May angels lead you in...

Growing up in the church there is one lesson taught over and over: 

Put others before yourself.

The most commonly recognized biblical reference to this is Christ giving his life to save the souls of his followers. 

This is how I was raised to think.

 I always put my friends and my family before myself.

 I still do.

Often this does cause issues because in the long run I usually get hurt

 but as long as I made someone happy in the process it was worth it to me. 

This lesson was not taught in the program.

The third and final full seminar we had to complete was called Focus. You had to complete this seminar to go into upper levels. 

Some background:

The program consisted of lower levels and upper levels. Levels 1-3 were lower and 4-6 were upper. There was a weird half level called level 3 all-stars which was pretty much preparing you for upper levels. You couldn't be level 3 without completing Discovery and you couldn't be level 4 without completing Focus. There were also three parent child seminar's. The first was held at your facility and the second and third were held off campus. You had to be in upper levels to go to PC2 and PC3. PC3 was also the "graduation" seminar. 

In order to do PC seminars, the parents had to do the regular seminars as well (discovery and focus). 

Back to Focus.

Focus was meant to challenge our "self-limiting beliefs" and force us to face the things we feared most. It was quite a bit different than Discovery. 

There were three major processes in Focus. The release process, the dance, and the lifeboat. I honestly don't remember which order they came in so you get to read them in the order they most impacted me. 

The release process for Focus was a bit different than in Discovery. This time they had us think about all of the negative things we felt about ourselves. Mine included things like "I'm ugly. My family hates me. I will never amount to anything. I can't do anything right. I will always fail." Again, the people staffing the seminar used these things to stir up as much emotion and pain as they could. This process was different though. They had us imagine we were putting all the pain, all the horrible things, into a ball. This ball grew bigger and bigger and bigger. Eventually it grew bigger than me. We imagined we were standing on a cliff, an abyss at the bottom. We had to push this ball off the cliff. It wasn't easy. 

Just for your reference, we were pushing on a wall....

which doesn't move...

We pushed and pushed and punched and cried. So much screaming and crying. Everyone around me was struggling so much. My arms were so sore, my knuckles were bleeding, my head was throbbing. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted the pain to roll away. I wanted to be happy. 

Eventually they felt we had worked hard enough and they had us imagine the ball rolling off the cliff. Falling into nothing. It was over. We no longer had to worry about these things holding us back. 

In the dance process we were assigned a song or a category based on the biggest self-limiting belief holding us back. I don't recall many of them. I remember there was a butterfly, lady in red, and I honestly don't remember what mine was called but it was Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You." It was reserved for girls who felt so lowly of themselves they could barely live with the idea of being the person they were. There were a few people to each group. I had two other girls in my group. We were given boxes and boxes of stage wardrobe to choose from. I chose a red dress. When it was our turn, they played "I will always love you" and myself and the two other girls danced around for everyone to see. I cried. Everyone cried. Toward the end of the song they paused the music and had us stand still in the middle of the room. Three boys came and stood in front of us holding a mirror. The boy who chose me was an upper level boy named Kyle who I had admired the whole seminar. He was not my small group leader but I had seen him around the seminar with so much compassion and love for what he was doing. He had given me feedback throughout the seminar and I felt a strange connection with him. When I opened my eyes there he was with a smile on his face holding my mirror. The final part of the process was the most difficult. The song continued with the chorus and we had to sing it into the mirror to ourselves. I know it sounds silly but it was quite a bit more difficult than you would think given the circumstances of the moment. 

The third major process we were given was called the "Lifeboat" process. We came into the seminar room with the lights dimmed and they asked us to lay down on the floor. We imagined we were on a cruise ship. All our classmates were there. We were having fun. Suddenly there is a loud bang. The staff start banging on tables and walls. Our ship is crashing. Something has happened and there is only one lifeboat available. We have to decide who lives. Who dies. We are asked to think about who has inspired us most in the seminar. Who would have the most fulfilling life. Who deserves to live. We were circled up and individually had to go around the circle and look each individual in the eye and say either "you live" or "you die." We were given four votes. 

