Theodurk at Cross Creek Programs - Part 2

This testimony was found on Reddit. All rights goes to the original author:

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So I remember when I first walked in the door with my uneaten cinnabon. I walked into a set of doors and there were the seperate doors leading to other parts of the building. I was told to wait in that waiting area and I ate my cinnabon. There was a staff with us. Large, heavy set fellow. I think his name was Ken. Nice man, when you were not underneath him, which is later in my story here. A very kind woman walks in, who is an admission specialist. I wont say her name, because we are like family now. She was very kind and talked with me until they used their key card to take me inside the main facility. We walked up a set of stairs and there are two main hallways here. One that leads to rooms, the other to therapists and classrooms. I am taken to one of the bedrooms where I am told to go into the bathroom and change into a new set of cloths. They first search my pockets for illegal items. The gum was in that super tiny pocket on the right side that no one ever uses. It was the listerine tangerine orange flavor. I had to take my pants off in the bathroom and had it to them through the door. Before I did so, I took the gum and hid it under my socks. I had to take a quick shower with lice shampoo. I got out, changes, and hid all the pieces of gum in my sock. I am wearing khakis and an orange shirt.

They then take me to a group of rooms near the staircase. Three back to back and one across from the farthest. I go into the middle room and am told that it is my group.

Now, I was a bit blinded by Christian obsessions for a time, so I was a mad homophobe... Which ironically, I am bisexual now... Also, while the story progresses, you will see how much bonding there can be. Bonding with all guys... You will see what I mean. If I can't remember a name, I will make a new one, so I am not just saying, "that guy".

So, I was in group three out of 13. A kid, Jared introduces himself and tries to hug me. My homophobe self punched him on the shoulder. We just sat in silence until we got with the rest of our group in another room at the end of the other hall. I was told that I had a HOPE buddy, who would tell me the rules and the way of things. I was fine for a while that day, until we went outside. I asked how long the program was.

He pointed at an india indian looking kid and said, "He came in when he was 13, he is 17 now. This fastest is about 13 months, but the longest can be like him."

I had been under the impression of as long as six months, not four years. So I am sure you can imagine my anger at that moment. This is the start of the example of my earlier statement about holding in your anger. You can lose your sanity slowly or quickly.

Day 2, My blood was boiling. I was supposed to learn the rule quickly so that I could attend the upcoming orientation seminar. I wasn't listening half the day. I go to lunch and my mind was in a daze. I didn't want to eat, but was told I had to. I take my tray and sit with "my" group. After thirty minutes, lunch ended and my group got up to leave, but I stayed. I was pissed and fuming. Cussing under my breath. Crying because I know I am losing control. Clenching my muscles. A fluffy black guy a few tables away asks if I am alright and I nod my head. Then I snapped, I felt my hand raise, then I blacked out. I know this because that man would have had to take 15-30 seconds getting to me, yet when my eyes opened, he was right next to me. I had slammed the tray with my hand and pineapple had flown everywhere and a kid in my group who was wiping the table had be right across from me when I did it and to be honest, his face was pricelessly funny. He was a small skinny kid we came to know as snickers. Anyways, there was that one staff next to me, and a man whose position was called "radio 1" and the only staff I had ever been afraid of at my time there. He wasn't a bad man, but intimidating to have to face off with an ex-prison guard. He used the all famed cliche implication, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way." I was curious what the hard way was again, because that would imply that they carry me out and carrying a fat kid out is never easy. I was 252 at the time. Again, I chose the easy way.

They took me to the end of the main hallway that I mentioned before that leads to the classrooms. There is a small room, kind of hidden away with two small cubicle like rooms with hardwood floor and plywood walls. I was told to sit in one, indian style, until I was told I could leave. This room would soon become a very familiar room and one form of abuse, which you will see later. I was later released after a few hours of boredom. Two staff just sit in there and take note of everything you are doing wrong.

Day 3 was mostly uneventful. I was told how school worked and some more rules. Can't look at the girls for more than three seconds or out the windows for more than three seconds, and it cant be 1.2.3 look. 1.2.3 look... etc... Learned I can't crack my knuckles. My group wasn't allowed to say "pissed" or "piss".

Now I forgot to mention the daily weekday mornings that we would have with Ron, which I am sure you have heard from other Cross Creek stories. A particular group hosts it each week with their therapist and Ron. New kids go, staff buddies: which I will explain later, and people asking questions to Ron. He asked me why I was there, I said, "nothing". Then everyone in the group just laughed, as if it was some joke that I wasn't aware of.

Day 4 my anger was growing again. Just thinking about how long I was going to be there for. By this time, I knew I could leave at 18. Near the end of the day, I was fuming again. I had left the room and was in the hallway, facing a wall. My HOPE buddy was trying to calm me. (by the way, HOPE, stands for Helping Orient Partners for Excellence)

Eventually, the kid, justin, gave up and told the staff and I was taken to that small room with the hardwood floor. The room was called "SN" or "Special Needs". My anger building again, more and more. I snap and I punched the wall once, but remained seated. Ken says over the radio, "We have a wall hitter her, send some help." Him and another staff, Justin, approach me. I had learned of restraint, so I took off my glasses. Ken grabbed me and spun me around so I lay on my stomach and he laid on my back, while Justin "tried" to hold my legs... "tried"... The help came to "try" to hold my legs as well. Meanwhile, I resisted with my upper body, trying to fight off Ken, struggling under his weight. He kept telling me to keep my hands on the floor and when I didn't, he held them, then when he held them, I jerked my head around. He would then force my head down. Once with enough force to pop one of the ear pimples I had at the time, inside the ear. It started bleeding quite a bit. Then my nose was running from all the crying. Essentially, I was there struggling and resisting for two hours while my face was being rubbed in a puddle of my own blood and snot.

