“Silenced, Socially Isolated and “Safe”
September 27th, 2004 I was sent to Cross Creek Manor (CCM) Utah- One of the therapeutic boarding schools that were operated by the World Wide Association of Specialty Programs (WWASP).
I was 14 years old and had just run away from home. I was struggling to understand my sexuality, had started using drugs and was caught drunk on two occasions. I had recently learned who my real father was and had been through a custody battle over familial abuse. I had no love for myself, no trust in my family, and I just wanted to escape.
A promise to “save my life” is what CCM sold to my parents, who were “desperate” for solutions they did not have. So, with the belief there were no other options, I was taken to CCM two days later. I had no idea where I was going, but I was not fighting it. I knew I was messed up and I did not want to go home.
There is not a word to describe the combination of terror and confusion I felt in my first week at CCM. I was getting in trouble for everything. Normal things, like standing up or walking through a doorway. I had to show the staff I was wearing only one bra and one pair of socks. I had to count out loud anytime I went to the bathroom.
I spent every day in “Worksheets,” where I sat still at a desk, in silence, listening to tapes and taking tests. I had to wear sandals in the shower. I overheard staff on the radio saying a girl was being taken to “Isolation.” I heard a girl be called a “dirty slut” by her therapist. I watched another girl carry around a sack of flour every day. I sat in “Ron Meetings” (the director’s “intervention”) where I learned the flour was to shame her for having an abortion. I listened to him threaten that girls would be sent to Jamaica where they would be beaten, placed in cages, and starved.
Where was I? Was I having a nightmare? Some nights I thought I would fall asleep and wake up back home. Wishful thinking.
I was there for a year and a half. Wake up>make bed>get dressed>brush teeth>clean the room. All in 15 minutes.
“Line up! No eye contact! Don’t talk!”
Breakfast: in silence listening to motivational tapes.
“Line up!”
Schoolwork in silence.
“Line up!”
P.E.
”Stay away from the fence. No eye contact!”
“Line up!”
Schoolwork in silence.
“Line up!”
Lunch, in silence, listening to motivational tapes.
“Line up!”
Group Therapy.
“Line up!”
Free time (cards, crocheting, drawing, or talking).
“No looking out the window!”
“Line up!”
Dinner, in silence, listening to motivational tapes.
“Line up!”
Watch a motivational movie, write a reflection.
“Line up!”
Assembly roll call.
“Line up!”
Back to the bunks. 15 minutes to shower, brush teeth, change.
“Don’t get off your bunk! Lights out.”
Every day, for a year and a half.
Some weekends we got to watch movies and we listened to opera or country music in the dining hall.
We could write letters to our parents on Sundays and they would be sent after staff read them to make sure we were not saying anything bad about CCM or asking to come home. If you did, there were consequences.
There were levels to the program, 1-6. I only made it to level 4. You reached levels by completing seminars offered every quarter and by accumulating points. Points were earned weekly but you could lose them if you got demerits. Demerits were served in Categories 1-5: CAT-1 if you broke a rule like neglecting your water bottle (+/-10points), CAT-3 for touching the doorknob with your bare hands when you were sick (+/-50points), CAT-5 if you cracked your knuckles or neck (+/-100points) and loss of your level with immediate “Worksheets.” The list of rules goes on and on. If you were “really bad” you were sent to “Isolation.” I never went, but I was scared of it.
Three day-long seminars had us dig up all of our past traumas and rewire our thinking. I was voted out of DISCOVERY by my peers for not being “authentic” enough while divulging my insecurities. I was told to “Shut up!” by the facilitator of FOCUS when I was crying heavily during a dramatized death process. If you “failed to work” in seminars, you had to wait about three months to try again. (Three more months of your parent’s money, for three more months of your abuse).
“Failing to work” meant things like: not sitting down next to someone new by the end of a certain song, not disclosing “the real things” like molestation, not crying, crying too much, not wanting to talk, or not completely filling out (in small print) two sides of about 10 sheets of paper with trauma processing (at assigned sleep-depriving hours of the night and morning) by the start of the next day’s seminar.
