On February 28, 2004, I was involuntarily entered into a controversial drug-treatment center for teens, and my life was changed forever. But first, a little bit of what led me to the program called “Growing Together” in Palm Beach County, Florida.

The label of ‘troubled teen’ was assigned to me sometime in 2002, when I was thirteen years old and in sixth grade. I was shamed and labeled a slut as well by the mothers and religious leaders at the Christian school I attended because my body had developed sooner than most of the other girls my age. There were also rumors about my parents separating and it seemed like the whole school knew about it. With all of this going on the faculty at the school decided I needed to be ‘saved.’ They forced me to get on my knees and recite their prayers, they forced their religious beliefs and Bible verses down my throat every chance they got. In response, I grew angry at God because of the way it was all being relentlessly pushed on me. Eventually I got so sick of it all, I just went along and did what they wanted so they would leave me alone. A few months later though, my school year ‘ended early’ (I was not technically expelled, but forced to leave early) because I wrote, “Just smoke weed, that’s all you will ever need,” in a classmate’s yearbook.

The following school year was a huge transition for me. I entered eighth grade in public school, and it was difficult to find a place to fit in since I was coming from a private school. I barely knew anyone there since I hadn’t attended this school the previous year in seventh grade like almost everyone else. While trying to find a new set of friends, I was being silly and teasing a boy by taking his hat in one class, but after class he punched me a few times in front of a group of kids and no one did anything to stop it.

Later that same month I got expelled for deciding to sell a girl a Xanax pill I had found to try to make some money since I was not legally able to have a job, but I had no idea the pill I sold her would cause her to have an allergic reaction. So now, it was off to an alternative school that was an hour and a half away from home. This is where I learned what it was like to be around people who don’t like you because of your skin color. Being the only white girl in the school quickly taught me to just do my work, stay out of everyone’s way and bring nothing of value from home to school. The girls wanted to fight me all the time just because my grades were going up and I had a release date to go back into the regular school system. This was one of the most terrifying times I ever had in the education system and I was glad I survived it.

Meanwhile, I grew up watching my parents physically abuse each other after my brother was born, separate from each other, renew their vows and separate again until my mother decided to file divorce papers on Valentine’s Day of 2003, when I was fourteen years old. Little did I know this was just the beginning of even more turmoil to come.

My mother moved my brother and I five times within the year and we were both confused and repeatedly struggling to make a new circle of friends. My mother was going out to bars every weekend and leaving me home alone with my seven-year-old brother.

The relationship with my father was non-existent because my mother told me the divorce was all of his fault, which I would later learn was untrue. When I was able to go out with friends, mom allowed me to hang out with people who were much older than I was, and I began experimenting with drugs. It was that spring when I lost my virginity and became sexually active. I was also taken advantage of by multiple people in 2003.

During this time, my mother was always hustling to make some side money, doing things from renting a room out of her house to breeding dogs. One time my mother rented out a room to a ‘friend’ of mine who was a twenty-three-year-old man. He also worked for my mother doing handy-man tasks around the house and barn. This supposed friend of mine on the night of his birthday which was a school night. He came home drunk at 4:30am, entered my room with a condom on, put a pillow over my head and raped me. I was frozen with fear. I was screaming inside of my mind but I couldn’t move. The next day, not knowing what else to do, I told my mother what happened. I was shocked when she didn’t believe me. This was the worst day in my life. So I talked to my friends about it and they didn’t believe me either. NO ONE BELIEVED ME. My anger took root and grew more and more each day until I decided I had to take drastic measures to get him out of the house. I decided to try to commit suicide on a Friday night by walking in the road late at night with my arms wide open, hoping a truck would hit me. When a SUV drove by, instead of hitting me, he stopped and asked me if I was ok. I told him no, that I wanted to die. I was already dead inside and felt all alone with no one to turn to for help.

