Surviving Straight Inc ®

Columbia, MD, Virginia Beach, VA - Yorba Linda, CA Survivor Stories

April Sizemore, Virginia Beach, VA Straight 89-91

My name is April Sizemore. I was bought to my hell on earth at the Springfield facility D.O.E 3-3-89, 25 days before my 16th birthday. Sometime later I was transferred to Chesapeke Va along with several of my friends most of which were already what I would call prisoners, before I got there. I spent the next 21 months there and only got out because I hit my oldcomer one morning so she would release my belt loop and i ran for it cause i was in a host home in Newport News Va where I was familiar with the area. I was tackled however and held face down by the other newcomers and bc i was fighting while being restrained, the host family called police. Thank God. The officer came and got the story from the host mom. By then he had already put me in the back of his patrol car so when i saw him coming toward me i shook in fear just knowing he'd return me to my oldcomer and I'd be on my way to the building where I would be confronted, screamed at by my peers as spit flew in my face, and if I even moved to avoid the spit, be thrown to the floor and restrained for God only knows how long. But..he did something that saved what was left of my soul. Officer Bishop told me he was recovering alcoholic and he didnt know my situation but he did know that forcing me to go back to that hell hole could not and would not help me to be sober if i did have a problem and would most likely cause me to instead rebel and do exactly the opposite. He told me he was not taking ne back and he would take me to a halfway house near by. Although it was by now, Dec of 1991 and I was only about 3 months from 18, the legal age you had to be to sign yourself out, I could not stand another day of my hair being tightly slapped back in barrettes, clothes 2 sizes to big, daily confrontations, spit included, hard plastic blue chairs all day every day where you were physically made to up perfectly straight feet flat on floor, hands on knees and facing forward at a cynder block wall with only the huge wooden squares with the 12 steps of NA on it. Along with this was the 3 long and ridiculous, sessions we would have morning , afternoon & evening, where we were called on 1 at a time to voluntarily stand up and tell everyone in our warehouse like building, what drugs we had done or even experimented with before coming into straight, and the forced to tell a story of your past fit the subject matter of that session. If the staff or other clients did not like or believe your story, hands would go up and everyone would move and wiggle furiously to be called on so they could get in your face and yell and scream at you until you changed your story or told one more humiliating and or violent than the first. This was what had to be done to move up in the phases of which there were 5, and hopefully graduate because other than turning 18, that was your only way out of the program.

It was an everyday heart breaking , mind scrambling, soul stripping aeld esteem destroying process and if you didn't participate, they would call on you anyway and when you chose not to say anything, you were in for confrontations from multiple other clients that included insults, name calling and humiliation to make one submit into the powerless, helpless, shell of a human we all became even after only a couple of months of this treatment and I had been enduring it now everyday for 21 months. Even right down to having to talk about in detail several times over, the sexual abuse I had suffered at the hands of my stepfather from age 9 to 14. Couldn't just say you were abused no, you had to tell a whole group of people you barely knew boys and girls all in one room, a specific inncodent in detail, how it happened and how you felt about it. Sometimes only to be called a lier in the end and basically made fun of by the very people you were told you had to trust to tell your deepest secrets to. I hated every second of every day of my life and almost everyday prayed to die. Officer Bishop released me from this torture and finally for the first time in what seemed like decades. i felt like i could breathe without the fear of being thrown down on the floor, arms jerked up behind my back and legs crossed with my feet on my butt as far as they would go without breaking and held there by at least 2 other clients for as long as the staff saw fit.

I'd love to say I was finally free but as the years have gone by I have realized that I am only free from the building and the rules and the old, holding on to my belt loop every time I made a step and having to ask to pick up my Fork or my cup or even toilet paper to wipe my ass. Yes I am free from those things but the memories in the emotions that remain from that horrible most torturous time of my life still remain & still affect me on a daily basis write down to being admitted to the hospital when I was in pre-labor with my twins and completely freakeing out because they told me they were admitting me & then almost signing myself out Ama because I did not and could not deal with being put somewhere where I did not have the freedom to walk out the door, to stand up, to use shampoo or take a shower without a clear shower curtain and three people watching me, all of these things have played a great part in my adult life and have made things that normal people would think of as normal absolutely terrifying.

