Abnormally Normal People: The Kinsman Hall Era

Behind Closed Doors - Part 15

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 00:36:18 GMT

As I remember each person who touched my life at Kinsman Hall, I think back to the people who were responsible for its creation. Dan Shepherd had a kind face, but his eyes bore the wisdom that only comes from experiencing life first hand. He was exactly what anyone might envision a reverend turned drug counselor would look and act like... street savvy with a definite underlying spiritual flair. Dealing with drug addicts and other emotionally bankrupt misfits had a way of hardening anyone, yet Dan always saw the good in a person and tried in his own way to strengthen that good in order for it to triumph over evil. The first time I saw Dan, I thought he might have been a football player in his younger years. His wife, Angela was an attractive woman, yet in the no frills environment of Kinsman Hall, I could only wonder what she'd look like made up and dressed to kill. Kinsman Hall definitely wasn't the kind of place to showcase external beauty, but it had its own special way of bringing out inner beauty and allowing females to explore their natural look as they went through the program. Flannel shirts and jeans decorated with a variety of object lessons as accessories definitely didn't scream "this is a red-hot mama". It was left up to an individual's imagination to visualize what the curves beneath really looked like. The rumors of Dan and his private harem only led me to assume that middle-aged men didn't need physical beauty to be turned on, just a youthful face and the opportunity was all it seemed to take. At Kinsman Hall, the combination of youth and opportunity were in abundance if a person was in a position of power and wanted to abuse their power. Did any staff members actually abuse their power? I can only speculate where the truth really lies and hopefully someday others like me will step forward and tell their story.

Most people upon entrance of the program were in awe of the Shepherd duo and their flock of lost souls, but by the time each person left the program, most held a completely different view of all the key players and their roles at Kinsman Hall. Right from the start, residents were taught about how people put other people in "boxes". Today that concept is called stereotyping. The boxes people formed had labels on them and each label dictated how the person should look and act. Of course, each person had their own unique set of labels and boxes which were created throughout their life from their own personal experiences. Putting people in boxes was a convenient way to explain the actions of others and to keep things orderly within a person's psyche, but the trouble with boxes was that people refused to stay in the ones in which they had been assigned. Boxes quickly became too confining and caused pandemonium when a person did something uncharacteristic of their label and ventured outside their box. What happens when the person you had labeled as "an idiot” gets accepted into Harvard? What happens when a heartless ogre does some great humanitarian act? What happens when people you trust do unspeakable things to you? The label no longer fits and we scramble to make new boxes with different labels. The process is a hard one to stop, yet I believe one of the more positive things I learned during my time at Kinsman Hall was how to look at each person as an individual.

The Shepherds bore the stigma and burden of being put into a box also. That box was labeled by many as "therapist" or "executive director", which translated into having omnipotent God-like qualities where perfection was expected and no visible mistakes were allowed. Outwardly, the Shepherds were pillars of strength and a model by which each of us should have wanted to pattern our lives and behaviors. Most residents saw only a one-dimensional side of the whole person and bypassed all the other facets especially those that made Dan and Angela human beings like the rest of us. Of course, there were many stories that circulated. We all heard them time and time again, but who really knows what went on behind closed doors? The theory of where there is smoke, there is fire most likely holds true in this instance, but since I have no first hand knowlege of any sparks being ignited between the Shepherds and myself, I can only say that I smelt smoke from time to time without witnessing any fire. When each person finally figured out the Shepherds were not deities, but human beings, that realization rarely came as a relief, but as a cruel disappointment and created a whole array of bad feelings. For most, it took a long time for Dan and Angela to be seen as human beings and for some it wasn't until long after they left Kinsman Hall before they realized the "perfection" box in which the Shepherds lived was a flimsy one made of cardboard and was held together with cellophane tape. Regretfully, I have to admit some people still carry the ill effects of their disillusionment as if their awakening had just happened today.

