Mother, you wrote in your letter, "...and having exhausted all other avenues thought possible..." It is now my turn, as I feel the same way. I will share, publicly your letter to me and how you have impacted me. You did not want to talk with me about these issues any longer. I asked and asked in private. So now I am healing in my own way; publicly.
What is an impact letter?
Let me start from the beginning. So, in the morning I awoken by two random transporters; people that I did not know. I was immediately taken to the airport, got on a plane with these same people -- and escorted to Utah. I was taken to a wilderness program. There are a ton of these programs across the country. Mine was located in Duchesne, Utah. It was called Second Nature. I was to take no belongings with me (I did insist that I was to take my diary and I did). And I was driven from Salt Lake City airport to base camp. It was there that I was strip searched, drug tested and given a new set of clothes and an entire system to camp and live off the land -- for a time period that I was not given.
During my stay we were not allowed to know F.I. (future information) -- as they wanted us to live in the moment. Girls stay as long as they "need" or for as long as the therapist insists on their care in the woods. Most teens stay for 8-12 weeks; some stay upwards of 20+. I went to second nature twice; and that is a story for a different post. My first stay, I was there from November 19th, 2007 until February 1st. My second lasted from March 17th until May 1st. During the seven weeks in between; I attended another program that got shut down seven weeks into my stay.
After leaving basecamp, we were driven two hours into the woods -- or into the desert. Technically we were inside "The Book Cliffs" which are a series of desert mountains and cliffs in western Colorado and eastern Utah. They are so named because the cliffs of Cretaceous sandstone that cap many of the south-facing buttes appear similar to a shelf of books. I lived there, not in tents; but inside shelters that I set up every night with a single blue tarp. During the winter stay, there were days where we hiked through several feet of snow. Eventually it became too dense and three girls in our group got frostbite. So, we were taken to a tent site around mid-December. I spent both Christmas and New Years at this campsite.
When we got to the campsite there were approximately five or six girls already there. Initially, I was not allowed to go inside the group -- there were four different phases. Everyone starts out as Earth Phase; which is where you sit alone, outside the group and write your life story. And I did; it was later to be shared to the entire group of people in which I did not know. Psychotherapists then would read and compare your life story to the impact letter your parents (one letter from your mother, one letter from your father) wrote about a week later. The impact letter group was also done in front of these people -- my group mates, staff and my therapist. Every detail of my life was analyzed in front of a group of strangers.
This is my impact letter from my mother. I am sharing it publicly; I am responding publicly. I was shamed publicly; I desire to be exonerated publicly. This is why I am posting these parts of my life so openly. I desire this book to be fully open, combed through -- and burned. I have avoided writing about these moments for thirteen years. I did so at the expense of my own soul; eventually the burden became so difficult to bear, my pen became the only relief. Today I am writing a response letter. How these choices my parents made impacted me and my future. What I saw inside the walls of these facilities are from an insiders perspective; a perspective that cannot be sugar coated with good intentions and money.
I was an angry teen. And I suppressed that anger; as I believed the only way out of these facilities was to distort my truth to the lens that my parents viewed me through. This suppression had devastating ramifications on my mental health. So I picked up my weapon of choice, the pen. I wanted to defend myself against all the beliefs that were stuck onto my soul. I wanted to defend that little child that was so deeply hurt and lonely. I wanted to give insight on my life; and perhaps it can give insight to others as well. I am not the only girl who has been through this adventure; there are many others before me and after me. I want to put a stop to this. So I write and I explain to the best of my abilities. Perhaps in the future parents will begin to understand that their children have been telling them the answers all along; if they would only sit and listen. And stop assuming that it is simply genetic, that it is simply the child.
Below is my mother's impact letter, the exact letter that she wrote me. I dug it out of my father's basement, as when I left second nature -- I took nothing with me onwards to the next program. All my fire burned, campfire smelling shit was sent back home. And my parents packed me a suitcase full of clothes and things they believed I needed for my next placement. It was a system and I was stuck, underage and powerless.
Writing this response is allowing me to take back my own power, to dive into my own existence and to speak for the teenager that once lived in this body I now own. I have zero reason to tell anything except the truth; I am here to liberate myself. I am here to bury that teenager and put her to rest. I honor her with the truth, I honor her with my writings.