Day 5 was when I officially lost my mind. It was the day when you never want someone with anger problems to say, "fuck it". To cease to care about anything or anyone; Not family, not friends. Essentially, I lost most of my conscience. This happens when kids shoot up school. Their anger at a bully makes them snap and rational thinking ceases and they don't care who they hurt. This was like that, just with very limited options. I just said fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. They tried to give me a "category" which is the slip of paper you get when you break a rule.

Under the section where I am supposed to put what I will do to change, I just wrote, "I am not going to fucking change for your fucking bitch ass school. I will keep on fucking cussing all the fuck I want, so you can fucking kiss my fucking ass."

Now, I think this will be the end of part 2 here. The next part will be about the 2 1/2 months of me being a dick and the fun I had. Also, if you would like and I likely will anyways. I will write out a lot more details about the rules and the punishments, so things will make more sense later on. I still have my main notebook from that place and it still has the list of rules, including all or most the papers from the seminars. I can also go over the basic routine and schedule, so you can get an estimate about what time of day things happened.

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Cross Creek Programs is now closed. They tried to re-start the program as a non-profit program but the arrest of an employee who had been working there for a long time for sending photos of his naked body to students stopped any future activity.

The buildings have been rented to a new organization who will operate in the market for adopted kids who were sent to their adoptive parents without the full story about their emotional issues. The horror stories will continue with new independent management and new employees.

Sources:

• The original testimony on Reddit
• Factsheet about the facility (Fornits Wiki)

Theodurk at Cross Creek Programs - Part 1

This testimony was found on Reddit. All rights goes to the original author:

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So I felt like writing today. I am deciding to write about my past, about my time in a program. The programs name is Cross Creek Academy. I will write as much as I can remember about my time; my emotions, actions, relationships, struggles, etc. Ahead of time, I apologize for any spelling errors or grammar errors. I am doing this in notepad since windows 8 is utterly confusing. Hence, I do not have auto correct or grammar check. It shouldn't be too bad though. I have scored pretty high in writing.

I will start with just before my time there. The incident that created the choice for my parents to send me away. It was about two weeks after my birthday. I had been getting more and more angry and rebellious as time went on. Getting bullied in school, my dad's bad issues with hard liquor, and my step mom and her always repeating everything three thousand times. The thing about holding in anger is that it does eventually crack and break. It can slowly change who you are or in certain circumstances, the change can be instant. At the time, I was slowly losing myself; getting meaner and more violent. My step mom had asked me to fold the laundry and I didn't. So she proceded to rag on me for several minutes, which happens to annoy me since you can get the point across in 30 seconds. I flipped out on her and yelled until she started crying. My dad sees what is happening and he grabs me by the neckline and throws me into the sliding glass doors and proceeds to hold me there, borderline choking. He had done this before when he was plastered, but this time it was fair enough reaction for making his wife cry. He screamed and yelled and sent me off to my room.

I go there and lock the door as i wasn't supposed to. I knew he would still get in after removing the door knob. I sat on my bed pissed and thinking and thinking. I thought for a moment to take a block of wood in my room and hit him over the head with it, but even when I am being an idiot, I am still smart. Yet there was that thought, that brief bit of imagination. When he finally got in, he tried to grab me and throw me on the floor, but the way he grabbed be allowed me to use my legs as leverage and being a fat kid, your legs are pretty strong. He quickly caught on and grabbed my legs and flipped me off the bed and he stayed there making sure I don't go to bed until I fold the laundry. This whole mess over laundry. Teenagers for ya.

Then one day. They both go with me and say they are taking me to a doctor. I end up at a hospital where they do some blood tests. Then we move to a different facility that seemed odd to me. It didn't seem like a hospital. There was steel doors and the mesh windows. My parents did some paperwork and they took me to another building. I walked through two sets of doors and they ask me to remove my shoelaces and belt. I come to discover, they took me to a mental hospital. They did this because of a suicide threat months before when my step mom's answer had been, "ok". She knew it was an empty threat, but for me, it hurts that she didn't even attempt to fake concern. They send me way later as an "excuse". I was locked inside for a week. I med some pretty crazy druggies. A girl that decided to play a game with friends. Who ever could take the most triple c's and not die wins. She won. A guy whose pregnant girlfriend cheats on him with is best friend. He attempted suicide with opium. As I do a lot, I checked out the security and possible escape routes. I knew how to escape the place. There was a flaw in their outside area. We had 4 pm nap times. One day I calculated, without paper, how to tell time by the angle the sun is in the sky, which I later made a formula for. Depending on location and the exact angle, you can calculate the exact time, so long as you know when the sun rises. Anyways, enough of the mental hospital. My parents called and told me that I was going to a program for troubled teens. I was shown a website and it said for about 60 days. So I accepted it and figured I could use some time away. The transporters tend to come in the early morning, two if
them. It was about 4 in the morning for me. They enter through the first set of doors and I exit the second set.

They said in the cliche tough, bad ass voice, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

I asked, "What is the hard way?"

They reply, "handcuffs."