Regardless of which camp a person decided to call home, each person took with them certain tools that were useful in their life after Kinsman Hall. Two key concepts that were heavily stressed still remain with me today. Dan drilled into us that "the road to Hell was paved with good intentions". Each person was eventually forced into seeing that many times our actions, even those well-intended ones with positive motivation can turn sour and have a negative outcome. Pain is pain regardless of how it's inflicted and a person has to accept the consequences of their actions regardless of their motives and the outcome. The other concept that goes hand in hand with the first one is the "ripple effect". Quite simply, if a pebble is dropped into a pond it causes ripples that fan out from the point of impact. It makes me think of the physics theory that states for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Slowly each of us learned how our actions have the same ripple effect as that pebble in the pond. We steer many things, but most importantly we do steer our actions and we do carry the responsibility in how our actions impact other people's lives directly and indirectly. Sometimes the ripples feel more like a shockwave and the effect is long-lasting and far-reaching. For most of the survivors, Kinsman Hall was a meteor dropped into the ocean which caused a life altering tsunami. As with any disaster, there were casualties. The wounds were both emotional and physical, yet the thing that disturbs me the most are the lives that were lost. Their words can never be heard and their stories never told. The rest live with their scars, but at least they are alive to to see the scars and can work towards fading them.

I often wondered what it was like for Dan and Angela's children growing up and sharing not only their home, but their parents with such emotionally bankrupt individuals. The "chosen ones" who were befriended by the Shepherd children seemed to have it made. While most residents, worked and stayed strictly within the confines of Kinsman hall, friends of the Shepherd's definitely reaped many benefits that the rest never had. I never felt inclined to attempt to strike up a friendship because I had an enormous problem with authority figures. Being friends with the owner's children would have put me too close for comfort to what I wanted to avoid the most. For the most part, I enjoyed being invisible and unworthy. I remember the things others would say about the people who were befriended. It was like the keys to the golden gates of freedom had been bestowed upon them. Suddenly Kinsman Hall no longer seemed like such a prison. I suppose jealousy was at the root of most of the unkind things that were said, but who really could blame anyone who was left behind unbefriended for feeling the whole "friendship" thing was unfair? It was just one more example of the "haves" and the "have-nots". and of what went on behind closed doors! Inequality and injustices exist everywhere... even in a place that prided itself on tearing down the walls of negativity! It took me many years to realize that the acceptance "the chosen ones" found in their relationships with Dan Jr., Cheryl and Kate was just a way to ease their own pain. They needed a sense of belonging and so the Shepherds filled that void by welcoming them into their inner circle.

I've always been a people watcher, so Kinsman Hall became my cornucopia. Often times the things I couldn't figure out at first, came to me a little at a time. I watched the Shepherds and how they interacted with others. I took note of who were their favorites and who virtually went unnoticed. The Shepherds weren't invincible and their children bore the horrible scars of dysfunction magnified by each person they befriended. Their friendships weren't the wholesome type that might be showcased on an episode of The Waltons, but would more likely be the topic of parody on South Park or The Simpsons. Just like wealthy people question the motives of people wanting to be with them, I'm sure the Shepherds did the same type of thing. Would anyone really like them if they had been our equals? Would they be accepted? Those 3 children were born into a world of dysfunction far greater than anything any resident had experienced. By opening their home to countless people in dire need, the Shepherds denied their children the pleasure of knowing what a normal childhood was like. Their fate was sealed at an early age. Instead of having memories of proms and pep rallies, they grew up around junkies, criminals and societal outcasts. Dysfunction was the norm and their parents’ vision of helping others in need became an unfulfilled legacy with each person who felt the shame from what really went on behind closed doors, with each person who died after being rehabilitated and with all those who had unresolved feelings about their time at Kinsman Hall.

Time Will Tell - Part 14

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 15:39:00 GMT

The inevitable happened...it always does. I got to know people. In fact, I even started to make friends. Darlene was in my peer group. She was older than me, shorter than me and basically everything I was not except for brunette...we did have that in common. From the start, she told me I reminded her of her kid sister, a wild free spirit who didn't take anyone's crap. Was that who I was? I was beginning to feel torn down and unsure of who Karen was. Maybe that toughness was just a facade. Afterall, I took great pride in being a chameleon being able to fit into any situation. I just never found any one situation that felt more comfortable than the others. No place felt like “home” to me. I was that way with people also. I had no preference when it came to friends. I always looked at each person as an equal regardless of their differences. Now, it seemed like my indifference was a bad thing instead of an attribute. Who was that person I saw in the mirror and would I ever really know her?

Like any person who found real friendship at Kinsman Hall, that friendship came with negative contracts. The laws of nature dictates that young people cannot co-exist without negative contracts. We all know everything in life has a pricetag. Part of who each of us was is that person who we were before Kinsman Hall, so a negative contract seemed to be a small price to pay for friendship. It was all part of learning boundaries and discovering who we could trust. That person who we all were before coming to Kinsman Hall was part of who we were and always would be, so naturally a real friend would be someone who could embrace that aspect of our life.