I walked around the room devastated. These were my peers. My friends. I wanted them all to live. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing them die. I decided right away I would give up my spot. I wanted them to live. I walked around the circle to each person and gave them my judgement. "You die" resounded in the room. When a "you live" was given the person had to yell their name and "lives!" so the vote could be recorded.

When I had completed my circle and came back to my spot I was asked "Did you reserve a spot for yourself?" 

"No." I responded. 

"Tell everyone the fate you have decided on yourself. Tell them that you don't care enough for yourself to even try to make it onto the lifeboat. Tell them you would rather die."

"Laura dies." I said with tears streaming down my face.

"Not good enough. Make sure they know just how much you have given up on yourself!" 

"LAURA DIES!" I screamed. 

"Good..."

My heart was broken. I didn't understand why they were so upset with me. This was how I was taught to treat others. I put them first. I helped save the others.... Why was this so bad for me to do? I didn't understand how my beliefs I had my entire life could be tossed aside like they meant nothing. 

After all this, we were told to create an "I am" statement. We took the top three or four self limiting beliefs we had and used them to create this statement. It took me a while to decide on what mine should be. After quite some time I had decided on "I am a beautiful, lovable, worthy, and powerful young woman."

This statement would follow me the rest of my time in the program. After each time I shared I had to say my statement. It became a part of me. Engraved in me. Eventually I got a stone with this engraved in it. On the back were the handwritten words "Laura Lives!"

I still have the stone somewhere. 

I found this story from a student at a different school located in Utah. I know this is already a lot to read but this story explains the lifeboat process so much better than I could ever do.

Thanks again for reading. 

Much Love

-LR

Fragile, do not shake.

I don't see myself as a generally angry or overly happy person. I think my emotions are, for the most part, pretty level. I have anxiety which comes up occasionally but I have treatment in place for that.

Back pre-program I was never one to push people though. I would just go with the flow. I was never a leader, always a follower. I had a difficult time saying no to anyone. I let people walk over me all the time. The only people I really fought with were my parents and my sister. As long as I had my music and my friends to talk to I was a decently content person. When things started going south I noticed a fire building in me but I didn't know what to do with it. So I let it sit there. Mostly contained. Protecting me. 

These protections were not okay in the program....They were there to break you.

A little background information:

The reason we (by "we" I am referring to those of us who were in such schools) called it "the program" was because there was a certain set of things you had to do before you could "graduate." Graduating from the school was not the same as graduation from high school. Although I did graduate high school while I was there, this actually didn't factor into the steps I had to take to complete the program. 

There were a set of seminars we had to complete. The facilitators came around every two months to run the seminars. The first of these was Orientation. Everyone graduated orientation. It was a short seminar (I think two days) that really wasn't difficult. The only reason I could think of that a student would have to redo orientation is if they just got admitted to the school and not emotionally stable enough to be off the main campus. I really couldn't tell you what went on in Orientation because I honestly don't remember. It was so insignificant, mostly just preparing you for how seminars work. 

The second seminar was called "Discovery." This was a three day seminar. I can't remember how many months since my arrival it had been but I do believe I "chose out" of the seminar once. In other words, the staff didn't feel I was putting my all into the seminar and they told me I could not return. So maybe five months had passed. I was doing well at this point. I was told I would most likely make it through this second time around. I just needed to open up more. Let people see me for who I am. 

Day one was meant to get to know everyone. The staff, most of which was upper level students, learned your weaknesses and how to push your buttons. We had small groups of maybe 6 or 8 students and we had to share why we were there, what life changing events messed us up so bad we had to go to this school. Then lunch. Then more talking. The facilitator would tell us how we should live our lives. How we disrespected our families. How she knows what we're going through. On and on and on. 

Day two was where things got interesting. We were told to wear our gym clothes as opposed to our seminar clothes. The day started with the usual talk...accountability, tools for success, integrity blah blah blah. Then the good stuff happened. 

We were asked to bring a towel which they rolled and taped (sort of like a crappy bat). Then they asked us to think about all the things that make us angry. Your parents for sending you there, your friends for getting you into this mess, your parents for leaving you there, abandoning you with these strangers. Your inability to communicate with them. The absolute sinking feeling constantly on your chest. For me, this was when I broke. 