For a moment, I thought it would be fun to watch how people reacted as I get walked through the airport in handcuffs, but I chose the easy way. If I wanted to escape, better to have your hands.

The men themselves were not bad men. They just chose a bad job that maked them look like bad men. Some of the transporters may be sadistic asses, but mine were nice. For that, I chose not to run. I knew how and when I could, but I didn't.

After the flight, I was driven through Las Vegas, into Utah, and eventually we pulled up to an odd white building with iron meshed sold sheets covering the windows. I was led inside with my cinnibon and Dr. pepper. I never did get to finish the dr. pepper, but I did manage to keep a pack of gum.

Perhaps I will make this a brief cliff hanger of sorts. Though there is no guarantee when I get back to writing. Perhaps if I get enough requests for more, but the rest is a very long story. I stayed longer than most and one of three ever to stay past 19, which I will explain why that happened later as well. Now the next part is actually the worst I have ever been and also the most fun I had in years. Basically, the website said 60 days, the transporters said six months, and the program said something else.

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Cross Creek Programs is now closed. They tried to re-start the program as a non-profit program but the arrest of an employee who had been working there for a long time for sending photos of his naked body to students stopped any future activity.

The buildings have been rented to a new organization who will operate in the market for adopted kids who were sent to their adoptive parents without the full story about their emotional issues. The horror stories will continue with new independent management and new employees.

Sources:

• The original testimony on Reddit
• Factsheet about the facility (Fornits Wiki)

"yellsnomatt" at an unknown facility

This testimony was made by a person known as "yellsnomatt". All rights go to the original author.

Oh man once i get started on residential treatment centers...

When I was 17 I spent four months in a wilderness "treatment center" down south. This treatment center was advertised as a rehab, behavioral center, fat camp, and juvie all in a single facility. But it didn't matter why you were there, all the kids went through the same shit. We slept in tents and spent the majority of our time doing group exercise and outdoor labor. But that's not the bad part. While the initial transition was rough, the physical environment of the program wasn't bad compared to the psychological bullshit.

We were not allowed to speak (or nonverbally communicate) at all without first raising two fingers to get the attention of a staff member to ask permission. The only time it was appropriate to speak "openly" was in group therapy twice a week. Conversation was not allowed. Period. If you spoke out of turn they put you on non-comm which meant you were not allowed to ever speak and you had to write everything you had to say. Break non-comm and they put you on med-comm which means no communication unless it concerns a medical emergency. There were other punishments (called "consequences" b/c treatment programs don't believe in punishment) too for breaking the "standards", such as being banned from using condiments on your food for using more than three shakes of the salt/pepper shaker. (NO JOKE) Another consequence was that we all would have to work out outside for our morning PT if one of us farted without excusing ourselves during PT, which was inside b/c its cold at 5 am in March.

Our only communication with the outside world was through letters written to our parents, unless you said things that the staff didn't like. Each and every one of our letters had to be read and approved by a staff member. We were not allowed to ask our parents to come and get us. And it'd be safe to say that parents were discouraged from doing so 100% of the time when they asked about picking up they're kids prematurely. (which is kind of understandable.)

The only way out of the treatment center was graduation. And graduation depended on how much you followed the rules, and how much ass you kissed and made it appear you had changed your "oppositionally defiant" disposition. It was required of you to snitch on your peers for breaking the rules (everybody did) in order to reach the next phase of the program. Whether or not one would advance a phase and get a step closer to escape was determined by the group therapist that the entire group of 4-6 troubled kids met with twice a week as group for hour-long sessions. It would be a good idea to make yourself cry during therapy so it looked you were making some kind of "progress". The therapist mostly went off of the written reports of the group leaders who were staff members. The group leaders were either newly graduated psych majors or just some guy with a degree who needs a job. And most people would only work for a few months and then leave. Anybody who has ever been in a treatment center knows how power corrupts in that type of position, like in those Stanford Experiments. The lack of empathy is disgusting.

The worst consequence was supposed to be level 3 separation but my time on level 3 was the best time I had in the program. In level 3 you are separated from everyone else and you aren't allowed in any of the buildings. You sleep outside and you spend most of your time either hiking or just sitting under the sun. And you get to have your own fire! But you are under non-comm. It's not a big deal because it's refreshing not having to put up with everyone else, mainly the staff. The only real interaction you have with staff on level 3 is when you pick up your food. All meals on level 3 are cold. I was lucky I was there in the summer. I'd heard some ugly stories about the winter.

It's funny because it's going to sound like I'm making this up too but we were also forced to go to Baptist church twice a week with the most stereotypical Southern preacher lol. Technically, we weren't forced but it was either go to church in the nice air conditioned trailer or wait outside. I think many of us were just glad we got to sit and relax for a bit. There was one Muslim kid and the preacher would talk so much shit about Muslims. It was kind of crazy how ignorant the guy was. He would literally say, "I have nothing against Muslims," and then say the most offensive things.

The staff smoked cigarettes in front of us. The staff ate their delicious food in front of us while we were stuck with facility food. They never shared. The staff regularly made fun of us. Interactions with staff were usually confrontational. These people have the nerve to complain to us that they don't paid enough as some of us sleep in the fucking mud getting hit in the face with rain because we annoyed them.

This is getting too long so I'm gonna try to wrap it up. I could write a motherfucking trilogy about the place.