Darlene and I shared our stories when we could. Of course, those stories had to be in private because they all would be considered "war stories" since they involved such details as drugs and sex. One by one the stories deepened and we even cried together in the laundry room where we worked together when our friendship first formed. Darlene and I never plotted to do anything terrible or unspeakable, so our negative contract in reality was about a -3 on a scale of 1 to 10. We just enjoyed uncensored girltalk. As a result of that uncensored girltalk, she got me interested in my first crush at Kinsman Hall. Don was about my age and the younger brother of someone Darlene knew on the streets. His older brother was on staff, but a branch of staff that had nothing to do with the residents. The construction crew was exactly that. Their purpose was to build so the “family” could expand. I suppose someone must have had some grandiose idea of saving the world one troubled youth at a time!

I think the most positive aspect of my friendship with Darlene was that we didn't pretty up any of our flaws. We trusted each other enough to just tell the story as it happened and to let the blame lay where it was supposed to lay. I never felt any need to clean things up or make myself look blameless. She accepted me for the person I was which always amazed me because I didn't know who that person was. She seemed to have such a clear picture of me, but I couldn't even get a sneak peak of that person through her eyes. The real me was allusive and stayed just out of my view. Of course, staff began to scrutinize our friendship as we began to spend more and more of our free time together. We never were put on a ban, but came close a few times.

They say a real friend is someone who will help you move the body. I always smiled at that thought, but I knew when guilt sessions came around, Darlene would never give up anything I confided in her as guilt. Our measly little negative contract stayed safe until the day she left. Our negative contract didn’t grow much even when Big Brother wasn’t watching and we were able to be under different circumstances. Because my mother had moved to Florida, I had no opportunity to have a family visit when they were allowed. I thought I’d have to go the distance with being satisfied with just remembering the outside world until I could be a part of it again. I was shocked when staff decided to let me go on a visit with Darlene and her family.

An overnight visit seemed like a dream come true. We were going to be able to act like real people and be out in the world. Her parents made reservations at The Sky Lodge, which for Jackman, Maine standards was probably the closest thing they had to a 5-star hotel. Jackman’s claim to fame was that it was the last stopping off point in the United States before entering into Canada. People enroute to Quebec often stopped there overnight and found the quaintness of the town charming. Back then I found small towns to be boring and suffocating, but The Sky Lodge seemed like an oasis to me.

We did nothing during that visit that could be considered outrageous, but for us it was a landmark in our stay at Kinsman hall. We ate real food, slept in real beds and even drank a few cocktails before and after dinner. The biggest thing for both of us was that we wore real clothes and looked like girls. We were two “knock outs” if I have to say so myself. We wore make up, curled our hair and even wore some cheap costume "bling". All these things were very foreign to me because I was a hippie and hippies didn’t wear make-up and curl their hair. Hippies grooved on the natural beauty of things. On the outside we blended with every other person in the restaurant at the hotel. No one seemed to notice the scarlet “F” we wore branded on our foreheads which identified us as freaks to the rest of the world. That giant “F” magically became invisible outside the property line of Kinsman Hall where we were able to leave stocking caps, object lessons and the myriad of rules behind for 24 hours.

When Darlene left Kinsman Hall, I was sad, but also happy because she was going to be “set free". Leading up to the day she left, we talked about getting together when I left in several months. I could see myself going to New York and leaving Maine forever. As far as I was concerned, Maine was good for one thing...to be left behind and forgotten. After Darlene was gone and until I left, I thought of her each day. I often wondered if our plans would happen. I knew time would tell and if nothing else I’d always remember Darlene with fond memories.

It's A Nice Day To Start Again - Part 13

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 08:38:15 GMT

For most residents the hardest part of the program to adapt to was having no contact with the outside world. Families were given progress reports, but until a resident reached a certain point in the program absolutely no direct contact was permitted. Each person had their own story to tell about the dysfunctional relationships that existed within their family and for most, it was the roots of that dysfunction that led to so many others problems in each person's life. I'm not placing responsibility for a person's actions, including my own, upon anyone else's shoulders, but I can certainly look back and see how a less than ideal family life contributed to the void in which I existed. The seeds were planted and a weed grew instead of a rose.

