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#breaking code silence
ofdinosanddais1 · 15 days
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Just a disclaimer for anyone who's planning on watching the Program; the documentary about Ivy Ridge.
If you have religious trauma, a lot of the stuff performed at Ivy Ridge is very similar to a lot of the stuff in youth groups or church camps. Not to the extent of Ivy Ridge because oftentimes only the "good, god-fearing kids" went to church camp but a lot of the brain-washing stuff is very similar to the stuff used in evangelical programs so that could be a lot to process if you are just beginning in your journey of deconstructing all the stuff that happened to you in evangelical spaces.
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gorillawithautism · 2 months
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the only reason my parents know my tti facility was abusive is because i was very nearly gooned to another one in hawaii. my first one was in oregon. i got brainwashed. i was psychologically and institutionally abused. i never once got restrained or assaulted or killed. i am one of the lucky ones. because i didn't go to a program Like That. i knew that there were programs out there that did those things. but my program wasn't one of the bad ones. they didn't hit us. they didn't leave us outside at night in below freezing temperatures. they didn't physically restrain us. i thought the people who ran away from my program were just being rebellious or dramatic. breaking program. i didn't realize i was being abused too. because from the beginning i was taught that the way we were treated was normal. in fact it was good because it wasn't Like The Other Programs.
this is what brainwashing is. it's not about wiping someone's mind. it's not about controlling them like a puppet. it's not about making their eyes glaze over so they're just a zombie. putty in your hands. no brainwashing is a teaching process. it's shaping someones mind. it's controlling their environment and thoughts behaviors opinions existence until they can be controlled. not because they don't have a mind of their own but because their mind agrees. because that's all they know now. i knew about those other programs. my peers within the program had their own stories of worse ones. getting frostbite in the woods. permanent injuries from carrying packs that were far too heavy and didn't fit their tiny bodies right. not being allowed to so much as look at anyone else let alone talk to them or god forbid touch them. for three months straight. i heard about programs like that.
i didn't realize being forced to sit at a table in complete silence and being made to ask for permission to get up for anything as small as going to the bathroom. while everyone else around me could talk and move as they pleased. i didn't realize that was abuse too. because i wasn't on a "silent table" (the name for that punishment) when i was at school. only when i was as the house. because i was on a silent table for a reason. i still hadn't finished a monumental assignment so i was put on a silent table to finish it. it was my own fault. i didn't realize it was abuse. because i knew the rules and i broke them. and they didn't hit me. they didn't kill me. i didn't realize it was abuse when i was alienated from my peers for a day because i wouldn't take my meds from a staff member that i fully believed would be willing to give me the wrong ones. i didn't realize it was abuse because other people had and are still having it worse than i ever did.
i didn't realize it was abuse because, as much as it may sound awful to you, it was normal for me. the punishments i got were because i broke the rules. i still can't bring myself to use the word "refuse" in the context of my own actions and choices. did i ever think i was being treated unfairly. oh yeah for sure. i had a staff member lie and say that i had gotten physical with them. that i'd hit them when they were attempting to wake me up. i didn't. but i had no other witnesses and a staffs word meant far more than mine. so i got punished for it. and would you believe this happened twice. the second time was the same reason i was unwilling to take meds from a staff member. she lied about me. got me in tons of trouble. and i didn't feel safe taking my meds from a woman who would do such a thing to me. i said i'd take them if someone else would administer them. it took about an hour for that to happen. i got punished for that hour of refusal. so yeah. i wasn't treated fairly. many such cases etc etc. but i didn't realize the whole thing was abusive. i just thought certain staff were evil to their core (i still think this about those staff btw). i didn't think the program itself was bad. i didn't know. i didn't know. i didn't know. do you think all the kids who've died have known. why they were killed. i wonder how many of them thought it was their fault.
i almost got gooned to a place in hawaii. they told me i could go willingly with them or unwilling with a "transport service." i chose the third option. but even that program is a light sentence. it even has a mocking nickname among treatment kids because it's notorious for being easy compared to other places. my parents only know my tti facility was bad because telling them was the only thing that was gonna get me out of going to another one. if i hadn't told them. do you think they would've figured it out on their own. would they have been guilty for sending me their. they are now. i relish in that guilt. sometimes i like to twist the knife a little. remind them that i'm broken and it's their fault. just so i can see that guilt surface. maybe that's mean. i don't really care. they stopped being human to me the moment i realized they should have known better. that it was abuse from the very start. that even dressed up in pretty words it was still abusive. do you think they would've realized? if i'd died there? do you think they would know it was their fault? do you think i would have gotten justice in my posthumous existence?
