When I was younger, I was brought into some kind of intervention program. I believe it must have been a troubled teen program. There I was forced by some of the staff to rape other kids. I understand it’s partly my fault for going along with it, but it makes no sense that they can force kids to rape each other and then act like saviors. I don’t know exactly at what age this started, but it was either early high school or middle school.
I would have reported this earlier, but they cultivated my dissociative disorder into something they could control so that I would forget what happened. I did not know the details for the past 10 years or so, aside from those times I periodically starting to remember snippets of details. I have many fragments of memories that I’m still dealing with, and not looking forward to remembering the rest. I believe I may have OSDD Type 2 as a result of the conditioning, but can’t get therapy for it as there are almost no resources or understanding for those with dissociative disorders.
I do not know what I could have done with the massive volume of misinformation I was led to believe about the nature of what was happening, and what was right or wrong. The kids always told me to listen to the men / staff, but some of the staff tortured me with ice baths, screaming into my face, and told me I had to rape the others. There were at least 2 girls, whose names I don’t know, who were strapped down and I was brought into the room by a guy wearing SWAT equipment. I was told to “choose one” — one girl on the left already covered in semen with black hair, and a girl on the right simply nude with red hair. I kneeled down to the level of the girl with red hair, and almost put myself in, but she spat in my face, and I turned to the man, getting up, screaming to not hurt her. He clubbed me in the head, and tackled me on the ground.
There was also a girl I vaguely remember named Alexis, and she had red hair. They told me she had AIDS and wasn’t long for the world. The man tried to pair us together, and got me to love her, and some time later she said she was sorry, but she was owned by them.
The men always demanded to be called “sir,” and I ended up associating them with child traffickers when I started to dissociate and forget the details of my abuse. They ran with this and gaslit me into believing that Donald Trump had purchased me, hopefully only to discredit me.
I don’t believe I would have hurt anyone sexually if I were never coerced and torn between trying to investigate them to find details, and thus cozy up to them, or staying myself, and forsaking my ability to investigate so that I had a higher chance of surviving. In the end, I think my cowardice won. But if it didn’t, they would have done far more than make me forget, I think. I tried to get the truth out sometimes, but it always fell on deaf ears, because I got into a habit of lying early on when I realized that even the truth was not enough.
Somehow, they made me forget my past. I still don’t know what they did exactly, but I do remember that an old man continued the work of giving me “if-then statements,” like if I do X, then Y person will get hurt or they would do Y method of torture to me. These were designed to be contradictory, and to keep me in an eternal cycle of worry when I started to remember. A later doctor, Dr Shepard tried to take over this brainwashing, and did seem more consciencious about it, looking back, than the other old man, skinny and bald with glasses. It’s hard to tell if there was more than one man because the bald ones who sat across from me and said things all looked the same, but some memories he had a vastly different personality. The memories are similar enough that they melt together, and I can’t tell what all he said.
At the age of 24, I started to remember details of being groomed by my grandfather. I woke up in a giant freezer room with a dim blue light. I believed then that I might die here, but if I did, maybe god would let me be reincarnated, since I was to die at the age of 6. He walked in with a man with a white beard behind him and said, “you’ll freeze to death if we don’t huddle together for warmth.” I decided to do so without fuss, thinking I could fool him long enough to escape.
In another memory that I associate with that is being held in an old-fashioned jail cell parted by iron bars. Me and a handful of other kids were locked in. I tried to convince them that if we all organized together, we could kill them and escape. The next time they opened the door, we all tried to push forward, but he had a pistol pointed at me and I backed down.
In another memory, him and the other guy spread some white paste from a canister on a piece of toast, and told me to eat it. I asked what it is, they insisted I eat it. When I took a bite, it immediately felt like I was out of oxygen and my mouth was burning. I passed out on the ground, in a derelict warehouse with 2 stories.
The events I remembered at 24 sent me into a psychosis that was stronger than the previous ones, and after being disbelieved by my family, and with my girlfriend inpatient at an eating disorder facility, I felt more alone than I had been for a long time. This psychosis ended up spiraling out of control, and led to me burning my apartment unit down in an attempt to kill myself.
I would do my best to not lie in a court of law, but my memories are heavily scrambled from the ordeal and I know they cannot be fully relied on. For some of my adulthood, I have periodically remembered things, usually developing a psychosis and needing to be in-patient. But the medical staff trust the sadistic and manipulative members of staff the most, so I was never able to speak up about it or process my trauma in an official setting without being either hushed or having them called on me.
Now I’m beset on enemies on all sides, people who don’t believe I’m worthy of being considered human. And I know why, but I do wish I could help stop the abuse going on in whatever place or that was.