When I went back home that night my fight or flight response kicked in. The moment my assailant arrived back at the house, I started throwing everything I could at him. Hair dryer, an orange, shoes, you name it – I just lost it. My mother finally believed me. She had decided to ask the spirits through her crystal rock pendulum if my assailant had raped me and it revealed a strong yes. It only took her about two to three weeks to believe me. I was somewhat relieved, but the damage was already done, to the point where now I actually was a ‘troubled teen,’ or more accurately, I was a very traumatized teen.

From this point forward my life seemed to just go downhill. Eventually all of my grades were awful, I was extremely depressed, I had overdosed a few times on purpose, and I had become disassociated with my body and viewed it as an object separate from myself.

My mother never once thought to take me to a professional or report my rape to authorities. I believe she didn’t take any action because she was concerned that she might lose custody of my brother and me, not only because of the lifestyle she was leading, but also because of the things that happened under her supervision. I believe she wanted to keep custody of us so she could squeeze every penny possible out of my father.

Within a few months on February 28, 2004, I finally ran away from home and for the first time in a long time I felt like I had something right. I’d had enough and wanted a new family. I was not gone for more than five hours when a police officer picked me up. He was nice enough. He told me that I had been reported as a run-away and he would be driving me home. When we got to my house I was not allowed to get out. I’m not sure if it was upon recommendation from the police officer or if my mother had heard about the program from somewhere else, but when the police officer got back in the car he told me he was driving me to therapy and I would be meeting my parents at the building. This became my first day at Growing Together. The next two years of my life were robbed from me and I was brainwashed on a daily basis by this so-called drug treatment center.

The first day of what felt like my imprisonment, I noticed two of my friends in this very same drug treatment center. When I tried to say hello, they acted as if I was invisible, they said nothing, and in no way acknowledged my presence. Later I would learn that they were forced to pretend I didn’t exist because of the rules of the program. This was odd, but more terrifying than that was the moment I heard “Your are in a twelve to eighteen month drug treatment program and you will NOT be going home.” Both my parents, my two grandmothers and even an aunt had met me at this program after I was dropped off by the police officer, but none of them would help me as I begged them not to leave me there with a bunch of weird strangers. My world was shattered into pieces and those words carved a hole in my soul. Eventually they robbed me of my identity and programmed me to be the way they wanted me to be

The moment staff walked me upstairs they introduced me to the group. They said, “This is Alexandra Barry from Palm Beach County, Florida. If anyone recognizes her, raise your hands.” The two guys I had seen earlier raised their hands. Next, the staff told me to list the drugs I had used out loud to the entire group of about sixty kids, split into the guys side and the girls side. When I was done, the entire group, in unison screamed, “LOVE YA ALEX!” I was then led to a seat on the girls’ side next to an ‘oldcomer’ (someone who had been there longer and was making progress in their program) and was advised to get familiar with everyone fast.

I was assigned to go home with an ‘oldcomer’ and their family, and quickly learned I had to be strip searched by the other girls, and sleep on a mattress on the floor with a baby monitor in the room. I felt like I was a prisoner and I had just entered a whole underground world. I could not shower or use the bathroom alone and had to be literally watched by other girls for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I could not shave my legs until I earned the right to shave my legs. I was completely degraded and humiliated like never before.

Here are just a few more of the numerous program rules for example: * No talking to newcomers, only oldcomers and staff

* Ask your oldcomer for permission to stand

* Ask for permission to go in your bag

* No cursing

* No talking in the bathrooms

* No talking without permission

* What is seen here, heard here, happens here, remains here.

* No discussions on sports teams, brand clothing and actors

* Honesty at all times

* No manipulation

* Each client is responsible for reciting the rules daily

* No gum or candy

* No talking behind backs

* No eye contact with your parents or other newcomers (if you did have eye contact, you would have to say out loud, “I cliqued,” meaning you tried to communicate with someone in a non-verbal manner.)

* No looking out windows

* Sing only program songs (most of which were nursery rhymes.)

* Showers, if used as a punishment must be 3 minute cold showers; regular showers must be supervised and limited to 5 minutes.

* No going to school or work until you earned the privilege to go to school in the third phase. When you do go to school you can not talk to any outsiders, only teachers and only about school.