As unpleasant of an experience as it was I don't know whether it was bad or good. I got in shape and my tolerance for discomfort is higher. I went back to school (the main reason my parents sent me there was truancy. also pot). But I don't know if I'll ever be at peace with those experiences. It was definitely the worst experience of my sheltered life. And it really revealed the true nature of humanity to me. People will do what they can get away with.
Some of the kids were as bad as the staff.

There were a few individual staff members deserving of respect.

Source:
The original testimony on the Reddit message board

JayTWC at an unknown facility

This testimony was made by a person known as "JayTWC". All rights go to the original author.

I totally agree with you, the mental healthcare system is critically flawed right now.

I was checked into inpatient last year for about five days. I failed to show up to a psychiatrist's appointment due to my sleeping disorder and woke up to about three EMT's standing over me wanting me to go the hospital. I had a pretty severe sleeping disorder that affected my life last year in a very serious way, I didn't attend school because of it for about a semester.

The hospital and my psychiatrist decided that I should go to an inpatient facility. All of my fellow patients were friendly and I regret to this day not being able to keep in contact with them. The staff were good people but they do treat you like an animal. I got in confrontations quite a lot with them as I did not want to be there at all, honestly I don't think anybody did.

On my second day I believe, I was placed on ITP after a confrontation with the "hot-head" in the staff. ITP basically meant I was confined to my room most of the day and had to fill out worksheets, I spent most of my time reading "Robinson Crusoe." For someone that actually wanted treatment, ITP would mean they would not get it as worksheets obviously won't treat depression. They also began prescribing me Vyvanse which is a drug commonly used for ADHD. This drug was prescribed to me by my psychiatrist before and resulted in some anger issues. I mostly contribute my behavioral issues to their dumb ass decision to give me Vyvanse without telling me or my parent.

Most of my time spent in the hospital was spent desperately trying to get home, as were most of the patients. I don't think there was a time I was ever more unhappy than my small amount of time in a mental facility. It's a really gloomy experience, you have no contact with the outside world other than family visits, and those for the most part just made me that much more sad. You are also kept separate from most of the time. The rule made sense to me and there were some creepy experiences I had but it just made me feel much more alone overall, compound that with the fact that I spent about three days with little contact with anyone in the actual hospital.

The system is also completely inefficient. You are assigned a doctor who only meets you for about I'll estimate about thirty minutes during your stay. He is the only one that can make tangible decisions during your stay, and it is a hell of a time getting an appointment with this doctor. I had to stay two extra days at the hospital just waiting for the doctor to meet me. For me this meant an extra forty-eight hours sitting in my room alone, on Vyvanse.

I am glad however I spent those days because of the experiences others shared with me there, I heard some horrifying stories. I had a great deal of respect for my fellow patients after hearing their tales, and I wish all of them well.

The day I left I was extremely happy, I mean things I take for granted now such as just being outside, breathing fresh air, and listening to music off of my phone I savored. All of that happiness however was artificial once I returned to the "real world," and to this day things haven't really changed for me.

My advice to those not looking to harm themselves/homicidal, avoid inpatient at all costs, my experience with outpatient was much more constructive.

Source:
The original testimony on the Reddit message board

"NaturalSelectionDied" at unknown facilities

This testimony was made by a person known as "NaturalSelectionDied". All rights go to the original author.

I was in inpatient mental health for 3 months then a residential treatment center for 5 days. Inpatient was pretty bad, but the residential was many times worse. I had mental health issues and this place treated behavioral issues, learning disabilities and mental health.

Out of 500 kids, about 5 had mental health issues, then 1 third of the rest had learning disabilites (moderate to severe autism, I shared a living quarters with two of them, and they seemed normal except that their minds were identical to a 6 year old. They watched power rangers every day.) The other 2 thirds had "behavioral health problems" but from what I saw most people took RDC as an alternative for JDC and were mostly normal but they honestly belonged in JDC, as there were gangs formed at RDC that bullied kids and etc.

This place was hell because unlike mental health treatment, you had to stay with all the kids, at all times, and couldn't opt out of activities. You woke up at six, and everyone did hygeine, went to school then when you were let out you got a small snack then you had to go outside from 3:30 until 9-10 every single day.

The part that made it impossible for me was the staff treated us like uter shit. I mean we were complete animals to them, even those who weren't LD. I have never felt truly hopeless and not cared about until I went there.

I only made it 5 days until I cheeked one of my medications then the next day when it was time for meds I took that one too then repeatedly put my hand to my mouth faking taking a pill when I was sure someone was watching then when they came over I took the second pill I had stored. They asked and I told them I took 5, so that they would take me to the ER. Luckily they did.
Happy ending: I went back to inpatient (one that I really liked) for a few weeks then my mom was supposed to take me back to the RDC but she knew I was better and didn't need it anymore so upon arrival she let them know she wasn't signing me back in and to get my things.

Afterwards I still lived a rather unhealthy lifestyle for a while and then got very into Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism and spirituality in general and am doing many times better.

My reason for going in the first place was suicidal/homicidal ideation (planning on going on a school massacre) and nothing helped that except for spirituality, which I wish I had discovered earlier. Though I believe it was meant to unfold the way it did. I don't think I truly would have understood it all until I lost it all.

Source:
The original testimony on the Reddit message board

Xandir at Cross Creek Programs - Part 3 (From: Reddit.com)

The author known as Xandir gave permission to have her story published on the webpage Reddit. All rights belong to the original author.