When I was sent to Kinsman Hall, it had been a year since I had lived at home. That year had been a long, hard year of learning how to exist on the streets. That year had been the equivalent of a decade or more in anyone else’s life and at the tender age of 15, learning survival techniques wasn't what most 15 year olds were doing. I bypassed giggling with friends about boys and dreaming about going to the prom and moved into wondering when and where I would eat my next meal. That year aged me, yet that aging did not bring any real resolution to my problems. That year created a pseudo wisdom that was masked by a toughness that kept saying “I will survive!” Somehow I always believed that inner voice and clung to it even when everything else indicated I should give it the heave ho and run for my life. That year made me realize my family was still dysfunctional and I couldn't go home. If a change occurred, the change had to come from within. So as I embarked on a journey whose destination was hazy, at best, I felt a sense of relief that I had no contact with my family. For once, I could just be.

Before I first ran away from home, my mother had finally had gotten a long needed divorce. She was single again and exploring the dating scene. Although her social life didn't really interest me, I had noticed that there was one man she dated more than anyone else. His name was Phil. He didn't live locally, so she only saw him when he came into town on business. I had met Phil and he seemed to be totally unlike my biological father, so I took that as meaning he was probably a positive aspect in my mother's life and would make her happy. After years of living with my father, she certainly was long overdue for finding some real happiness and stability. I knew my mother was clueless where I was concerned and didn't know how to help me. She was left at the mercy of listening to her well-meaning friends for advice and never took the time to ask me what I needed. Of course at that time, I don't think I even knew what that really was. Fleeing seemed to be the closest to fulfilling my immediate needs at the time, but everyone seemed puzzled by my actions and never looked beyond the action for the actual cause of my erratic behavior.

When I had been at Kinsman Hall about 7 months, I was called into a staff meeting to be told that I was going to be able to have a visit with my mother for a few hours. The visit had to be on the premises because they felt I was at high risk for splitting. The reason for the visit was because my mother was getting married and was moving to Florida. I was told the man she was marrying was named Phil. The name immediately sparked recognition and for a moment, I felt happy that my mother was moving on even if her moving on meant leaving me behind. My big surprise came when she arrived with her husband-to-be and the “Phil” she had been dating was not the man she was marrying.

The visit went well and then they left. She was married the next month and moved to Florida as planned. It wasn't until several months later when I was given telephone privileges that I started talking to her on a regular basis and sharing things with her. She always asked me if I needed anything, but I had all I really needed...a roof over my head, clothes to wear and food to eat. I was lulled into feeling safe and slowly over time, not having contact with the outside world no longer mattered. It wasn't until I left Kinsman Hall that I felt the time warp I had lived through. World events had happened, music was made, television shows and movies were made and people got on with their lives without me there witnessing it first hand. When the moment of realization of just how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things hit, it made me laugh. How’s that for a lightbulb moment?

Hey little sister what have you done
Hey little sister who's the only one
I've been away for so long (so long)
I've been away for so long (so long)
I let you go for so long

It's a nice day to start again (come on)
It's a nice day for a white wedding
It's a nice day to start again.

There is nothin' fair in this world
There is nothin' safe in this world
And there's nothin' sure in this world
And there's nothin' pure in this world
Look for something left in this world
Start again
Come on

It's a nice day for a white wedding
It's a nice day to start again.
It's a nice day to start again.
It's a nice day to start again.

~Billy Idol~

Free Time - Part 12

Tue, 14 Nov 2006 03:21:43 GMT

Within each community, regardless of where it's located, are people whose lives intertwine with each other. Just as I have my own memories of Kinsman Hall, so do all the others who lived there. Their memories are as unique and deeply felt as mine are to me. We all laughed, loved and lived through those years. We also cried, feared and suffered at the hands of others. Some moments stand out more than others in my trip down memory lane as my mind races across the span of time I lovingly call my "time warp". My head fills with familiar faces. I hear their voices and I want to smile. Memories were made everywhere, but when I think of "the fam", I think of the dining room. For most of us, the dining room was where we could just be ourselves and for a short while, forget where we were as we laughed, chatted and played games.

Free time consisted of time spent interacting with others. We rarely were able to watch television. Maybe the founders of Kinsman Hall felt about television the same way as many people feel about it today. For so many people television is an escape and a way to avoid interaction with others. On those rare occasions that we did watch television, it was a real treat. We watched episodes of Kung Fu and of course, the dialogue caught on like wildfire amongst the residents. For awhile everyone became "grasshopper" and we all came up with our own brand of wisdom to bestow upon each other.

