Pardon my blunt language and longwindness:
In a world after 9/11, to whom do I talk to about this matter? My mother and step-father will not admit to the criminal and Satanic mistake they made with these Mormon-Republican devils. Oh, before you think I'm a Liberal Democrat wacko, I'm not. I'm a Catholic Republican and I would never do this to anyTHING alive. How can anybody ever be convinced a Nazi/Soviet style concentration camp is the answer for petty teen behavior? Furthermore, these parents, the Baby Boomers, who all boozed it up in Studio 54 and fucked each other silly at college orgies of the Animal House magnitude, has the hypocritical gaul to PUNISH their own FLESH AND BLOOD for the very same actions? Speaking as somebody who can't recover no matter what I've tried in life, the children today are the same children we've always been. We're children, being wild after World War II. How dare the parents think they are better than us when they acted just as us! Who the fuck do they think they are, passing judgement against us? As Americans, we're entitled to DUE PROCESS OF LAW, and are innocent till proven guilty. Judges are either appointed by politicans elected by the people, in a Right granted by God via the Declaration of Independece, Articles of Conferderation and the Constitution, or are elected directly by the people thereof, in the same manner of dictation via the Three Founding Documents. Ergo, only God Himself can send us to these places under American Law. Yet, our parents decided to send to these places for "help". What kind of help did I get? NONE! I'll explain in detail.
After being led to a trip to LA for no reason at all (and I packed movies and video games for the trip), I was tackled in the LA airport where the movie The Net has a scene of Sandra Bullock eating pizza, waiting for her plane. To this day, I can't go near LAX, nor watch that scene in The Net for occurance of a mental breakdown. Similarly, I can't watch the Disney movie Heavyweights at all, nor Girl Interrupted. Those if I got treatment like in Girl Interrupted, I doubt I would've become a confused, hateful, sex-crazed maniac. Anyways, as I said, I was led to LA for no reason some time between Fed. 29, 1996 and Mar. 14, 1996. In was the Friday following the 29th, I remember that much.
Recently beforehand, I had decided to dropout of high school. A friend of mine was in home schooling and was only 15 and in college, so I was considering it. I also applied at over 50+ places for a job earlier in January, and was eagerly awaiting word from them. Furthermore, I was an aspiring author, and my mentor, who died shortly after my return in 1998, was coaching me on becoming a professional author for writing computer articles. I was also working on home anime movie efforts with another friend of mine, who was an anime freak. No doubt we would've started a dot-com and bailed at the last minute. Lastly, I had an approved internship awaiting at Westwood Studios, the makers of Command & Conquer game series, plus numerous contacts throughout Hollywood and TV stations. Tru Hawkings of AM 720 KDWN Las Vegas and his fellow DJs were a big help for me. To this day, my mother assumed I was a "troubled" teen because I sought to jumpstart my life by leaving conventional high school and wanted to get home schooling.
Well, thanks to missing those two years of my life (16, 17), I never finished high school, I can't concentrate at college (since 1998 and counting), I can't hold a job of any kind, and due to my inability to lose weight, I can't join the Military (hey, not a pretty alternative, but better than being penniless, which I am now). Other problems I have deal with me, time stopped on March 16, 1996, when the bastards caught me. Everything since then is amnesia. I wake up screaming every night, in a cold sweat. I have nothing but nightmares of that place, and fear sleep in the night, though that's a bit strange, considering they made us "sleep" with the lights on. Anyways, it's sad that Clayton Bowman, a fellow they made me go through one of their "seminars" with, was wasted away into skeleton and now lives in a mental institution forever, since 1998. He left right after I did.
I got lucky.