.....Continued from Part 2

The program director and other administration on several occasions acknowledged that Tranquility Bay, another WWASP program that has now much to my relief been shut down, did indeed have an infamous history of reported abuse. He used this to say that we were so very “fortunate” to be in Cross Creek and not at programs like that. Yet kids who were “acting out too much” at Cross Creek were sent to Tranquility Bay as punishment. Some have said that Tranquility Bay was merely a “last resort” or that the things that happened at TB were just a “part of Jamaican culture” but I would have to strongly disagree about both of those things. Since when is abuse ever an appropriate option? It isn’t. No matter what someone has done, it’s not okay. It is also extremely racist and ethnocentric to say that abuse is just a part of the culture of Jamaica, especially when you look at American society, which I could very well say the same thing about.

Shortly after I left the program I was raped. I shared what happened with my mother, who then told me, like Cross Creek did, that it was my fault, I asked for it, and that I should have known it would happen. She then proceeded to share her own twisted version of the story with my Cross Creek therapist, who shared it with my group. I was mortified and my self-esteem was completely destroyed by this utter lack of confidentiality and complete betrayal of trust.

It has taken me so much time to recover and de-program myself from all of the lies I was fed at Cross Creek. It took me a while to realize just how badly and inappropriately I and others had been treated at this facility. It’s not to say that there were not a few small kernels of wisdom that I can still use from the program, but they came at such a huge cost. My soul feels wounded from the things I saw and experienced at Cross Creek and healing will be a continual process.

If there was one thing that I gained from my experience at Cross Creek, it was realizing that no one regardless of their past or current actions deserves to be treated the way this program and other WWASP facilities treated me and so many other students. Abuse is abuse, no matter how you slice it. This realization along with other life experiences is partially responsible for my current carreer path regarding abuse prevention and recovery, as well as my involvement and activism in the human rights movement.

Even if you choose not to believe me or anything that I have written, there are piles of evidence to support the idea that there is mistreatment at Cross Creek and other WWASP affiliated facilities. A little bit of research will reveal that this lawsuit is not the first that WWASP or Cross Creek has faced. My therapist used to use a phrase when he suspected that kids were “dirty in their program.” He used to say “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire...” That is certainly the case with WWASP and Cross Creek. There is a reason that the Coalition Against Institutionalized Child Abuse, Community Alliance for The Ethical Treatment of Youth, and many other organizations like them exist. There is a reason why seventeen WWASP affiliated schools have been shut down. There is a reason there have been so many lawsuits. Clearly if all of this has happened, I must not be completely insane.

The rebuttal against this argument has included that Cross Creek is no longer a part of WWASP. This argument is pretty much void seeing as they are still directly affiliated in that all of the WWASP affiliated programs still use the same seminars as each other, the same escort service, the same billing company, and are all still a part of Teen Help LLC, the marketing arm of WWASP and the entity that processes admissions paperwork. They also refer to each other and send children to other WWASP affiliated facilities when one facility can’t handle them. I don’t think it would be at all presumptuous to conclude that the people who ran WWASP are the same people who are still raking in all of the money with these programs.

WWASP officials claim that the organization itself is out of business, probably because of their infamous history of abuse, but clearly all of the WWASP programs are still affiliated and WWASP has not completely faded out. Many schools have changed their names multiple times, including Cross Creek (formerly Browning Academy) and it’s clear to me that there is a lot of shadiness and hiding goes on with in these programs. It seems as though WWASP and it’s affiliates are trying to sweep some things under the rug, and outright lie to parents, students, former students, and the general public.

Here’s a bit about the history of WWASP and Cross Creek. WWASP was founded by Robert Browning Lichfeild. He started Browning Academy, now Cross Creek, the first WWASP affiliated school in 1987, at a time when he had little money and was living in a small apartment with his wife and four children. His field of study was in business (he attained absolutely no credentials or education in psychology, therapy, or education) though he never graduated college and within several years he had become a very rich individual and had added many more schools to his chain of “behavior modification”/”tough love” schools. He was indeed mormon and has, in several interviews stated that God was his inspiration in starting these schools and one of his goals was to “get kids in touch with their higher source.” He is also a major contributor to the Republican party, donating thousands of dollars each year http://www.city-data.com/elec2/elec-LA-VERKIN-UT.html. From what I’ve read his massive sum of money and big political influence have gotten him and his colleagues out of the situations in which he and his criminal organization have been questioned. But please, do not take my word for it. Do your own research. This information is readily available to those who are willing to look.

Sources:

• The orignal statement on Reddit
• Datasheet about the treatment facility on Fornits Wiki

Xandir at Cross Creek Programs - Part 2 (From: Reddit.com)

The author known as Xandir gave permission to have her story published on the webpage Reddit. All rights belong to the original author.

... Continued form part 1

In addition to shaming people on basis of sexual orientation, they taught children that sex was evil and damaging outside of marriage, another blatantly religious notion. We were forced to regularly watch videos involving horror stories of abortions gone wrong, shown gruesome pictures of STDs that had been left unattended for long periods of time, and told that if we had sex before marriage we would likely die or get some horrible ailment. Rather than promoting safer sex methods, we were shown that abstinence was the only option that would not result in death or unwanted pregnancy.

Rigid gender roles were also a big part of the Cross Creek way of life. Many of the rules were extremely gender based. Boys were allowed to crack their backs and knuckles, though girls were not because it was “unladylike”. Boys got meal portions double the size of girls. Boys were allowed to use more curse words than girls were. The list goes on.