I've been diagnosed with severe PTSD and bipolar and even though I have had some treatment for the PTSD I cannot and will not admit myself to any type of treatment center they can potentially really help me because of the fear of being basically locked up and locked down. I was molested,sexually abused and then because I did not deal with it in a way that the adults around me and the people who love me thought I should have, I was locked away into a place that for the next two years daily tortured me and punished me because I was abused. After doing some research I discovered this morning that even twenty-five years later or so that's some people and survivors are still having memories come back to them that they didn't even know they had because they have disassociated themselves with the whole time that they were in there and these are people who only in there for 6 months to a year I was in there for almost two. Thank God shortly after I was taken to the halfway house I heard on the radio at the straight Incorporated building in Chesapeake along with a few others had been rated by Social Services it was closed down and clients all or sent home do to the abuse sexual mental emotional and physical. All of us who were there will it be 6 months 4 or six weeks, have scars that will forever remain and affect everything from not being able to keep a job bc of a boss that makes us feel like we are being made to be somewhere we really don't want to be and being made to do something we don't want to do to necessary and life-saving medical care we refuse bc the thought of being admitted to facility of ANY type is to terrifying to even try to explain.

Unless you were there you can not possibly understand what hell I & my friends and companions have endured and still live with some of us not even knowing that its the whole reason we have the mental & emotional issues we do. I thank God for my freedom everyday and for Officer Bishop of the Newport News Police Dept. and pray that myself and other survivors can someday recover from this. I will be hearing from someone today who will be giving me options to deal with my issues and hope anyone reading this will do the same.

Kate Gregory, Virginia Beach, VA Straight 1989-1991

I was in DC for a couple months and the rest of time- year and a half- I was in Virginia Beach.

June 7, 1989 to February 1991

Admitted to Springfield then transferred to and liberated from Virginia Beach Straight.

While I was cleaning my room today I thought, “Of course I get overwhelmed with memories”. The things that happened to us do not make sense. Oh, people go through worse, I do know that. I try to keep things in perspective….. but still, when I think about it, it all seems so...so unnecessary.

When I was a teenager my step brother was put in a drug rehab called Straight Inc. This place was a family treatment center; the parents and siblings had to participate in treatment. After he had been in the program a few months, I got drunk with two of my friends before school - as a sort of celebration of the last day. I was 16. That is the only explanation I have; it was stupid. But what happened because of it feels like a nightmare.

It was obvious I was drunk and my parents were called. They took me to Straight. You would think a long term drug rehab would not accept someone who had a relatively minor history with drug use, but they had no problems with that. In fact, they taught us about “dry druggies”. Kids who acted like a druggie but did not do drugs. To act like a druggie: you fight with your parents, are rebellious, make bad grades, run away, smoke cigarettes, etc. All things I had done.

Also, my brother had gotten honest with getting high with me on a Talk.Talk is what you could earn after two weeks of being in the group. Talk gave you the priviledge of talking to your parents under very strict guidelines- apologize for a past incident . An oldcomer would be with you so they made sure to watch you.

Because of this confession and my drunkeness my parents were suspicious I was a drug user and thought I needed to go to a place that “worked”. After all, Nancy Reagan vetted the place.

I just learned that they stopped an investigational hearing involving Straight. Keep that in mind while you read this and other stories. The place could have been shut down a decade before I was even there!

I spent that first day in a small white room being interrogated by two girls, told I was lying, strip searched, and then led by my beltloop to be introduced to the group. You were not allowed to walk freely, you had to be held by your beltoop by another teen. The “group” was hundreds of kids, boys on one side and girls on the other. There were no windows in this room. The only thing on the wall were the 12 steps and three signs. You had to sit in blue chairs all day- from 9 AM to 9 PM in DC- and attend rap sessions. (I actually think in Virginia Beach it was 9 AM to 6 PM which is still a long time. ) In the blue chairs, you had to sit up straight, with your feet flat on the floor, hands on knees. You were not allowed to talk the first few days. You just watch-watch what they do to you if you lie, if they think you are lying.

They would confront kids, yell at them, spit in their face and if you tried to wipe it off they held your hands down. You had to look at the person talking and if you did not they would physically force your head in the direction. They came down the rows in between raps and shoved a fist down your back to make sure you were sitting up straight. If you did not motivate you were made to. Motivating was how you got called on and hard to explain. It was vigoursly moving your arms, but more than that...a full body movement.