Most evenings were spent playing cards, chess and Skully while listening to music. Keep in mind some music was deemed negative by virtue of its lyrics and wouldn't be played.

"Here I lie in my hospital bed
Tell me, Sister Morphine, when are you coming round again?
Oh, I don't think I can wait that long
Oh, you see that I'm not that strong

The scream of the ambulance is sounding in my ears
Tell me, Sister Morphine, how long have I been lying here?
What am I doing in this place?
Why does the doctor have no face?
Oh, I can't crawl across the floor
Ah, can't you see, Sister Morphine, I'm trying to score

Well it just goes to show
Things are not what they seem
Please, Sister Morphine, turn my nightmares into dreams
Oh, can't you see I'm fading fast?
And that this shot will be my last

Sweet Cousin Cocaine, lay your cool cool hand on my head
Ah, come on, Sister Morphine, you better make up my bed
'Cause you know and I know in the morning I'll be dead
Yeah, and you can sit around, yeah and you can watch all the
Clean white sheets stained red."

(You can take the girl out of the negativity, but you can't take the negativity out of the girl)

Skully was introduced to us by Keith Gallo. Before long it caught on and we all took turns honing our skills and finding the perfect bottle cap to play with on the permanent Skully board drawn on the dining room floor. Perhaps the all urban baby-boomer New Yorkers might remember the game. Whist was a popular jailhouse card game at the time, so naturally it was brought to us from those people who had come to Kinsman Hall via jail. Everyone played Whist and some were thought of as Whist gurus. The greats became legends in their own minds, but in reality EVERYONE was a Whist champ at one time or another. It was as much about finesse as it was about the luck of the draw.

Saturday nights were reserved for weekly dances. Keep in mind that very few of us danced on the streets, but in Kinsman Hall we all became Fred Aistaire and Ginger Rogers to the beat of T. Rex (Get it on, bang the gong, get it on) Mick Jagger (Oh, a storm is threat'ning my very life today. If I don't get some shelter Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away) and Rod Stewart (I firmly believe that I didn't need anyone but me. I sincerely thought I was so complete...Look how wrong you can be) among many others tunes from that era. Disco queens we weren't, but when in Rome, people are told to do as the Romans do! On Saturday nights we all danced! Slow dancing was awkward to say the least because we had to stay a respectable distance from each other. There would be no groping, fondling or copping a feel while on the dance floor! Now, I think of scenes from Dirt dancing and wish I could magically be transported back in time to do just one dance.... MY WAY! Because we all know "nobody puts Baby in a corner!"

The older residents talked about movie trips, fishing trips and all sorts of other fun activities in which they participated, but my peer group figured they must have been at some other Kinsman Hall or things happened at night after people were tucked safely away in the dorms. I do remember playing volleyball out back a few times during the summer months. It was fun right up until the moment I jumped up to spike the ball one day. When I landed, it was in a small indentation in the ground. I fell so gracefully that no one knew I was hurt until I didn't get up. I knew instantly that I had done something horrible to my ankle and by the time, I was helped back to the house my foot had swollen completely out around the top of my shoe. Off to the nearest hospital I went, where I was x-rayed and put in a cast. I had torn the ligament in my ankle and was restricted to crutches until I came back several weeks later. By the time I returned to the doctor, the whole heel of my cast was worn out from walking on it. My excuse was that I couldn't understand what the doctor said. The closest hospital was only a few miles from the Canadian border. The doctor was French Canadian and spoke no English.

Mlle, vous ne pouvez pas marcher sur votre pied jusqu'à ce qu'il soit complètement guéri. Vous indiquez que vous ne voulez pas la chirurgie qui a été recommandée. Nous immobiliserons votre pied jusqu'à votre prochain rendez-vous en six semaines.

C'est la vie!!!

To Casey With Love - Part 11

Sat, 11 Nov 2006 16:15:32 GMT

In the summer of my second year at Kinsman Hall, I reached a point of becoming weary and resentful. I don't know what really sparked my rebellion, but it grew from thoughts like "what could they do to me if I just walked out of the kitchen where I was working, went into the dining room, sat down and just refused to go back to work?" Something told me that they couldn't really do anything to me against my will. They certainly couldn't physically force me into working and what was the worse that could happen? Perhaps they'd send me back to Hallowell, but even that didn't seem horrible. I had reached a crossroads. My closest friend, Charlene had gone home and although I had other friends, I felt alone. I felt as if my last several years had been pointless and all I wanted to do was sit down and think about it in peace without people hounding me about whether not I was indulging myself in negative thoughts. Sometimes a person has to weed through their mistakes and see what they've learned...if anything and then go on from there.