BREAKPOINT was the seminar you went to if you were not performing to their standards. I hardly remember what happened there, but I was surrounded by my peers and they were telling me to do things, and no matter what I did, it was always wrong. Then they began screaming at me and humiliating me until I was curled up crying on the floor. There was some helpful catharsis, and valuable knowledge gained in the seminar, coupled with loads of psychological and emotional abuse.
I thank the end-of-seminar line dances for teaching me that dancing was something that made me feel better.
Seminar graduation was one of the only times you could hug someone without consequence. Hugs were only permitted for a maximum of three seconds in staff view.
I had developed terrible OCD there (I did not know that is what it was at the time). I began writing myself up demerits for every little thing I did wrong. I was punished for this behavior with a month-long “silence process,” where I could not speak to anyone except to ask to go to the bathroom, and my friend had to receive my same demerits. My therapist made me look her in the eyes and tell her “I don’t care about you.” I saw how much it hurt her.
I carried such self-hatred and that only made it worse. I was told I was “doing this on purpose” and “you don’t care about anyone.”
All I could muster was, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why.”
With tears streaming down my face, as I was yelled at and punished for an illness I did not understand and could not control. My therapist had labeled me an addict in my time there, and sent me to another group because I was not “working the program.”
I was taken out of CCM shortly after, in February of 2006. I was placed at a behavioral outpatient facility for about a month where I was diagnosed with OCD/Anxiety and put on medication. I was obese from lack of proper nutrition and had seven cavities from lack of access to dental care. I received an insufficient high school education, requiring me to finish out my remaining credits at a continuation school. I did not notice all that stuff while it was happening, I was just terrified of being home. Was it even home anymore? Where did I belong?
I can neither confirm nor deny that CCM “saved my life.” I was “safe” behind those walls. As a result, I became knowledgeable beyond my years and incredibly traumatized. My parents thought they were making the best possible decision at that time, and I certainly do not blame them for what happened at CCM. All that money spent, and I was not “fixed.”
-I have learned through therapy that I have Complex PTSD, and I am working on it.
-I had overwhelming OCD/Anxiety upon release. It has become manageable, but I still have triggers.
-I was socially awkward, not knowing how to fit in. I had a hard time talking and looking people in the eye and was uncomfortable giving or receiving hugs. I sometimes still feel that way.
-I felt generally unsafe and on alert everywhere. Hypervigilance. This is still a struggle for me.
-I spoke and acted like a robot. Like one of those tapes I was forced to listen to, over and over. Stuck on this cycle of shaming myself into fixing myself. This has gotten easier, but it has never gone away.
-I spent 10 years in and out of the rooms of AA/NA trying to fix myself, but I was never really an addict. I value all of the tools I learned there, and I am happy I found my freedom from that falsely given and internalized identity.
-I have a hard time forming intimate relationships. I lack trust and often seek love from partners who can not give it, perpetuating a cycle of abuse. This is what I am working through the most these days.
I did not know how to put into words what had happened while I was there. I did not know how to explain why I was not “better.” I was brainwashed. All I knew was that I felt ashamed and obligated to be perfect.
It took years to awaken to how that experience impacted me, and all that it lacked in actually helping me and my family. 10 years to be exact. I have spent the greater part of my life healing from familial and institutional trauma, and I am still healing. CCM did provide me with the opportunity to form deep meaningful relationships – my CCM sisters – and for that, I am truly grateful.
I tell my story, not so that anyone will feel bad for me, but to shine a light on the reality of what happened then and is still happening now.
We were taught at CCM to take accountability for everything, including our abuse. I am not responsible for what happened to me, but I can do something with my experience. Work through it, share it, hold space, advocate, and that is what I have, and will, be doing.
I have accomplished a lot despite that experience and the lingering trauma. I hold multiple college degrees and I am months away from becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I am a survivor.
Please join me in Breaking Code Silence by spreading awareness about institutional child abuse and the need to reform the Troubled Teen Industry (TTI).
-Casey (CCM September 2004- February 2006)”