These are just a few of the program rules that I was conditioned to accept as my new norm. As hostages of this drug treatment cult, we had to write papers each night called moral inventories. We had to write about our daily issues or past situations. This is how we learned to be our own worst critic and degrade ourselves completely to strangers.

The first week I was there, a person who identified herself as a psychiatrist put me on medications. She put me on Lexapro and Seroquel. The Lexapro was an antidepressant and the Seroquel was considered an antipsychotic medication which would knock me out. It left me groggy the next day, and feeling like I was in a constant state of confusion followed by humiliation because I could not wake up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and would end up wetting the bed and developing urinary tract infections (UTIs.)

I was born with a medical condition called Hydronephrosis, which caused me to have major reconstructive surgery at three months old. I had a 5% chance of surviving this surgery. Thankfully, Dr. Vortsman, a man from New Zealand saved my life. However, due to this condition, I suffered from chronic UTIs, and was in and out of the hospital until about the age of twelve or thirteen. But in the Growing Together program, I was locked in a room with no access to a bathroom and no way of waking up from my deep slumber due to the drugs the psychiatrist put me on, so they decided to make me wear diapers. I was fifteen years old, completely degraded and felt as though I was being punished for a medical condition I was born with and had no control over.

Another cringe-worthy fact about Growing Together was the few times we were able to play volleyball outside of the building, ashes of human remains fell on us and in our cups of water from the local crematorium a few doors down. The staff knew but didn’t care. This was just another odd form of torture.

Sometimes I would feel so alone I felt like I was losing my mind in this place. I would also see other kids who would take anything they could find to cut themselves just to be able to escape from the program and go to the Columbia Hospital. I witnessed staff slamming other kids against the hard floor, and sometimes a group of kids would create complete chaos, similar to riots, where the staff could not control them. This was because the atmosphere and culture in this place drove already struggling adolescents insane.

It only took about eleven months for me to completely break and become 100% brainwashed. As I look back at the prayers I wrote while I was in the program, I can see the changes that took place within me. I can see where I became the person they wanted me to be. I became verbally assaultive to others in the program, both in an attempt to help others and keep myself out of trouble. I participated in abusing others and I adopted the extreme totalitarian personality they wanted me to have.

On December 2, 2005 I had “7-stepped” (graduated) the program but still was under the cult’s spell believing I was a drug addict when I never was. I was a victim of sexual assault and extreme trauma from my parents failed marriage. It took me about a year and a half after I graduated to question whether I was truly an addict. When I took my first drink just to find out if I was an addict, I was terrified and overwhelmed with guilt.  I have had to unlearn what was embedded in my head, which was that I would die if I ever had another drink. But still to this day, I cannot have a drink without the paranoia I have from the program.

The saddest part of all of this is that it took me fifteen years to completely break the spell of my brainwashing and to realize that the treatment we received in the Growing Together program was the exact opposite of helpful or therapeutic, rather it was inhumane, a complete stripping of my identity, and various violations of my most basic human rights.

It was not until these past few months where I can finally forgive myself for how my 20s turned out. Honest to God I am very lucky to be alive. I have looked death in the face a few times. My 20s had a few abusive relationships, a few more rape incidents, homelessness and other bizarre situations. I blame the program for taking away my ability to identify abuse and my ability to make better decisions because the institutionalization and experience of menticide on a daily basis has made me desensitized to dangerous situations.

My PTSD has become so out of control in my 30s I rarely leave my home; maybe I believe this is what keeps me safe. Now I understand that my daily thoughts of suicide since I left the program are actually normal because that is one of the long-term side effects of menticide and brainwashing. What they did to me and thousands of other kids killed our minds

I fear that all of my adverse adolescent and childhood experiences have shortened my life expectancy to a rate even lower than it was based on my medical condition at birth. I was born fighting to live and I still am fighting, as I now have Graves Disease and Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPSTD), which I firmly believe is a direct result of all of the physical and emotional stress I was under in this program. I wouldn’t wish this experience on my worst enemy.