“I have been wanting to share my story for some time now, and it has taken me so long because it has been literally almost crippling trying to put the words on paper.
I think my story really began before being locked away at Growing Together (a spin-off program of Straight Inc.) in Lake Worth, FL. As a child, I found it hard to fit in with each side of my family. Like I just did not belong somehow. By 16, now having been assaulted by a grown man in a position of authority and then later raped by someone I considered my best friend and someone safe, I was now struggling with existing altogether.
My parents did not know what I endured until some time later. They were desperate to get me help and really could not understand why I was behaving this way. I was acting out, isolating myself, skipping school, my grades dropped severely. I had experimented with drugs in a desperate attempt to mask the darkness and shame I was feeling but was far from being labeled a “drug addict;” as Growing Together so quickly did, in the interest of sucking 40 grand out of my terrified parents.
In March of 2004, in an attempt to intervene, my Dad drove me to the old building in Lake Worth. I was not told where I was going or what would happen next, just that I was going for counseling. I was immediately separated from my Dad. I still remember the smell of the intake room. It was musty. I cannot even explain the chill in the air. The chairs were rock hard. I was interrogated by girls in uniforms, holding clipboards. It felt like hours went by. The questions started immediately and were super invasive from the get-go. Once they felt they had enough information to convince my parents they were right, I was told I could say goodbye to my Dad. Once he left, I was strip-searched for the first time. Squat and cough, whole nine yards. Imagine the disgust and shame I was already drowning in from being sexually assaulted, twice within six months, being magnified as much as humanly possible. I was handed a uniform, (blue and khaki) the only outfit I had to lay my eyes on for the next six months. This could not be real. It felt like a horrible dream. A dream I never stopped having. An attempt to “save my life” that would almost destroy my life. It still feels too weird or too big or too intense to talk about at times. I am pretty sure I cried myself to sleep for at least the first month.
During my program, I was constantly belittled, criticized, shamed, screamed at, cursed at, and forced to shut my own thoughts down entirely. I was strip-searched nightly by my peers or other parents. Locked into a room with alarms at night. It was almost impossible to use the bathroom at some of the houses, so I just learned to hold it. Rules were meant to strip us of all things that could make us feel human. No unnecessary reading. I do not even remember being allowed to read the Bible. No unnecessary writing, no looking out the window, no eye contact, no acknowledgment of other people there unless designated to be on higher phases; no singing, humming or moving our body to “non-program” songs (essentially Barney songs). We had to tell on ourselves and everyone else as soon as a rule was broken. “Misbehavers” (anyone not abiding by the hundreds of ridiculous rules) were commonly and unnecessarily restrained by force and/or locked into the “White Room”. I was restrained by the woman who was supposed to be my “therapist” and case coordinator so hard that I bit her in an attempt to break free. I spent so long in that white room at one point, I kicked the wall down with another girl. My parents had to pay for it. Mind you, I was not suicidal, not attempting to harm myself or others. I was refusing to wash my hair. The one thing I could get away with in there without being a shitty person. We were not allowed to make any decisions for ourselves, probably why I still have trouble making decisions today.
School was a joke, designed to boost our grades to show the parents how well our program was “working”. There was not a blade of grass I was able to touch for six months. Our outside time was forced exercise. We were not allowed to just sit in the sun. We could not talk to our families except for Friday night meetings where we would humiliate ourselves and then be subjected to more public humiliation by our families. As time went on, I was forced to make things up or I would have my days frozen, given essays [to write] on why I am so full of shit, snacks were taken away, etc. No matter how carefully or concisely I followed the rules and bared my soul, I never made it off First Phase. Never got to hug my parents. Never got to go home. I acted out on purpose to be able to call them, eat a mediocre chocolate pudding cup, and shave. My experience in the psych ward literally felt like a vacation and it was not uncommon to be sent there on purpose for a break. It was not uncommon to run away. I never did, mostly because of the horror stories the girls would come back with. I spent every day in there afraid, feeling hopeless, empty, cast aside. Too damaged to exist in the world after. Not even convinced I would ever get out of there.
My Mom finally ended up pulling me from the program on September 12, 2004. My grandfather was dying, and they refused to let me say goodbye or attend the funeral. My mom said enough is enough. I was so institutionalized I had a hard time in the car leaving there. I could not listen to music or look out the window even though it was allowed. My mom asked me if I needed to go back. I was in shock. Thank God we kept driving. A few months later, I was kicked out of her house for smoking pot. GT had brainwashed my parents to that point. Where tough love was the only love.
I am full body shaking now, and the tears are pouring out. Sixteen years later, I still barely sleep because my dreams are so vivid. I still have trouble making eye contact with people. I still apologize when I am not wrong. I still “mood check” the room constantly. I still search for acceptance in every sense of the word. I still feel like the bad apple or black sheep in my family.
For years after the program, I punished myself. Lived through many near-death experiences and abusive situations. Internalized everything (still do) because I was taught to do so. I did not even acknowledge I had been raped until two years ago. I was told I put myself in that situation and, “What did I expect?!”
I love the life I have built now but I fought like hell to get here and I fight every day not to let the demons from my past put it at risk. I know now that I do not struggle with addiction, I struggle from trauma. I have lived every second of every day in sheer terror since. I always minimized my trauma from GT, I did not see it for what it was until very recently. It was just a thing on my list of traumatic stuff. It has consumed me for so long and I could not really “fix it” or begin to heal because I did not understand what was making me feel like this. Well, it is Complex PTSD. Makes a whole lot of sense to me now.
I could go on forever. I want to end this incredibly short version of the hell on earth that I experienced with some hope, some light. I see a therapist and a psychiatrist and have for years. I belong to a meditation community and practice daily meditations and affirmations. I am incredibly spiritual and feel overwhelmingly connected to nature and energies and am 1000% an empath. I have learned to turn some of the curses into blessings and use them for good in my own way. I am grateful for everyone who has shared their stories; I am ashamed it has taken me so long to share mine. With each story I read, I have felt safer and more empowered to share mine. I hope my story will do the same. I hope that our stories, collectively, will help initiate awareness and change in the world. We deserved more. So much more. As do all the kids and parents struggling. I needed love, compassion, therapy. It did not have to be the way it was. It did not have to hurt so much for so long.
We stand together.”