So, I sat. In Charter Westbrook for 90 days.
I went through the motions, because there was simply nothing else to do. We would wake up, be expected to make our beds, shower, walk down for group, weigh in (always backwards on the scale, I was 89lbs when I went in, 95lbs when I left), breakfast, group, lunch, group, dinner, reflection time, bed. rinse. repeat.
I learned to say the things they wanted to hear in order to earn small privileges like a razor to shave with, monitored of course, or as I said before, access to Lyle Alzado’s aerobic tape so I could work out.
I was never cured because I felt acknowledging that it was MY issue meant letting those responsible for shaping my life into the turmoil that it was off the hook. And that is exactly what happened.
My step-father was never held accountable for all the abuses he put us through. There was a divorce, a move and it was done. He walked away, scott free.
I come from a family who’s motto has been “you made your bed, now lie in it”. It seemed to me, he was laying on goose down with 700 count Egyptian cotton sheets and a smile and I was in Charter Westbrook sleeping next to a girl who kept stealing my underwear….yes, my underwear.
I slept on a hard cot like bed, in basically a jail with no contact with my family or friends. I felt punished for having a life that was never mine.
I left that place unceremoniously, just walked out the front door when my insurance ran out and my dad came to pick me.
Charter Westbrook was later closed down by the state for it’s treatment of patients there. Like I said, it doesn’t matter what truth you tell, if it’s ugly enough people will simply not believe it.