and unconciouss co- worker who turned off his advances! a few years later.
God that's horrific. I didn't know that. Doesn't really surprise me tho.
...A child who is left at a place like that, and encouraged to adopt the confusing ideology of the place, will turn out very, very, perplexed (to put it perfectly innocently) for a long time.
That's a super benign and interesting way of putting it. Perplexed. I like.