(you should look it up. It was really weird)

Each rap had a Past and Now section. When you sat down the whole group would say Love ya (insert name). Between raps we sang songs. Songs like “Row Row Row Your Boat”, “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore”, and “Straight is It”. Nursery school stuff. You could not read- I remember saying, “I accidentally read that sign” on first phase. You could not talk to other newcomers. In the host homes there were alarms on all the doors and windows. You had to ask to pick up what you needed. I had to actually say “Can I pick up my fork, Can I pick up my pencil” . They locked up the spices. My dad had to get permission to play the piano because it was music and newcomers were not allowed music or TV.

It was all….. so bizarre.

Every Monday and Friday we had Open Meeting. Parents and siblings were required to attend this. The first Open Meeting after my arrival I had to give an introduction to the group. There were very stict guidelines for this. You said your name, what drugs you did, and if you think you are a druggie you say that but if you do not think you are a druggie you say nothing. To make your drug list was unusual.

My official drug list was : pot (a few times, maybe 3 I think. But that was justifying to say the amount. Even once was indictive of a problem at Straight.) , alcohol ( again-a few times I tried it, less than 5 for sure. ) trash drugs (I had to say this because I heard of sniffing glue once and tried it with a friend. It did not work but I had to say ‘trash drugs’ beacuse my intent was to get high. Also I used white out on papers and that was a trash drug. Years later when I got out that friend was expressing her doubt at me being an addict and I pointed out that I did try to sniff glue with her. That was pretty desperate. She said “it was Elmer’s”. ….I mean…. now it sounds like stupid kids messing around…...) over the counters (maybe I didnt really have a headache,,,,anyway everybody puts that on their list……), and prescription drugs (one time I took a pill of my mom’s to see what would happen. Nothing did btw. But again, intent). My introduction went okay and then I had Mic (Mike??) Talk.

That is when the parents stand up and the kid has to stand up and -in front of everyone- the parent says into the microphone: I feel____ (angry for instance) about _____(the time you did whatever) because ______(it shows you lack responsibility). I feel about because. And you could say nothing except “I love you” to your parents. Anything other than that, you got restrained. A lot of the times I opted to remain silent except to my sister. You should have seen what it did to her to have to give a Mike Talk. To her I always said, “I love you”.

An example of the gross misrepresentation that would happen: My stepmother kept giving mike talks that I was a Satan Worshipper because my friend wrote “Never forget the Sisters of Satan” in my yearbook. He thought it was funny. I (we, maybe) called them that instead of the “Sisters of Mercy” because they *gasp* made us do work and we thought it had a nice ring to it. I remember being stood up in Review and yelled at for being a satan worshipper. I finally told my stepmother when I made it home: It was a joke. And she stopped. But….really?

Review was a confrontational rap held after Open Meeting. It was awful.

At some point within the first few weeks, once the DC group had seperated us into the Virginia Beach group, I announced I was not a drug addict or alcoholic. I mean, give me a break. (I think the people who know me would agree.) When I said this, I was confronted. Why would I be here unless I had a problem? And, in some ways they had a point. I had done many things wrong. Denying my drug problem meant I was “In Denial”. And therefore staff assigned someone to sit next to me to nit pick me. If my feet were not flat on the floor, they were to make them. Hands not on knees? Move them. Not motivating to get called on? Make her. (It is not that the other kids were mean; if they did not do this, they would be next confronted and put on newcomer status... for being weak and enabling me to go back to my druggie ways.) I was called on and confronted for things my parents had given Mike Talks on and for things they made up. I could say nothing. If you talked back, they covered your mouth and restrained you.

Kids restrained kids there for things like not motivating or sitting up straight. I got restrained quite a few times. Once after being restrained, I had some really nasty looking bruises. And that was because I was not sitting still; I was rocking myself. Not hurting anyone but we were on the floor for that rap. I do not know how other places restrain clients but at Straight in Virginia Beach they threw you facedown onto the floor and held your arms and legs together behind you. (DC I remember was different.) It reminds me of being hogtied. But without the ropes. People.