i don't think so. i think they only know because i told them. and i think i only told them because i knew full well i was in danger.
my tti facility held me for two years, five months, and one day. and i didn't die. an unnamed twelve year old boy in north carolina was held for one day. and then he was murdered. a boy in the woods. with neither face nor name. was kidnapped and held for just one day before being killed.
i don't consider him luckier than me. i lived. but i consider him lucky among the murdered. because he didn't live long enough. he only made it through one day
do you think he'll get justice?
i don't think so
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angeldustanalog · 4 days
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idk if this would be an emotional flashback or just like, a memory, because really what's the difference amirite fellow traumaqueers ha ha ha ha ha , but like sometimes when i smell weed, which i do in fact smoke all day every day with my 3 girlfriends who yes also smoke weed bunts so i am very used to the smell, it is very much a staple of my living space and has been my entire adulthood excluding when i was in treatment and couldn't smoke. but like sometimes i smell weed and my initial response is like oh my GOSH there are kids doing DRUGS this is absolutely BUCK FUCKING WILD im gonna get in TROUBLE and DIE which is the normal response and *then* i remember that i am 28 years old and i regularly do harder substances and then im like hmmmm. wtf was that shit. and then i frantically do anything i can to not think about it just nope not going there not today not now not ever ever again
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xxflutterinax · 11 days
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being suicidal from a young age +
abusive but wealthy caregivers +
being sent away indefinitely as a child and only having the possessions that don’t get confiscated or deemed inappropriate as the one constant in your life because you get bounced from institution to institution for years and you get randomly stepped up or stepped down and randomly told you have to pack your shit and switch rooms/dorms/wards for unknowable reasons but if your MCR hoodie comes everywhere with you then you have something to rely on even if the drawstring was taken and ‘lost’ like three admissions ago +
coping with materialism because people are fallible but physical mass produced items are real and true and reliable =
it is 2024 and physical items are getting worse and worse and i can feel the difference in my childhood dolls vs the ones i get now and there is nothing i can do about it and if this carebear i just got has a hole in its seam right out of the box i will throw up blood and bile and void and antimatter and sulfuric acid and spontaneously combust i swear to satan
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🚨 Raise Your Voice! Stand Against the Troubled Teen Industry! 🎗️💔
Hey, Tumblr fam! We need your help to expose the truth about the troubled teen industry and protect vulnerable youth. Check out this powerful video that unveils the harsh reality of these programs and the urgent need for change. Spread the word, raise awareness, and let's make a difference together! 💪
🎥 Watch the video here: the last stop
The troubled teen industry has been under scrutiny for its questionable practices and potential harm to young individuals. It's time to take a stand and ensure the well-being and rights of our fellow teenagers.
💡 Educate Yourself: Learn about the warning signs of abusive programs and know your rights as a teenager. Knowledge is power, and it can help protect yourself and others.
✊ Raise Awareness: Share this video with your friends, classmates, and followers. Use the hashtag #EndTroubledTeenIndustry to join the conversation and spread the message far and wide.
🤝 Support Safe Alternatives: Let's advocate for therapeutic approaches that prioritize compassion, respect, and evidence-based practices. Together, we can demand change and promote safer alternatives for struggling teens.
Remember, your voice matters! Join the movement, share this video, and help us raise awareness about the troubled teen industry. Let's work towards a future where every teenager receives the support they need in a safe and nurturing environment.
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When I was twelve years old, my parents were manipulated into sending me to a wilderness therapy program called Trails Carolina. They were told Trails would save me from my depression and eating disorder. Desperate and scared, my parents fell for this trap.
Two strangers—transporters—took me across the country to North Carolina. They lied to me, saying it was a week-long summer camp. Upon my arrival, I was immediately brought to a dusty shed where my belongings were confiscated and I was instructed to remove all my clothing. They gave me a uniform, hiking boots, and a green backpack large enough I could probably fit in it.
This marked the beginning of a year of abuse.
Phone calls were prohibited. We could only write letters to our parents, which were screened my our group’s therapist, a manipulative woman who later blamed me when another student assaulted me at night.