I remember when they moved the girls from Center 1 to Pro 1 (these are all names of the dorms we stayed in.) The boys had been living in Pro 1, and when they moved the girls in the dorms were extremely messy. Rather than having the boys come back and clean up this mess, they made the girls clean all day. This was completely, and totally humiliating. What a great way to build confidence and teach girls how to be independent and stand up for themselves.

Before I say this next part, I want to state that it is not my intention to bash all of the staff at Cross Creek. Some of the staff were very supportive (A.D., M.C., etc.) and this is not in any way meant to be directed at you, nor is it a blanket statement. There were staff however, that made me feel very unsafe and uncomfortable. Some of the staff, in my opinion, were downright cruel, hurtful and borderline (if not blatantly) abusive. I can’t tell you how many times I saw staff make comments about myself or others insinuating that we were bad children, unclean, impure, dirty, not innocent, untrustable, the list goes on. The grievance system that was in place was, in my opinion, ineffective on the whole. From being a part of the student government system for some time that handled grievances, I observed that grievance system, like everything else at Cross Creek, put the blame on the student and diverted responsibility away from the adult.

I’d also like to mention how many times I saw staff and administration, tackle and restrain children when it was completely unnecessary. So many times I saw kids simply refuse to go to gym class or get out of bed and as punishment they were violently tackled, restrained in a painful position, and taken to a small isolation room where they were usually watched by two or three staff members. This was also what they did when a child harmed themselves. This method is extremely violent, and I remember at least one incident that happened when I was there where they tackled a girl and restrained her face down against the ground and as a result she got rug burn on her face to the point that she was bleeding and had visible scabs on her face. Another time a girl shared that being tackled and restrained gave her flashbacks of a rape she’d experienced, to which the program director responded that he felt no remorse for it and that it was really her fault for doing what ever she’d done to be restrained. You could argue that this might be appropriate in cases where a kid is being violent towards others, but from what I saw, more often than not, this was absolutely not the case and the child being restrained was not being violent. In addition to tackling and restraint being (in my humble opinion) immoral, it is unsafe, and this has been proven. If you look on the website for the Coalition Against Institutionalized Child Abuse, (Organization under reorganizing) You can see a long list of deaths that have occurred in “behavioral modification” facilities not unlike Cross Creek as a result of tackling and restraint: Holy the Children Memorial; also GAO Report: Concerns Regarding Abuse and Death in Certain Programs for Troubled Youth.

Cross Creek’s methods of “therapy” and recovery were also extremely invasive, humiliating, and in my opinion did much more harm than good. As someone who does intern work at a local rape treatment center and talks with victims of assault on a regular basis, as well as being someone who has survived various forms of violence and abuse, I have seen how damaging it can be to force someone to share about such delicate issues before they are fully prepared and ready. I can not speak for every one, but for me, being forced to disclose information that was not ready to come out was extremely painful and humiliating. The seminars based your success on how “emotional” you were, meaning that if you did not share some horrible part of your life or simply did not have one, or if you were not crying and sniveling while you did it, you were booted out of the seminar and forced to stay in the program another two months. The obsession the program had with “accountability” also led to them blaming people who had experienced abuse for their abusive situations. I vividly remember a facilitator yelling at a girl while kicking her out of a seminar for not participating or being “real” enough. She told her in an extremely vivid and foul language (the f-bomb included) that if she continued the behavior that got her to the program she would be raped again. She had the student write an essay on this.

I will forever be haunted by the day that I was in group and the program director barged in and started saying that it’s as if I have “ABUSE ME” written on my forehead, insinuating that I was just asking to be abused in some way by the way that I carried and presented myself. I carry so much shame from this comment, and because of it constantly have to remind myself not to blame myself for the abuse I have experienced.

The way that Cross Creek taught me to interact with people was to analyze every facial expression, action, and word, and reflect this back to them in a cold, harsh, and usually demeaning way. I feel so much remorse for the way I treated people at Cross Creek, as well as the way I allowed people to treat me. It took me a while after I graduated to discover that this method did not work at all in the real world, and that if I was to have any friends, I would need to drop the robotic, unempathetic, and borderline malicious way of interacting with others that I had learned to use for two and a half years. I’d like to sincerely apologize to those of you who spent time with me at Cross Creek that I treated this way. I feel nothing but sadness when I realize how heartless and programmed I became.

What disturbs me more than anything is that I believed all of the things I was told. When people use the word “brainwashing” to describe what went on at Cross Creek and other WWASP programs, I don’t think it is in any way exaggerating or being over dramatic when you consider all of the media we were FORCED to watch, read, and listen to. The program director used to joke about and downplay the brainwashing claims by saying that some of our brains “could really use some washing.” The “educational/emotional growth” videos we had to watch twice a day, the “motivational” tapes three times a day, the “self-help” books we were forced to read, and more than anything the “motivational seminars” with facilitators up in your face yelling about all the things you did wrong to mess up your life and land yourself in a program all contributed to this. With all of this influence coming at me from every direction at every moment I believed that following the rules, “working my program”, going to the seminars, etc. was genuinely going to improve my self esteem, my relationship with my parents, and the overall outcome of my life. I tried hard to follow the endless list of rules, be “accountable”, and when I got “dirty in my program” (another good example of shaming lingo and language that means you broke rules without giving yourself demerits) I would confess and take the consequences what ever consequences were involved.