I have always loved glass. 

It is a beautiful, strong, and fragile.

It is what I have compared myself to most of my conscious life.

When I say I broke, I mean this persona I created for myself, it shattered.

This is what I have spent the last 10 years trying to fix.

So they spread us all out in the seminar room. Turned the lights down. Put on some depressing music. We sat there for a while and listened to our facilitator bring up all the things we had been holding onto for so long. All the reasons we resorted to booze or drugs or self mutilation or sex. She told us to figuratively lay these images, these stories, these boxes out in front of us. She told us to grab our towels and smash the shit out of them. We screamed. So much screaming. So much crying. We beat the ground with our rolled up towels over and over and over. 

My knuckles bled.

I could not control the vile things I was saying.

It wasn't enough.

They came around and called me a whore.

Told me I wasn't good enough for my parents.

I no longer wanted to smash the floor, I wanted to smash them.

I was angry. So angry.

My glass protection around my soul was cracking.

I desperately tried to repair the cracks.

It was too late.

No one could save it.

This went on for what felt like hours but I imagine it lasted maybe 45 minutes. Toward the end they asked us to quiet down. They played some calming sweet music while I laid on my back nursing the wounds on my hands. I had two emotions running through me at this point. I was relieved that it was over. I got it out. I survived the hard part. Placing all your emotions out in the open for the world to see is an exhausting and terrifying process.

The second emotion would not come to me until later.

Rage.

The following months I continued to work hard. I would get to see my parents at the first PC1 (parent-child numero uno). That went well I believe. My mom had lost a LOT of weight and my dad shaved off the mustache he had had my whole life. It was very difficult believing it was really them. We talked. Did seminar things, I don't remember much of that seminar except my mom realizing that I was bigger than her at this point and I think she even said I could break her if I tried hard enough. That was strange. 

After they left it was back to this reality I was living in. There was always a temporary high after completion of a seminar. And then slowly you come down and realize just how crappy life really is. 

I tried to keep what happened to myself.

They couldn't know that my protection was gone.

I needed to time to repair it.

For the first time since my parents had removed my sense of privacy by reading my journals, I felt the urge to write again. There were rules in place that staff members had to have probable cause to look in a private journal. I thought this was a safety net. I was wrong. Apparently while flipping through my journal (they were allowed to do that) they saw something worth probable cause. I came home from class one day to see half the pages in my journal had been torn out and I was placed on what they called "observation." This meant they felt I may try to injure myself but they didn't have any concrete proof that I would. So I had staff members watching me just a little closer every day. 

I was furious. All I wanted to do was write. All I wanted was privacy. And I couldn't get that. Not anywhere. It was at this point that I realized no matter how well I did, it would come back to this. My wishes not being allowed. So I gave up. 

My already shattered soul caught fire.

The rage I didn't realize was manifesting broke through.

I broke into a million little pieces.

There was so much fury that had been slowly seeping into every inch of me.

I no longer resented my parents.

I was over that.

I resented everything.

Everyone that could not give me what I needed.

Observation turned to "high risk". I got a little plastic bright green band I had to wear on my wrist so everyone knew to watch out for me. I spent days in a room we called "intervention." The rules were simple. Sit quietly for 30 minutes in this disgustingly purple room and you can go back. I couldn't do that. I hated silence. I hated the purple room. I hated my jail keepers. I hated my life. For all I cared I could die right there and nothing would change. My parents didn't want me. I was inconveniencing these people with my "temper tantrum". I wanted an end so badly. I could no longer feel love or compassion. I was convinced I was a monster. 

Eventually I started to calm down. Releasing this fire inside me seemed to sate my demons for the time. I kept my head down and started picking up the pieces of glass I let get destroyed. I spent time in a place called "worksheets" where bad kids went to reflect on what they did. Worksheets was a step up from Intervention though. Intervention was a last resort for the crazy ones. 

In worksheets I was free to write and draw but I had to throw it away before I left. It was here I started to mend the pieces of glass. Gluing them together in an effort to keep this from happening again. I hated it but I loved it at the same time. I loved the feeling of power I now had but the desperation that came with it was not as great. It was only out of absolute misery that this fire consumed me. To be powerful I had to be miserable. 