After days of careful deliberation I took my apron off and left the kitchen. I walked slowly to the dining room and paused on the stage just long enough to scan the large empty room to see where I wanted to sit. The sofas towards the back of the room seemed ideal for what I had in mind and also were strategically located to give a panoramic view of the landscape in back of the building. The large picture windows nicely framed the river and small mountain outside. Perhaps gazing at them would make me feel less confined and more in touch with all the things that have been rudely ripped away from me. As I walked down the stairs, I heard my name being called. Someone seemed angry as they hollered out inquiring what I was doing. No, I hadn't lost my mind! I think I was just beginning to find it again after such a long time. About the time I reached the sofa on which I was going to perch for awhile, I heard footsteps behind me. Several people had decided to come ask me what I was doing. I looked at each one and then sat down without answering anyone. Instead I took a cigarette out, lit it up and began to smoke it as I gazed out the window to my salvation. I really didn't remember what just walking outside was like without having a job to do or a specific destination in mind. I had forgotten what just aimlessly wandering felt like and although I wasn't going to chance going outside at this point because I knew the kind of wrath that would bring. For now, I was content to just sit and stare out the window.

Over the next few days, several staff members attempted to talk to me and got the same results each time. I had put myself on a ban from work and with talking to anyone. As a result of my actions, they felt they needed to put me on an existence ban with the whole house. I had become a distraction and a negative influence. Imagine that! What a wonderful thing to do to me because that meant I could enjoy my solitude without being bothered by any of the residents. Of course the staff would still try to coax me into talking and going back to work, but I wasn't ready to do that. I still had things to sort through and put into proper perspective. With the exception of the occasional staff member coming to check on me, I was left alone.

During the third day I was on strike, Casey walked into the dining room. He didn't hesitate as he walked towards me. His body language appeared determined and as if he knew exactly what he was doing. When he reached where I was sitting, he said nothing. He sat down next to me and as I looked at him, I smiled. We sat there several hours before I finally spoke to him. He laughed at me and said he thought I had lost my voice because he had never seen me quiet or ever sit still. I told him there was many things he didn't know about me and that I was a person of many talents. I carefully reminded him that the sofa we were sitting on was one of the sofas I had reupholstered. He said he had come to sit with me because I looked like I needed some company. I reminded him that he was on an existence ban with me and he chuckled as he told me we could be invisible together. I knew it was pointless to tell him he was only going to get himself into trouble. I think he had carefully thought out his decision to come join me and knew exactly what was at stake.

As we sat in the dining room taking an extended break from doing any work our version of being on strike which lasted a week, out of shear boredom I picked up a tattered copy of Love Story laying on the table and began to read it. Before too long, Casey joined in reading it with me and the whole scene seemed to take on some weird, surreal feeling as we read the book together while the rest of the house carried on around us. Each of us took turns reading it out loud and almost magically the words of the book came alive. He jokingly started calling me a “snotty Radcliffe bitch”, like the character in the book (a name that remained with me until the day I left Kinsman Hall) and each time I heard him call me that I laughed at just how untrue those words were.

By the time we finished the book, I was ready to go back to work. As I left Casey sitting in the dining room, I knew he would return to work as soon as he was ready. He still had things to sort through and put in their proper perspective just as I had needed to do. Our payback for that little stunt was a 20-hour indefinite contract and an existence ban with each other, but we had shared something tender and unspoken, which made the payback worth the agony of the next few weeks. Before Casey returned to work, he would follow me around and he kept trying to talk to me. Just once, I turned and told him we were on an existence ban. He told me that they could put us on an existence ban, but they couldn't make us stop thinking of each other. I had no response to his words because I knew what he had said was true. Each time he approached me after that I just ignored him. I knew he watched me. He followed me and tried to talk to me any chance he could.