I by no means had a perfect program, but I gave it all of my honest effort and did what I could to be a good Cross Creek student. By putting faith in this system however, I also internalized all of the stigma, shame, and religious beliefs forced upon me. I believed that maybe if I just suppressed my sexuality , as well as ignored my obvious attraction to girls, that maybe all of this would go away. My body and subconscious reacted to this. Shortly after arriving at Cross Creek, I stopped getting my period for about 8 months. This was apparently a common thing that happened in the program when girls first arrived, as the body was reacting to some serious stress. I also started wetting the bed shortly after arriving at the program. This had not been an issue for me since the age of 3 or 4. This bed wetting issue continued until I left the program. After I graduated, it stopped completely.

To be continued in part 3....

Sources:

• The orignal statement on Reddit
• Datasheet about the treatment facility on Fornits Wiki

Xandir at Cross Creek Programs - Part 1 (From: Reddit.com)

The author known as Xandir gave permission to have her story published on the webpage Reddit. All rights belong to the original author.

On May 10th of 2007 at around 2:30 in the morning two strangers barged into my bedroom. I started screaming and crying, as in my mind I was sure that these two strangers had broken into my house and were going to abduct me, rape me, kill me, or in some way harm me. They immediately told me that if I did not shut up that they would handcuff me. I was not being in any way violent or threatening. I was reacting in fear for my life by being vocal and hoping that someone would come to help. I had no idea what was going on. I stopped screaming, still in fear for my life. They started going through my closet digging out clothes as I was only in a night gown. They still had not explained what was going on. I asked, frightened, what the wanted from me, trying to see if I could in some way appease them and get them to leave. They then explained that they were going to take me to a school. It took me a second to understand what they meant by this, as this was an extremely bizarre way to introduce a child to a new school. It then occurred to me that this was what my mother had arranged for my brother several years ago when she had him shipped away to Cross Creek. The two strangers were from Teen Escort Service, a for-profit company that transports teenagers, usually by force, to WWASP (World Wide Association of Specialty Programs) facilities.

I was extremely upset and cried the entire trip, but I obeyed all of their orders. Even though I was being cooperative they said it was their policy to put a belt around the bust of the child and hold the belt so that there would be no chance of attempting to run. It was so humiliating to be led around like a fucking dog around the airport. It was also extremely uncomfortable to have this strange older male putting his hand so close to my breast. I never understood how any of this was legal but definitely knew that none of it was ethical. To this day I feel extremely angered, disturbed, and violated by this entire experience. In addition to this they “forgot” all of the psychiatric medication I had been on at my house. It’s not that I am for psychiatric meds, but it certainly did not feel healthy or normal to go from taking this medication regularly, to just not having it and stopping with out tapering off of it.

From the moment I arrived at Cross Creek, I was treated as though I was broken, dirty, and inhuman. During my stay I saw many others treated this way. I had never spoken to R., the program director, before and my first experience with him was horrible. He asked me why I was there, and I told him all of the things I’d done that I could think of that could possibly be perceived as “bad”. He yelled at me, saying that I was lying and that I didn’t love or care about my parents. I was shocked and confused, unsure of what I had done to deserve this treatment from someone I had just met. To this day, the only thing I can think of that I possibly could have left out was my attraction to other females. In one of the Parent-Child seminars we were made to attend, my mother shared with me that this was one of the biggest “issues” that caused her to send me to Cross Creek. Not the drugs, not the sex (she told me she had no knowledge of me being sexually active prior to being forced to disclose it to her), not the issues with school, but just the fact that there was a possibility that one day I might fall in love with a female. Sorry for not realizing what a horrible, broken child this made me, R.

Shortly after I arrived, my “HOPE buddy” (the student they assign to “mentor” you and teach you the rules in your first few weeks) started asking me about my past, why I was there, and what issues I needed to work on. I talked briefly about my experimentation with soft drugs, my issues with depression (something I’m pretty sure most teenagers experience), and the abusive relationship I had been in with my first girlfriend. As soon as I said the words “girl” and “relationship” in the same sentence she said “STOP! STOP! We can’t talk about that.” I was filled with shame regarding my sexuality simply from the fact that I was not even allowed to talk about homosexuality in any way shape or form. Shortly after this incident I started talking to the therapist they assigned me to there about this abusive relationship I had experienced, and how it bothered me that I was not allowed to talk about a part of me that I have no control over. His response was that I DID have a choice over whether or not I was attracted to females and that I should just deal with these thoughts of same sex attraction. His opinion was that this was probably a result of some anger I had toward men, particularly my dad and that I probably just wanted to be with females because they were “safer” (even though I had been with an abusive female before!!!) He also said that ultimately this was probably just a phase and a result of my crazy teenage hormones. He believed that if I tried hard enough and ignored these thoughts and feelings one day I might marry a nice boy.

I had no interest in having a relationship with anyone there, but when other girls formed relationships with each other, the repercussions were pretty extreme. I understood why it was not allowed, as relationships are generally distracting no matter the gender of either partner, but the way people were treated was pretty unnecessary in my opinion. It usually involved lots of yelling, ostracizing, and shaming. I remember one R. meeting where two girls were being confronted about this and R. was yelling about how stupid they were being and how no one would be able to trust them now. He went on to say that he had “nothing against homosexuality, but it was not the way God intended things.” and that the Bible definitely did not condone it. These “God” and bible references were used on a regular basis, along with religious videos, praying, etc. even though Cross Creek claimed that they were not in any way religious. The rule book and protocol also appeared to be directly based off of the Mormon religion (no caffeine etc.) The program reprimanded children for telling their parents about this religious influence and regularly tried to hide it from parents. I am in no way against people having their own beliefs and following what ever religion is right for them, however I think that it’s completely and totally immoral to lie to parents about what they are getting. More on this later.