When I left on January 16, 1998, my 18th birthday, I informed the director, that fucking Mormon bastard Brain Vaifanua, that my family is full of Free Masons and Mafia. He chuckled at first till I saw written proof that the the Samoan Government had learned of my existence and I was freed via that. I don't know about the Mafia part (how much power did they have after Gotti went to jail), but the Free Mason paid off. I was free. Poor Clayton didn't leave till a little bit after me. The few times I did get to see him afterwards, he was gone. Far out. I mean it. He was also scarred, as am I, with ringworms and other ailments. My mother, after my return, couldn't figure out why I couldn't work, wouldn't do my school work, smoked heavily, didn't show up to anything, refused to talk to anybody associated with WWASP programs, and went into sex and drugs like a man posessed. Because I was. You would be, too, if you went thru just one day of what I went through for 22 months. 22 long months. Sadly, all of the evidence I'm aware of my stay has been destroyed. A common pratice, I've heard. But every year that has passed since March 16, 1996, I want to die a little more. I'm called a bum by my friends, but I've not shared my experiences with them. As already stated, my parents turn away, refusing to acknowledge anything about it. My mother's given me over $50,000+ to shut up about it and not go to court. I still refused. She gave me a house in Pahrump, NV, worth $210,000, and I've still thinking of causing a stink. You see, I can't comprehend anything. Quickly, and unfortunately, I have to use those "seminar" "skills" to turn bad situations around in my favor because why I do or say I am wholly unaware of. Like I said, I don't remember ANYTHING from January 16, 1998 till a few hours ago, if that. Oh, I know 9/11 happened that that we're fighting Gulf War II in Iraq, and that I've had sex and did drugs and such, only because people and pictures exist of me doing as such. No actualy recollection exists in my head about it. None.
Example, a Japanese girl who lives in Green Valley, NV, named Yuko, claims I fathered her child, and that we were lovers in 1999. Huh? I set up an extract of money from my trust for her but I don't know her. Strange, huh?
So onward I march.
After getting kidnapped a second time from my own house on March 16, I was dragged to LA again, and watched by this bastard asshole name Atwood. They had their fucking poser son with them, too, and he followed me everywhere, the fuck! They tried to feed me food, but I resisted. They let me have full control of the TV, and even let me wear a fannel the next day. Well, I should've known that allowing me to watch all of the HBO I want would've made me stay up late, and too tired to kick the screen out of a 2nd story window in the hotel they took me to. I even mouthed "Help me," to a babe and her boyfriend. They took a concerned look but didn't do anything. I should've woken up early, and jumped the window. I would've landed on some banana trees in Inglewood, but nevertheless, it's LA, and I can disappear in 10 sec. if given the chance. Also, if I caused a noise in the yard, the cops would've come, and I'd be better off that way.
But no, I watched dirty movies on HBO and then With Honors and Miracle on 34th Street the next morning. To this day, I can't watch those movies alone. Nor can I watch Frasier, which is the sitcom I was watching that night.
You know, the first time I was in LAX I should've let the LAX PD arrest "Terry" and those fuckers for trying to kidnap me. I should've. The Devil was in me. Today? Forget it. I'll fight to the death for my FREEDOM. Yeah, I did fight back then. Strangely, in 10th grade, I had an IQ of 210 according to the tests. My IQ today? 82.
My mom tried to apologize, and something should've tipped me off when my grandparents didn't expect us in LA. They always know when we're coming over. Strange, huh?
As I sat on the plane, Samoans asked if I was playing volleyball. I told them I didn't know shit. I saw some other kids who were dressed the same. I should've organized a rebellion or something. (I almost had a revolution at the cult compound I was at in Dec. '97.) Nothing tipped me off. When we got to Hawaii, some New Zealander fucker gave me a lecture on what a New Zealander is. Whatever, asshole. Then he asked what I was in for. In for? WTF? I said I don't know, writing a novel? They all laughed. Then forced back on the plance to Samoa. Now, if I had known that if I caused a problem in Hawaii or American Samoa, that the PD would've came, I could've done as such. But those fuckers lie at every chance. EVERY CHANCE. To this day, I hope Hawaii and Samoa burns in a volcanic death.
I'm going to skip some details, but here's a list of shit that I had happened to me:
No food.
Sexual abused in everyway.
Repeat beatings.
No water.
No bathroom.
No bedding.
Little items I had were stolen, like my sweaty hat and shoes.
My Bible ripped and wrecked.
What little food I got, stolen from me.
Forced to drink cum, piss, eat shit.
Duct-taped from head to toe for no reason.
No toilet paper.
Had rocks and items thrown at me.