I will now respond:
"and having exhausted all other avenues thought possible"
Before this letter, I heard nothing about you knowing about my sexual experiences, or even had a birds and the bees conversation. There had always been an emphasis on boys and how dangerous they were. You had an abstinence policy and very little wiggle room for positive sexual conversations. When I felt that stir in my stomach that itched for someone to touch me, that itched for me to touch someone else; I could not talk with you. I felt incredibly shame from the ways you talked to me about boys. You would tell me not to call them, and when I hung out with boys -- you would frown. It was written all over your face: sex was bad, boys were bad.
What were all other avenues? Therapy once per week with a lady that I did not get along with -- a christian lady that you liked? Were you alluding to medication and learning disability schools? At what point did you feel you were exhausted? I know that direct and intense conversations are difficult for you, yet due to the extreme passive approach; I felt alone in figuring out the world. There is a deep part of me that wishes that you would have expressed these emotions to me. That I would have been warned that this was an option that you were looking into if certain behaviors did not come to a halt.
"that the only way to address lasting changes in the self destructive behaviors that you were exhibiting was to send you away to the program Second Nature."
The hope that you received from those experts made you assume that it would produce lasting change. As if a program could reprogram my mentally to agree with yours. I believe that is the saddest portion, the hope that parents put into these programs. Yet, the outcomes are dismal when you look into the research. The promise made was that of marketing to fearful parents scared for their child's life. Lasting changes come from internal reconciliation, it would come from deep inside me; not from a program, not from a therapist. Changes come when I am ready to change. Back then, I didn't fully understand why I was behaving in the manner in which I was; back then, I was placed inside a fancy holding cell -- protecting me, not helping me.
It also taught me something else that I have battled with for awhile; that I had no help in controlling myself. Instead I must rely on others opinions about whether I was good or bad. I must consume a chemical straight jacket in the form of a cocktail of medications. I lost all trust in myself that day. I began putting my faith in others and their opinions of myself. I began trusting others perspectives and relied on them to tell me what was right or wrong. I stopped believing myself and my story. I began second guessing myself, I began using others as crutches; I began seeing myself and my own psyche as less than. I was not strong enough to get better at home. And I believed that and coming out of that mindset has been excruciating.
The truth is that I am strong enough; the truth is I was good enough; the truth is that I did not deserve this form of protection -- I was a teenager trying to process life in my own way. Sure, I was making mistakes; what teenager does not? It has only been as of late that I began normalizing my behaviors rather than pathologizing every thought, every "bad" mood, every decision. It has been a long road -- but I am here. And I am here not because of the treatment centers you sent me too; I am here because I am a smart, capable woman whose rebellion and wild nature served me well. I am here because of my own strength, my own determination, my own tenacity. I am here because the universe knew I had a message to share, and that I was willing to write it down.
"The specific incidences that led to my decision were those that involved deception and blatant dishonesty, promiscuity, alcohol and drug use [cannabis only]."
I was incredibly dishonest. I would lie about basic information, because at the end of the day -- I could not trust you with the truth. For me, I was caught in the middle of a rock and a hard space. If I was to come forward with the truth I would be punished, if I would lie there was a 50/50 shot that I would be punished. I remember the first time that I realized that honesty did not win; and whatever I told you could be used against me later on. It began prior, specifically when I sat you and dad down to talk about Jennifer. You see, we were playing truth or dare in her room. She dared me to take off my shirt and pants. She dared me to roll around her bedroom floor in my underwear, and I did that.
I came to you and dad. I told you about the predicament that I was inside. I told you to promise not to tell anyone. You see, I wanted guidance on how to handle this situation; I did not want you to call up her parents and to get her in trouble. I did not want to be the tattle-tail; I still wanted to be friends with her. I had zero reason to lie about this situation, I just wanted to come to my parents and tell them what had happened to me. After I told you all, Dad laughed -- of course we are going to tell Jennifer's parents. You had gotten the truth out of me and for the first time my own openness was held over my head. I lost her as a friend. I lost you both as confidants. How could I trust you again? How could I have been so stupid to be so open? I didn't tell you anything from that moment on. I lost Jennifer as a friend as she insisted on her innocents. I had no reason to lie then; I have no reason to lie now. This moment impacted me. It began a trail of lies about everything, even just simple things. I couldn't tell you who I was with, I couldn't tell you that I was going to get ice cream at Wawa with friends -- I couldn't risk the fact that you could do something so heartbreaking to my soul again. I had to find other people to express myself too; and I didn't know who? I was very lonely for a long time.