The queer shaming was present in nearly every aspect of the program, including the language used. We were not allowed to use curse words such as “shit”, or “bitch”, but I never saw anyone reprimanded for saying “fag” or “faggot.” This fostered an environment in which teasing and bullying for all sorts of things were fully tolerated. I even remember a facilitator in a seminar trying to trigger a girl by calling her a “dyke.” And no, before you say something, I really don’t care about breaking confidentiality of seminars at this point because I am fed up. What these people said and did broke me down and created so much shame inside of me.

To be continued in part 2....

Sources:

• The orignal statement on Reddit
• Datasheet about the treatment facility on Fornits Wiki

VoiceReclaimed at Green Chimneys

The author known as VoiceReclaimed gave permission to have her story published on the webpage Reddit. All rights belong to the original author.

Green Chimneys was the most traumatic experience I ever survived. When I was sent there for one summer, I had no idea of what kind of a place this was.

I was in for a rude awakening that this was not a "regular" camp when the medication cart was brought in after every meal. I later learned that there were kids who saw psychiatrists, but I don't know where the psychiatrists' offices were. I had no idea that meds and psychiatrists were involved. Althought I dodged the med bullet, I did not dodge the beatings one. (If you read GC's online statement, they say they are "authorized to medicate kids." Many survivors I've listened to say that they were given inappropriate medications and that staff experimented with meds).

There was a girl in charge of the room I was in. She was 13 and I was 10. She would beat me and the 8-year-old to a pulp. She once made me lie on the floor and walked on my back. When I yelped in pain, she said, "no phony back spasms." She beat me every single day and once even beat me so hard with a baton that I still have a scar from that beating.

School was another rude awakening. I had no idea that school was part of the routine. I thought it would be a regular camp with summer activities, not school! Even so, school was fraught with problems. The teachers would slap and kick kids; they would call kids retarded. Each grade was divided into A&B bands, e.g. 2A, 2B. I was in 5A. If you were in a B class, you were deemed "slow" and typecast as lacking intelligence.

Classes were held from 9-12 each morning. Other survivors I've talked to said that during the year, you spent more time on that farm than you ever did in class and that when you left GC, you had to play catch up in your subsequent school.

Dr. Samuel B. Ross would hold public beatings; his 2nd in command Richard B. Hill was deemed a racist by other inmates. They would make kids eat cigarettes in front of the entire inmate population. Ross and Hill once dragged a boy out of the Slop Hall because the boy said he wanted more food. Meals were meager portions. Ross even dragged a girl out of the dorm by her hair because, wonder of wonders she did not want to leave on the last day. I can't imagine why anyone would want to stay and his ill treatment of her raised that question all the more.

Ross often threatened to send kids to Rockland State. He once lit after a boy and beat him because the boy was horsing around instead of heading off to class one morning.

I would leave breakfast and head to class early so as to avoid my roomleader. I was so glad I was assigned to a table across the room from her so she couldn't hit and kick me. I would enter and exit the Slop Hall via the laundry room so as to avoid her salutory kick whenever she saw me.

Sexual behavior flourished. Once, two boys exposed themselves to me in class. I arrived early so as to avoid any beatings. The teacher I had, a Mrs. N told me I'd be in trouble just by being present and I didn't know the boys would be there! The Rosses were called in and Sameul B. Ross Jr. threatened those boys within an inch of their lives. My roomleader's brother, then in 7th grade dragged me behind the boys' dorm where 2 of his 8th grade friends were waiting. They told me to take off my clothes, and I refused. One boy said he'd pin my arms behind my back so the others could get started. I had to think of an escape, so I thought if I just kept them talking, I could make a run for it. I did. I made good and sure never to stand at the end of or behind any building after that.

I learned from other survivors that hawks and predators roamed in the boys' dorms as well. Staff and some older students were hawks. In 2001 there was an article about an 8-year-old boy who was raped by 3 older inmates.

The Girls' House dorm where all the girls slept was a nightmare. The year prior to my arrival, a man was notorious for sexual abuse. He left just before my arrival, but his wife remained and she would hit kids at the drop of a hat. The "dorm parents" were a young, punitive couple who were largely disinterested in the kids. The husband was physically and verbally abusive. The wife just verbally. She once dumped a bowl of clay on an older boy's head during an art class for no apparent reason. They both told me I was retarded and nothing I said had any value. I have 2 degrees and can read some Chinese, so I think I disproved their claim.

Another survivor, whose opinions I deeply respect has impressed upon me all the more the value of looking to the positive. This survivor, who had many horrific experiences is a good person who lives by paying it forward.

My reason for sharing my experience was not to point fingers, but to alert people as to the dangers that can take place in these RTCs. I am also reclaiming the voice that I felt was taken from me. People would not listen to me then, even when I was covered in welts and bruises. Green Chimneys was a closed community. All medical care was done by the late Sam B. Ross, Sr. whose "medical care" was to give you a once-over-lightly. Everything was done on the campus and you weren't near a shop or a town, so you were isolated. An electric fence was installed in or about the end of the summer I served there. Green Chimneys is a dangerous place.

Sources:

• Kids report being severely beaten at Green Chimneys, yet this award-winning documentary twists the story around! (Reddit.com)
• Green Chimneys datasheet on Fornits Wiki