We hiked for excruciating hours, started fires by striking quartz rocks together, and collected water from nearby rivers to drink.
After three months at Trails, my therapist convinced my parents to send me to Moonridge Academy, a residential treatment center in Utah. There I spent the next ten months.
If you can believe it, Moonridge was worse than Trails. The staff were angrier, less passive, more cruel. You could tell they wanted to hurt you when you misbehaved.
I will never forget J’s screams when they threw her to the ground and tackled her for not finishing her chore.
My friend almost died from neglect at the hands of Moonridge. She pleaded to see a doctor for nearly two weeks, but the staff only laughed at her. They didn’t check on her when she fainted, and they seemingly couldn’t have cared less when she was unable to walk. Finally, when they couldn’t dismiss her anymore, she was dragged by the wrists out to the transport van.
The doctor diagnosed her with anemia, and said if she had spent one more day without medical treatment , she would be dead.
This was not the only instance of medical neglect at Moonridge. Migraines, bronchitis, appendicitis, and even broken bones were ignored for days.
We had no way out. During my weekly fifteen minute phone call, I risked punishment to beg my mom to bring me home. The staff monitoring the call snatched the phone from me. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she’s doing this,” the staff said. She proceeded to spin the story, calling me a liar, until my mom let it go.
I am writing this because my voice matters. Our voices matter. We’re a community who endured hell. I am so proud of all of you for continuing to survive.
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toasttheinkling · 9 months
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so, *nobody* will see this but i will surely have lots of different posts on here- while being an artist who’s a little obsessed with splatoon and slime rancher i am also a survivor of the troubled teen industry (Here on known as the ‘TTI’) and so there will be some... tone differences. my posts can go from “tehe silly look at my scrungle octoling” to “I was starved for 2 days... tehe silly”  For a little more information I was at ‘Bluefire wilderness therapy’ from early to mid 2020- then was at ‘Moonridge academy’ (here on known as ‘MRA’) From mid 2020 to mid 2022. i have MANY stories and thoughts i will be putting here- but also posting stupid ass slime rancher art and splatoon theories- (also i have a little splatoon story in the works) but for a while i might be on a TTI kick because the memories are getting bad again <3 tehe.     
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melanch0lyism · 2 years
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Oh FUCK this. Absolutely not. My blood is boiling.
Here is a list of things that I saw/experienced firsthand in one of these wilderness programs or heard from other survivors:
-Your parents give people (who have no childcare qualifications) the right to take you from your bed in the middle of the night. They are allowed to physically restrain you. They are allowed to lie to you about where you’re going.
-Restraints from these transportation people caused somebody bone fractures. They were not allowed medical attention for two weeks. This is just one of many stories about how this legal kidnapping often causes lasting physical/emotional issues.
-Once you are forcibly strip searched by strangers and dropped off in the middle of the woods, you are given one outfit to wear no stop for a week that will not be cleaned during that time. You eat food full of ash out of cups that are cleaned with dirt and the one bandanna that you also use to clean your body twice a week. These places will restrict food if they feel you are too fat despite hiking 5-10 miles with a 30 pound pack.
-One of these groups had to drink puddle water off of the ground in the woods because THERE IS NO RUNNING WATER
-One of my best friends was in a wilderness therapy group that was not provided adequate gear to protect them from the cold in the mountains of Utah in the dead of winter. And you wanna guess what happened? THEY ALL GOT HYPOTHERMIA. THE STAFF DID NOT CARE.
-And, of course, contact with parents is restricted. All phone calls are monitored by people who work for these programs. You are forced to lie about how well everything is going so your parents will keep you there and keep dishing out money.
I didn’t even get into the emotional abuse because that’s something I have less personal experience with (but don’t get me wrong, it happened.) If I left anything of importance out please message me and I will be more than happy to add to this post.
I will scream this as many times as I need to- I was not an entitled brat, I was suicidal because something’s wrong with my biochemistry. It’s as simple as that. This is not “tough love” for “spoiled” and “entitled” “snowflakes”. This is the legal kidnapping of children and deprivation of basic human needs as a cash grab and the way netflix is framing this is sickening.
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greatestrobbery · 2 years
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Why Go - Pearl Jam
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We will not back down till justice is served!