"The day you did not take the bus home from school and said Maddie was giving you a ride home, but you vehemently and angrily refused to let me speak to Maddie or her mother, led me to become very suspicious."
I remember that day well. I was playing tennis with three other people, including Scott. You see, I missed my bus in order to play with my friends. I had very little opportunity to hang out with others after school, or on the weekends. There was very much a fight to let me see my friends; even when it was innocent. You did see desperation; perhaps you thought it was because of drugs or sex. You see, I was actually desperate for connection. Scott offered to give me a ride home. I accepted, we did not have sex, we did not even have oral sex. I believe we kissed once -- and that was it. It was truly about playing tennis with friends; even that was a battle. I wanted to ride home with Scott. I came home right after, he literally dropped me off at our house. It was innocent, and yes I lied -- I knew that you would not like it if I was riding in a car with a boy. I was sixteen and I felt like I could never escape childhood.
"Later, with much prodding and discussion, you told me that you did not receive a ride home with the Audets. That was in late September. You also gave me two different stories concerning who drove you home from school that day. I grew very suspicious about what you were doing that day and that is when I knew I no longer felt comfortable leaving you after school to wait for the bus. I began picking you up from Archmere."
I felt trapped. I felt incredibly trapped. Even reading that now brings me to tears. I did know how to be honest with you anymore? I felt damned if I told you that Scott was the actual person that brought me home; because, I knew you wouldn't believe me when I told you we weren't hooking up in the back of his car. I felt that I was being monitored everywhere and I couldn't have a moment to be human, to be a teenager hanging out with her friends. School was a comfort to me. It was a place that I felt in control of my narrative. I simply just wanted to have fun -- and even if I told you that? You still would have had suspicions. The suspicions I later learned were projections of your own life history. I was not having sex. I was a virgin. I was a good kid playing tennis with her friends. Everything felt like a battle and I was just loosing; no matter what I said? So why did it even matter if I lied to you? You wouldn't have believed the truth, you saw the worst in me; you wanted to believe the worst in me.
I think that hurt the worst; I took on that image of yours -- I saw the worst in myself, I focused on the worst in myself -- I started not to see the good anymore. My mind was filled with how dirty I was, how dirty you saw me. When at the time, I felt normal. And that's all I ever wanted; was to belong, was to fit in to group of kids where I wasn't the new girl. Where I wasn't weird; and that's what high school gave me. For the one of the first times in my life -- I felt like a normal kid, doing normal kid things. And I wanted to hold onto every moment for as long as I could; so I lied. I lied to you; and I am still not sure if that was "wrong" or "bad". I desired freedom to make choices for myself, I desired a life that was free from the rules of our house. I desired a life that I could live without a constant chaperone. I wanted freedom, lying gave me a chance to have freedom.
"Prior to this episode, in late August, you asked me if you could go to Maddie Audet's house [my neighbor]. You told me an elaborate story about going to her house for a birthday cake and that she wanted to give it to you. When you did not come back right away, I went to Maddie's and you were not there, let alone Maddie was not there either."
It was right after the first week of school. I begged to let you see even my neighbors by that point -- Maddie and I walked to another neighbor friends house, Stacey. Honestly, I just was trying to hang out with my friends. I needed you to let me go, so I made up elaborate stories to get out of the house. It was a battle to get free; I realized when I got to treatment that maybe I didn't have to ask or lie? Some kids just waltz'd out of the house with zero explanation on where they were going. I was followed, stalked by my parents; I felt I owed you an explanation. Plans changed when I got to Maddie's and after convincing you for an hour to even let me go; I was not going to take the change to now tell you that we were going to Stacey's. I did not get in a car with a group of guys, I did not leave to go anywhere. I just wanted to roam around the neighborhood; I just was looking for freedom. It was the same story, different day. I didn't want to sit inside all day? I wanted to be with my friends and experience teenage life. This was the first sip of freedom I have ever tasted; I hated being home. Home was hell and I was constantly devising plans to escape, it was easier at night when you were sleeping. I didn't have to be checked up on constantly; I didn't have to worry about being monitored like a criminal. I got pure freedom -- and I liked it.