I do not remember what finally made me give in, start working the program, and admit I had a drug problem. But I did and eventually, I made it home to second phase and then third where I had to go to school. At school, I ran into an old friend. A so called druggie friend. Anyone who joked about drugs or did drugs was a “druggie”. She and I had never done anything but we had joked. I remembered that. I told her I could not talk to her and she was confused but respected that. After I ran into her, I was scared I would get in trouble for talking to a druggie friend so I “copped out”. That means ran away.

What I actually did: I went to the library and read all afternoon until my mom and sister found me. They took me back to the building…….. and I was back on front row. Back to all the nit picking and being confronted.

I ran away two more times after that and each time I was brought back. When I first talked to my dad about how wrong it was I was there at all ( this was years after Straight; my kids were born….) he said “well you kept running away!” and “you didn’t do what you were supposed to!”. I challenge anyone to live under those conditions for months on end and not eventually take off or do something impulsive. We were under constant survelliance. Can you imagine having to ask to pick up your toilet paper? Being led around by your beltloop? Having to lead others and be aware of them? I wish I could explain the fear, the dread, and the isolation I felt every day.

Furthermore, it was impossible to do whatyou were supposed to. You were at the mercy of staff not to start you over for the dumbest thing. I once got put on a No Phase for saying a cuss word in my Oldcomer Introduction at Open Meeting. A No Phase is an indefinite amount of time back on first phase; but if you don’t mess up again you get off and go right back to the phase you were on. You do not lose your status. I remember other people getting started over for stupid reasons like not locking the closet door. Started over is back on newcomer status and having to start all over from the beginning.

It was all such a scam.

Those that know my parents, know they love me. Something went horribly, inexplicadly wrong.

And here is the thing- this is not some isolated incident. I am not anyone special. A lot of the kids there did not really have a drug problem. They were just kids. Stuck in the same stupid cycle I was. Some did have a drug problem I gather but I still question that the way they messed with our mind could have been all that helpful.

At some point in my program I went on a diet. I liked losing weight and then I did not want to eat for fear of gaining weight. At first, everything was ok but after I lost too much weight they came down on me pretty hard. Handed out consequences (punishments) for not eating, stood me up and made fun of me often. It did not matter though, I still would not…(could not)…. eat.

So they decided to make me eat.

THey held me down and poured Ensure down my throat. Then made fun of me for spitting it back up. But I do not think that was a voluntary reaction. I think I was choking.

That is the perfect example of that place: no respect for personal freedom or dignity.

I do not know what was worse-being confronted and restrained or watching another teen get raked over the coals while there was nothing you could do. I am haunted by memories of teenagers who stood vulnerably in front of hundreds of people and were grossly humiliated and degraded. I should have helped them, reassured them. I remember fondly the times someone stood up to staff for me and think how brave they were. I made good friends there. Do you know some of those kids were thirteen?.......... I can not imagine.

Or was it worse doing the confronting? Anyone who worked the program eventually made it to second phase which was Oldcomer status. You had to be strong they called it. What they made us do feels unforgiveable. I admire the few teens I saw who never gave in. I am honestly not sure how they stood it. To get to fifth phase, where I was, you had to be a real asshole. I can remember completely selfish things I did to people. From one perspective it was understandable but from the other perspective, I was …..a real asshole.

I am the bad guy in someone’s story. I feel a lot of guilt about that, and I am sorry.

All of it shaped me. Even though I fought it in the beginning, eventually I came to “realize” I too had a drug problem. Being a druggie set me apart from others and being from straight isolated me further from my contemparies. I felt like I had very little in common with anyone unless they were from straight. For many years.

I have seen it written that the people who started Straight, and still take credit for how great it was, say those of us still affected by this should “get a life”. I have a life, thankyouverymuch. A good one. The people who know me IRL know this.

At the same time, I think it is understandable that it is difficult to let go of this. I do not see why any adolescent would benefit from being treated this way. It bothers me that places like Straight still exist. How? Why? The messages I got from there, the lessons I learned, have made many situations in my life….. just unnessarily hard. Even now it comes up, and I have had to work hard at not being overwhelmed in certain situations and places. That is what started this whole rant!

I liked this petition and what it says http://survivingstraightinc.com/survivors_request_for_apology_1_apology_received

http://survivingstraightinc.com/home is a good place to go to understand more about this place.

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