I was at The Oaks treatment center 1979 to 1982. I was on the STAC unit for 4 or 5 months, moved to Little Oaks and ended up on Live Oaks. I was heavily drugged while I was the there. I did 3 solitary restrictions while I was there; one for 3 weeks in a security room at the CSO, and two room restrictions 2-3 months each while on Live Oaks. There were a few staff that I got very attached to while I was there, but the experience did me more harm than good. It took years to adjust to being out after I was pulled out. I still struggle with some of the things I was taught there and ways that I was forced to think. To this day, I wonder about the others that were there with me and how they made out in life.
I was there from 1982-1984. Stayed on STAC for over four months (on Room Structure) and then transferred to Spanish Oaks (on Room Structure). Also heavily drugged almost from the moment I set foot on campus. Thorazine in orange juice every night, yummy. I still have trouble with orange juice. I spent so much time on Room Structure I still crave long periods of solitude.
I "worked" in the office with Jeff Wyckoff and remember when he got railroaded. Some administrator named Peggy something. Bad at her job and willing to let the sh*t roll downhill.
While I was there, I only recall one really inappropriate relationship between one of the female staff members and a handsome kid on the middle boys' dorm. He ran away for too many days and was discharged. Turned out he was with that staff member, a young woman named Becca or something.
Also, while I was there, one of our summer school teachers who transferred to staff on that same dorm reported his wife had disappeared. Turned out I heard later that he was convicted of killing and possibly dismembering her. Memories of that time are understandably foggy. It was a nightmare more often than not.
Best friend and roommate on Spanish Oaks: Cassie B. I loved our morning housemother, Mary Miles. I'm sure she's passed away by now. Cassandra, if you ever stumble across this on the Interwebs, my email is
zombieuserland@gmail.com. There were times when you literally kept me alive and holding on, and I loved you like my own sister. Yeah, I dropped contact. I felt like I wanted to run away from the whole thing. I'm sorry. Also, I've looked for "my staff" (they encouraged you to form a bond with one staff when restricted to your room for 23.5 hours a day) but have had no success. If anyone knows what happened to Clint Neuman, that would be great.
The biggest lesson I learned was to go along to get along. My parents lived in Rhode Island and there was nobody there to advocate for me. I had to do what was necessary to finish their program and get my own life back. It didn't make me any happier, but I can GI a house down to my baseboards in two hours or less! LOL, or I could, if I felt like it. Hour work restrictions sucked.
How many of you found yourself asking your parents if you could have permission to go to your room or to the bathroom when you first got home? I was on a smoking dorm and for the first six months after discharge, I found myself lighting a cig and throwing the lighter in the middle of the floor so the next person could use it, and so it could be in adult sight at all times.
Ugh, those squatty, square brown duplex dorms with the scratched Plexiglass skylights.
Also, does anyone remember a particularly mind-warping treatment plan for hard-core people who wouldn't bond, called On The Wheel? I was never On The Wheel, but it was bizarre to watch. Weird thing is that most people who were on it actually did break their barriers and take to therapy. I would love to talk to someone who went through The Wheel now, to see if they still believe it had a positive effect in the longterm or if they were just saying that at the time because their minds and wills were completely broken down.
~ST
