I wanted to share a story with you guys. Its not my story, but I am the only one left to tell it. I’m sure many of you have seen by various posts start to come up about the book I’m writing. I was going to save this for my book, but the recent #BreakingCodeSilence  movement has really hit home for me, because there is one voice, dear to my heart, that will be silent forever.
I met Sam in Kindergarten. I was a shy kid, and was not used to interacting with my peers yet. I was terrified that first day. We were coloring, while the teacher was just getting us to adjust to the environment and each other, when tragedy struck for me. My yellow crayon broke. At five years old, it was the end all of tragedies, and tears started to well up in my eyes as I stared at my broken crayon, clutching it for dear life. As the tears started to roll down my face, and the teacher made her way over, this blonde spitfire came around from the table and said “Hey its OK. You can share mine.” From that moment on, we were inseparable.
Her name was Sam.
As years went by, we stayed best friends. To this day I have still not had a friend as loyal, honest, giving, and loving. There are not enough good words in the world I could say about this shining star. When Sam and I were 16, we were troublemakers I guess. I’ll be the first to tell you we weren’t easy teenagers to handle. We had typical issues cutting school, drinking, fighting with our parents, thinking we knew everything. To make a long story short, her rich parents shipped her off to a place called Tranquility Bay. I was there the night the escorts came to get her. I thought it was the police and we are both going to jail at first. Little did I know, that was the last time I would really see my Sam.
I managed to get emancipated, put myself through school and work, I really got my life together. I got lucky. I still ask myself why me and not Sam.
Two years later, the shell came back. Broken and empty, she wasn’t the same. I remember the first time I saw her, I tried to hug her and she almost jumped back like my skin was on fire. She explained that the program didn’t allow for physical contact at most times, so she just wasn’t comfortable with any sort of contact anymore. If I could describe interacting with her, it was like she was living in a box for two years. I just didn’t understand at the time.
In the last two years or so of her life, she did express the sadness and the loneliness she felt. She spoke of things that happened very vaguely, and I still wish I had pushed her to get help, or do something more. She was having a lot of trouble adjusting back to the real world. She expressed sadness and loneliness, but for her the nightmares were the worst. I spoke with her parents that I was concerned, and they told me not to worry that she was “fixed” and she just needed time. I could not believe they actually thought she was better. Emotionless zombie are words that came to mind for me. But they were adamant that this program saved her life. I was too young to push harder, and I regret it still.
A little more than two years after leaving the program, she wrote me a letter saying goodbye and ended her life. She was 20 years old. The program destroyed her, and it took a piece of me by taking her away.
I am now older, wiser, and in a position to fight back. So speak up, spread the word, do what you can. And in the process don’t forget the voices that are no longer around to speak for themselves. Speak for them.
This one is for you Sammie.