#breakcodesilence #iseeyousurvivor #breakingcodesilence #troubledteenindustry #thisisparis #abuse #parishilton #stopchildabuse #survivor #boardingschool #provocanyonschool #trauma #mentalhealth #program #kidnapped #troubledyouth #escuelacaribe #helpingothersheal #makeachange #toughlove #physicalabuse #mentalabuse #thisisnotok #unitedwithonevoice #traumainformed #ptsd #verbalabuse #parishiltondocumentary #welshwarhol #welshartist #crosscreekprograms #crosscreekprogramsabuse #crosscreekprogramsabuse #troubledteensfightback
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sazabi-rot · 1 year
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I'm going to be 22 next year. I dropped out of highschool in tenth grade and was sent to rehab after going into a catatonic state. I spent two horrible years in Utah, and for seven years before that and three years after I spent my time strolling through every street in Hell. My parents sent me almost all the way across the country at the age of seventeen because they didn't know what else to do and were lulled in by false promises of a fixed son. I came out of the trouble teen industry at 19 with brain damage from numerous concussions, a faulty wisdom tooth operation that had to be redone because the institution didn't believe me when I kept telling them that my pain wasn't normal (it wasn't. My parents had to phone in to the facility and tell them to take me back to the orthosurgeon. Turns out he left around half a jagged wisdom tooth in that constantly snagged against my tongue and healing gums. They got it out the second time around.). I left with the knowledge that if you did anything deemed slightly out of the status quo you would be punished. No concept of positive reinforcement. For more severe infractions you would go on "reflection" a penalty where for weeks on end you were not allowed free time, couldn't watch TV or partake in snack time, and had humiliating public punishments that sometimes didn't even align with the crime. Two people had a relationship that was off limit. The punishment for one of them aside from the normal reflection? Had to give a presentation on their scoliosis. Their private medical history. A sideshow they prepared and showed us pictures of their curved spine and them in thick back braces. They cried. No one comforted them.
Another person had the ability to work. Had gotten to that point in the program. They relapsed. Bought a vape. The price to pay for that was no contact with anyone other than staff for two weeks straight. We had to play a part in it. Couldn't look at him. Couldn't talk. Wave. Gesture. He broke. Quickly.
I remember treatment team. A thing everyone had to go to once a month or so. Check on your progress. I always felt I wasn't being moved along the programs 4-step rank as fast as I should be. I never got in any fights. Didn't talk back after the first month. I forget the exact motto of the place, but it was rooted in blind compliance. Accepting what the staff says without asking questions (Though I've read accounts from former staff who admit they themselves weren't quite aware what the rules were at times either. The requirement was to be a high school graduate as a "family teacher" position, the staff we interacted with most. No training in how to deal with severely emotionally and behaviorally unstable 13-20 year olds. According to the former teachers, they had one days of shadowing an already established family teacher and then were set loose. Some were better than others, naturally. Some were monsters. One man ended up being convicted of sodomy of a minor. I hope he rots in jail. I hope the child he hurt will heal.). Back to treatment team. I went up with the question: "I've been here almost 7 months. Why am I only in the second rank? Your own website says people graduate 12 months normally (it almost never was.). What am I doing wrong. People who got here months after me are leaping through the ranks and I'm sorry but I want to know what I can do." I was crying by that time. I will never forget when one of the therapists looked me in the eye and told me in no uncertain terms. "You see what you're doing? This is why you're not progressing through the program.
My crying. She was talking about my crying.
What else is there to expect really though from this place. The place where sometimes my therapist would go weeks without seeing me without offering a reason why. The place where I confessed to my therapist that another student was bullying me and instead of doing something about it or comforting me or giving me ways I could deal with it myself, she told me "sometimes people have reasons for bullying other people". The place where one of my friends broke a leg playing soccer and despite the screams they wouldn't take her to the urgent care until the next morning. I can only imagine the horror on their faces as they were told she needed surgery. The place that covered up the sexual assault of another student while we were on an outing, making her be complicit in the cover up, unable to tell anyone, even her parents in a letter. The place that left knifes out around the mentally unwell. The place that enforced group punishments. I'll save the most unhinged example for another post. The place that makes students help staff restrain other students. The place that was supposed to fix me, only to leave me as even more of a shell than what I was.