Locked in a hot, wooden box.
Forced to eat paper.
Forced to be naked for a week.
Thrown into the ocean during a typhoon.
Kicked down a hill and had logs thrown on me.
Had a chair slammed into my gut.
Obtained more skin diseases than a POW in Vietnam.
Forced to carry "sandbags" of rocks up and down hills.
Lived in the jungle called Le Tiera.
Screamed at and clubbed during seminars.
Had other "students" "enforce" "rules" on me for no reason.
I'm sure there's more if I went into it day by day. Which I can. In the end, a Christmas arguement broke out between the staff and me. I had the whole "beach" I was in ready to fight back. I had stored over the 22 months, bags, clubs, wood, rocks, homemade slings, homemade spears, shanks from toothbrushes, waterhoses for whips, seashells for spikes in the clubs, nails and screws I found, random kitchen and computer parts for weaponary. Toxic chemicals made from shampoo, toothpaste and sea creatures and plants, and bars of soap for use in socks. A boiling point came when they wanted us to do "choose" from dancing like a bunch of jigaboos and coons and just staying on the "beach" and doing nothing. I chose nothing. The lady in charge comes over and argues with me. She then lays "consequences" on me. Just for disagreeing? Um, hello, we're Americans, we disagree on EVERYTHING! After everybody was forced out, she said I don't get a consequence if I fuck her. Honestly, what the Hell, right? I was there for 20 months by then without pussy or a woman, and I was forced to do gross shit that nobody would do outside of a Dutch porn room, so I did it fast and went about my business. Shows you what kind of "professionals" they hire, huh? The only two good people there were Saliva the Ape and Mr. Tau. They were fired for actually rehabilitating us! Why? Because they had degrees from college and knew how to handle us! WOW! And they were fired. The rest of the fucks were just that, fucks. So anyways, after I did my male deed with a her, I just walked out of the "schoolhouse" alone. I was about to scream, "REVOLUTION!" when I noticed all of weaponary was being taken. I didn't say anything. The "staff" wanted to know who's stuff it was. Nobody talked. Loyality. We were threatened with more of that "consequences" non-sense when I saw the Samoan I just boinked talk to the "staff" in Samoan and the situation was over. She just winked at me and left. I was allowed free reign on that "beach" as long as I stayed around. Just as long as I didn't leave. I don't know if I was a good lay, or they knew that we could take 'em. Or if we failed, we'd have one Hell of a bad story for ACLU to pursue in International Court. Either way, I was free. In a strange way, my "freedom" was kept in a 1984ish way, like in the end of the book, where they let Winston do anything he wants. Only difference is I was aware of it, he wasn't. I also had to boink that fat Samoan staff lady sometimes up to five times a day. Look, physically I enjoyed it, but seriously, if I was living in the States according to my original plan, I'd never boink that!
So comes the last weeks, when I was doing whatever. One staff member tried to "consequence" me the day before I left. Finally, he let up, because the directors told him to. Why? Don't know. He got in trouble, I was "free" to go fuck off as along as I stayed on the "beach". In the end, I was playing video games on the computers they had.
When my time came to leave, I told the guys, "Look, I don't when I'll be going," and I got pulled out of the hut and forced to pack up my stuff and be "upstairs" in five minutes. Those last few weeks and dashing off felt great after 20 months of torture and no food, no freedom. Not even allowed to talk. Look, bluntly, getting ugly pussy helped just as much. It was needed. But for people like Clayton Bowman, Fred McCandles, David Takken, Matt Sunkel, Dustin Hobbs, TJ Bentley, Tommy George, Mike Renick, Chris Sutton (who's dad is Ken Kay's lawyer BTW), Nick Gallagher, Chris Landry (who's dead), Taylor Milan, and others . . . it's didn't help them. They became worse. They became worse.
I'm not against youth teen programs.
I'm against youth teen programs that are ran like a Nazi concentration camp.
Go for it on anybody who wants to sue 'em for pass laws against 'em. I'm all for it. If I could, I'd start one that only takes 20 people and have them work at a computer Internet cafe and attend Church every Sunday. That'd be effective. Not this "though love" bullshit.