"In the not so recent past, when you were 14 years old, you decided to walk to WaWa [less than a mile walk from the pool] with a group of boys that I did not know by yourself when you were not supposed to leave the pool and lied to your Mom Mom about where you had been after she came to check on you and you were not around."
A group of friends that I was hanging out with, that I knew -- wanted to walk to WaWa and get Ice cream and come back. They asked me if I wanted to go; I had to cross a road in order to get there. I knew you would not have allowed me to do this, even at fourteen. So, I lied. I just wanted Ice Cream. The boys were fine; I did not have sex with anyone on the way to WaWa. I did not kiss any of them, and I was not dating any of them. They were friends that wanted to walk to WaWa. You later found out where I was as one of your friends had recognized me in the shop, and told you. To be honest, I am not sure if that was true either. That's how you confirmed I was indeed lying.
You see, once you accused me to sneaking out of the house -- I asked how you believed that? And you told me that one of our neighbors had caught me on camera in the middle of the night. You had run into her at the nail salon. I knew that to be a farce. I felt you were fishing for information. I knew that I had not been caught on camera -- I knew they were wealthy, but I laughed at the fact that they filmed the entire neighborhood. I guess we both have lied about where we got our information -- as you had actually read it in my diary. It was a game of cat and mouse. And I was constantly getting caught. I just wanted to live and write in private. I just wanted to live my own life without the constant supervision.
"This brings me to the various diary excerpts, IM discussions, and letters that were written back and forth between you and Alex that made me question the forward and inappropriate approach to boys and sexual matters, which I found discussed or acted out."
I think page two was the most difficult for me to read. You see, I was still a virgin; reading this letter in front of those that had a body count that would make you blush, Mother. You described my oral sexual activity and the time I flashed some guys at a party. My diaries were a place of comfort, where I felt safe discussing my sex life. Where I wanted to act as though I was a badass; I wanted to seem like a badass in my diaries. The fact was, I was still a teenage girl with a budding sexuality. There is nothing wrong with having sex; even outside of marriage. I understand you were scared that I could have gotten pregnant; however, when did you talk to me about this? When did you give me "the talk"? When did you bring this up to me, privately? Do you know what it was like to read this publicly for the first time? You had not even talked to me about sex prior to this moment.
It hurt me deeply. I felt dirty, I felt disgusting, I felt punished; even though that was not your intention. I struggled with my sexuality, I struggled in sex after that. I could not get you and my father out of that boundary. I've been married for several years, happily. And sex has been a constant problem. I still feel gross -- I still feel like you are watching, reading, seeing me in that environment. I am deeply in love, and I cannot express that without thinking of you, without thinking about these moments. My body felt gross, I felt ashamed for something so natural. I felt invaded for the second time, and you did this. When you read my diaries, when you read about my sex life instead of talking with me; you injured a part of my soul that I need to heal now.
When I was sexually abused when I was younger I felt violated; when you discussed and wrote about these behaviors and I was forced to read them publicly -- I felt violated for the second time. It was traumatic. I did not allow you to read this. Not only did you read this; I was made to think this was okay. For years I struggled with my own self worth, was I only valued according to my purity? I felt like damaged goods; you told me I was forward, you told me in so many words that I was a slut. And towards the end, you expressed concerns that I would become pregnant. Why? Tell me why you thought that? Because oral sex or "manual sexual stimulation leading to his orgasm" created babies? Or was it projection?
There is an ominous line towards the bottom where you said, "Now the reason for your sister saying that you may become pregnant became clear."
These values and lack of direct information was not only a problem that you projected onto me. You did the same to my sister. And in college, it was her that became pregnant. Your biggest fear, a child of your getting pregnant out of wedlock, happened. And in the end -- we have a beautiful baby boy. Besides stating that sex was bad; we never discussed anything more than abstinence. And that was an error, a permanent lapse in judgment that I could not understand. Why were you frozen when it came to sex? I later found out. I later understood. But for a long time; I thought it was because of me. I thought you were perfect, I thought you never were led astray. I thought you were good. I thought I was bad. I thought sex was bad.
After you and Dad divorced you pronounced yourself a born again virgin. That Jesus had wiped you clean after sex with a man; your ex-husband. I saw sex as dirty, as rebellious, as an act of lust and desire. After I got married, I began having panic attacks when he touched me. I began crying when he tried going down on me. Flashes of you and dad would pop into my head during my intimate moments. I would cry and beg not to have sex; and eventually it breeds disconnection in a marriage.