So I flew back across the country two years later on a rare home visit, just barely having achieved the third rank, when my head injuries were made worse by the concussion I received from a sharp edged table. I had to go to the hospital. I started getting migraines, ones that wouldn't stop. I suffered through two months of constant migraines before I was admitted to the hospital for a course of intravenous DHE, a last resort migraine treatment that leaves you hooked up to a near constant stream of the DHE, a miracle medicine that stops migraines in around 5 days time. They had to keep switching veins. Mine ended up so shot that pretty soon they needed an ultrasound team to come up and search for a vein that wasn't completely blown out every time they needed a new hole. But they saved me. Not the DHE, the migraines themselves saved me. My parents agreed to not send me back. After two years I was free.
I didn't know about the shackles of PTSD yet in the blissful honeymoon period, or that at the age of 21, 3 years after I got out at 19, I'd still be having flashback nightmares about the place. I didn't know that the previous "family teacher" I mentioned above would get arrested for being a pedophile, one who had unlimited access to young teens, one who was allowed to watch over them as they sleeped, one who I had conversations with. I didn't know my friend, the one who broke her leg, would take her own life after she graduated. After she was supposedly "fixed". I didn't know my closest brush with death would be after the program that was meant to save me, after I kicked back a bottle of pills and ended up in an ambulance hurtling through red lights to get me to the ICU. I didn't know what dying really felt like until after.
I didn't know.
No one knows the horrors and effects of the troubled teen industry, until you're a survivor of one.
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Breaking code silence
Videos dedicated to exposing the horrifying troubled teen industry (tti)
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kimberlyborelli · 2 hours
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Researches Part 2
March 13, 2024:
I did part 2 of my research progress.
I read the reviews about that facility:
June 8, 2021: Only the illness counts and not you as person.
October 7, 2020: Staff wasn't friendly nor trained. No understanding of illness related behavior. Station was far too narrow for 10 people. Had to sleep on the floor. Anorexic had to walked up and down the narrow hallway.
May 12, 2020: I was there for six months. I wasn't allowed to leave my room. I also had to eat my meals alone in my room. I was only allowed to shower and go to the toilet if I was accompanied. If I behaved incorrectly, I received punishments. I self-harmed a lot in the beginning just to finally get out of my room. Worst time of my life.
WTF!
Why they get away with this?!
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angeldustanalog · 10 days
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i am watching the sandwich family compilation, again, and i want to die.
i don’t understand why people act like children aren’t human.
like i understand its hard to be a caregiver and also if you’re so fucking disgusted to have a child who needs help but you think it’s a good idea to do it anyway just fucking cull yourself.
‘i didn’t know what else to do’ razorblades existed before i was born. did you not know? so did ibuprofen. so did buildings more than two stories high.
why did you bring me into this world.
and when i try to leave im considered insane and selfish. i didn’t want to be here and now i am and they wont let me leave and when i try they lock me up.
and if i leave on my own terms, i go to hell.
fantastic.
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ceydivasquez · 7 months
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I feel them clawing at my skin
Chunk by chunk, piece by piece and thread by thread being ripped away from me
They’re trying to glue down everything that isn’t me
Trying to rip off everything that is
My flesh, my thoughts, my passion, my love
All in a pile on the floor at their feet
Ripped off by the hands of people I loved, clawed through by the people I trusted
Trying to create something they deem lovable
All the while they stripped me of warmth
Im watching them parade around on everything that made me me. Everything I wanted to be. Celebrating like they’ve conquered a monster
And once it was realized there was nothing left to take or change,
my flesh, my thoughts, my passion, my love
Were left on the floor and trampled as they went on their ways
I am clawing at my skin
Chunk by chunk, piece by piece and thread by thread I am trying to put it all back
Trying to glue back everything that was me
Trying to rip off every fingerprint left on the pieces taken from me
I’m a shell of everything I once was. Of everything I wanted to be. Now I’m a monster.
Mis-matched pieces stapled to my core, pieces of a puzzle mangled beyond repair
Pieces ripped off and taken by the hands of people I loved, clawed through and ravaged by the people I trusted
Im trying to recreate myself into something I can love again
All the while everything that made me love me was already stolen or shredded
And once it was realized there was nothing left of me I could put back together or love again,
my flesh, my thoughts, my passion, my love
Were left on the floor and trampled as I went on my way too
CV
7•26•2023
Revised of 7•25•2023
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