I have spent these last 10 years repairing my glass box. I suffer from anxiety issues that keep me from doing some thing that most people would find enjoyable. Anxiety from the fear of breaking again. I never want to be that person again. So I keep myself in check. And sometimes that means not doing some of the more pleasurable things my friends would like for me to do. So I keep myself here. Suspended in what I have managed to piece back together. In hopes that I can keep it safe in the future. 

Much Love-

L

PS

Sorry for such a long and slightly scattered read.

 This is sort of a filler into the next entry. 

Which will hopefully be a little more organized...

Life is a bitch...

I spent the last two years of my high school life in a boarding school. Well it was technically a "behavior modification" school for troubled teens. I learned many important lessons during my time there, the most important of which was this:

Life is a bitch, grow up.

I lived a very sheltered life pre boarding school. My parents were very involved in their church and so, by default, I was too. Most of my friends were people from church. I technically was not allowed to have "non-christian" friends, although going to a public school makes that nearly impossible. The friends I did have that were not from my church were "bad" friends as my family would put it. I, being a very loving and accepting person, did not understand what made them so "bad." They introduced me things like good music that talked about things I felt rather than just worshiping God. They showed me books that sparked a love and desire to read about magical things I never knew about. They inspired me to write poetry and draw. They helped me to shape a personality outside of worship practice and bible study. This was too much for my family. It was unacceptable and had to be stopped. 

I began building a wall between myself and my parents. Brick by brick I separated my life from theirs. I became anxious and depressed. My drawings became engravings in my arms and legs. My poetry became dark and angry. I began questioning this religion I grew up so closely intertwined with. My heart was broken, my soul was in pain. 

I became very angry as slowly my privacy was taken away. I could no longer journal for fear of someone reading it and using my words against me. My cd's were stolen and shattered and burned. My beautiful books were torn to pieces. My world was shattering around me.

The fights got worse. Tears fell every day. Hurtful things were said.

Then came something I never ever expected.

It was the day before my sisters 21st birthday. Being that I was only 15 I knew I would not be able to celebrate with her how I knew she would be celebrating. I never expected that I would not even be able to wish her a happy birthday though.

In the wee hours of the morning two strangers came into my room and told me they were taking me to Montana. My parents told them it was okay and I needed to go with them right away. I could not take anything with me.

Just like that everything was ripped away from me.

The students at this school were there for things like drugs and alcohol, gang involvement, lots and lots of sex, physical abuse. Some were court ordered, some were there because their parents sent them. They were all the exact people I was forbidden from befriending...So why was I there?

Now, I'm not saying I was perfect. I did my share of experimenting. I smoked weed a couple times, I tried a couple of my sisters bitch beers, I smoked cigarettes occasionally, and the biggest sin? I had a girlfriend.

Anyway.

The kids in this school were much further past experimentation than I was. Meth, heroin, pregnancies, stealing, gang affiliations. I was swimming in a pool of everything my parents didn't want me around.

These kids were also ruthless. I was innocent compared to most of them and they knew that. It was as though I were thrown into a den of lions. I learned quickly that I couldn't be a child. I had to grow up or be eaten alive.

It wasn't until I returned home that I realized just how much I really did grow up though. I tried hanging out with people my age and they all seemed so childish. I was almost 15 when I left and 17 when I returned.

I am almost 26 now and my two years there have shaped who I grew into as an adult. These last 10 years have been quite the ride and every once in a while I am reminded of just how much I have grown. More specifically, often I am reminded of how far ahead of people my age I am, and how little patience I have for immaturity.

Sometimes I wish it were socially acceptable to be as brutally honest with people as we had to be in school. I think everyone should be faced with some honesty and a reality check at some point in their life.

I would not wish what I went through upon anyone. I just wish everyone had to go through a moment in their life where they were pushed into growing up.

-lcr




p.s.

This is hopefully the first of many posts in an effort to put into words my experiences and how they have changed my life. If you have any questions please feel free to ask and I will answer to the best of my ability.