I am writing this to proclaim to the world that I am not in fact dirty. I thought the world saw me as such, I thought the world could read my every thought. I began suppressing the shame until it ate me alive. And if my husband would tickle me on my inner thigh, I would feel pain instead of pleasure. "I was broken," I would tell him with tears in my eyes. I could barely let him touch me without flashbacks to my childhood. My abuser took control of my body; my parents held my mind and thoughts captive. And no matter how many times I took a shower, this type of dirt would not come off. By reading my diaries, you violated me. And I felt the ramification years later. You told me to "drop it", to "just let it go." Yet every time I crawled in bed with the man of my dreams; I could not turn my mind off. This impacted me. This did not heal me; your actions did not help me. They hurt me.
You hurt me, I want you to hear that.
"It was evidently clear we had a problem when we found a large amount of pot and a pipe in our house in early October. According to your diary you smoked pot almost every day in the summer."
I smoked very few times in the summer. If it was offered, I would have done it more -- sure. The summer came and went; a friend had weed that he offered to sell to me. I gave him a $20 bill and he left me a few grams in my backpack. I have written about this before in a post. I borrowed the pipe from a friend. Since a gram cost about $10; I could not have had more than two grams, as if I even knew what that was at the time? Yes, I did smoke once at home; I hated being at home. I wanted to relax. I wanted just to be able to feel calm being around the house. The same day I smoked on the roof; you found the weed and took it. A few days after I sat you and dad down -- that's how I found out you knew. I sat you both down on my bed and directly stated, "you took my weed, I know you did -- it wasn't mine. I need to give it back." You both denied it a few times before you confessed, "okay we took it but you can't have it back." I never heard another word about it. You all did not have a conversation about that with me afterwards -- until I got this letter. How sad. And in my diaries I portrayed myself as a stoner, because I thought it was cool. That was the tone of my writings -- I thought one day I'd publish them and everyone would think I was so cool. That was my teenage mind at the time. I wish you could've seen that. I wasn't writing my entries to you.
I got drunk twice. The night in question where Alex helped me back to my house -- was the first time I got drunk. I snuck out in order to have these experiences. Was it normal to try alcohol in high school? Perhaps? Everyone had different experiences of course. However, I wouldn't rate this experience out of the normal. To date, I haven't drank in two years -- by choice. I found out that if you drink too much, you don't feel well the next day. I do not like this feeling. I have gotten drunk less than ten times in my life. And my underwear? I had not worn any out. I never wore underwear -- I thought that closing one of my entries with this crazy lines of "where is my underwear" was provocative and on brand. I thought it was cool, I thought I was a badass. I thought my writings made me seem like an extreme partier; when in reality, I was barely let out of the house.
I did try and buy mushrooms. And since I have used mushrooms; as I was suffering with extreme depression. I had written a paper in undergrad about how they helped with depression; there are a few amazing Ted Talks on the topic. I was severely depressed, and did not want to take psychotropic medications. It really helped me; and one day I hope to read more research on the topic. I think people see mushrooms as one of the drugs that lead you down the road to heroin. And perhaps that is how you saw it. I know that is how my father saw it. Yet, you stopped the sale; you all were so on top of my behaviors. Yet you stated that you could not keep me safe? I don't understand, I was being monitored at all times? You prevented me from doing everything and anything. I did want to escape back then. I wanted to get out of the house, I did not want to be home. Don't it always seem that you don't know what you are wishing for -- until it happened, until I was out of the house; forever.
Despite constant pondering and introspection, I knew that I could no longer keep you safe. I needed help.
You did need help.
"Laura, you have so many positive qualities."
Reading the last paragraph really made me realize how little you knew me. You saw me as a child, doing cute things; but you did not see me. You did not respect me as a person, you did not understand the things I loved very well. If I had never grown up; perhaps you would have been the perfect mother. To be honest, I don't know you either. I cannot sit here and tell you all the things I love and admire about you -- simply because I don't really know you. That realization is difficult for me to admit. Because there was no one more that I wanted to understand; there was no person in the world that I wanted to know. I wish you could've seen me for who I was; and I wish you would've let me see past your mask.
I hope this letter finds you well,
@laurabell
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