The day Casey went back to work, he had watched me go into the Redroom. It was a large cellar with two entrances just outside the opposite ends of the ever chaotic kitchen. The room was primarily used for storage and meetings. I had been sent down there to retrieve something for a staff member. As I walked down the stairs into the dimly lit room, I heard the door open on the other side of the room. Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw Casey quickly walk down the stairs. I knew what he wanted. As he walked towards me, his eyes almost pleaded with me. I knew he wanted to touch me...to hold me. I knew he missed me, but I knew from the moment we sat together in the dining room in open defiance, a relationship with him would never be approved by staff. They would see us as being a negative influence on each other and do everything to keep us apart. I had seen it happen to other people and knew it was a no-win situation. Casey hadn't resigned himself to the reality of situation as of yet. Until this point, I hadn't been emotionally onvolved with anyone. Sure, I had a few infatuations along the way, but we all know how superficial and one-sided they can be.

Before he reached me, I quickly walked back upstairs. Shortly after that, I noticed they had shaved his head and he had gone back to work. A few days after I had completed my contract, I was called to be in a marathon group. From the start, this marathon was like no other. The group was not made up of strictly peers, but of residents and staff from all phases of the program. Unlike a typical marathon which lasted about a week, this marathon lasted for over 100 days. When we went up to the cabin that had been built to house marathons, it was late summer and when we returned to the house, it was winter. I hadn't talked to Casey before I left because we were still on a ban. Since he worked on the kitchen crew, I wasn't surprised to see him bring meals to the cabin for my group. I can only imagine what his department head thought each time he volunteered. Maybe he came off as being eager to please and ready do the right thing, but I knew what his motivation was. We never talked when he delivered food because that wasn't allowed, but he always made sure to make eye contact with me. It was as if he used what was in my eyes as a gauge to keep coming back.

That marathon brought many changes, but the biggest was something I learned long before I ever entered the cabin. The marathon only reinforced what I knew already. Sometimes lasting memories are formed under the strangest of circumstances and sometimes people only need to briefly touch your life in order to have a lasting effect on it.

The Placebo Effect - Part 10

Thu, 09 Nov 2006 06:16:10 GMT

Whittle away at an addict a little at a time and what do you have? What exists is an empty shell, a blank slate, a shapeless piece of clay. Therapy at Kinsman Hall was the ultimate placebo and although at the time I didn't fully understand the whole mechanism, the communion amongst the down-trodden was strong and very appealing for many reasons. Throughout our lives leading up to whatever led each of us to kinsman hall, each person became an expert in avoiding dealing with their problems. At Kinsman hall there was nowhere to hide and confrontation was the way of life. No one's story was more horrible or shocking than the next person's. Once sharing was initiated, trust followed.

At certain stages intense therapy was introduced to the residents. These therapy sessions were called marathons and took place in the confines of what once was the attic. A typical marathon lasted several days to a week depending upon the size of the group. Later a cabin was built away from the main house to hold marathons, so the participants couldn't have contact with other residents in the house. When I think about how isolation played such an integral part of Kinsman hall's whole program it makes me shutter. From isolating the entire house from the rest of the world to the bans put upon people for various reasons, isolation was a tool that forced the residents over time to become dependent upon the "family" as a unit and over time that unit became their reason for being.

Everyone had a preconceived notion about marathons...of course those who had attended one couldn't enlighten the rest. Some envisioned ascending the stairway into the attic thinking some magical force would heal them and make them whole. What most really thought was that it was time off from work, where they could eat candy, play cards and do basically anything they wanted to do. Being in the marathon room was like stepping into a neutral zone or better yet, it was like being on vacation. Yet each person knew that "something" happened during a marathon.

When a person was called to the marathon room, their peer group accompanied them. People were told to grab their pillow, blanket and a few clean clothes and report to the marathon room. My first impression of the room reminded me of a room that would have been great for a gigantic orgy. The large room was wall to wall mattresses. The dining area and bathrooms were separate from the area used for therapy.

The actual therapy is hard to describe. I believe it actually might have been several popular psychological concepts combined into one but I don't think it was ever given a name like Primal Scream Therapy. Each person was carefully guided into what was deemed a "feeling level" while everyone else sat/laid around the perimeter of the room on the mattresses. A therapist would lie next to the person in order to talk the person through the "switches" that needed to be made. The therapy allowed a person to switch hatred for others, self-hatred and fear into grief. Once the switch was made, the feeling was dissipated by what was called "grieving it away". I liken it to deflating a balloon that's almost ready to burst. The common belief was that while a person is filled with negative feelings they are unable to heal. These negative feelings had steered our individual journeys and had caused each of us to act in ways that normal, well-adjusted people would not act. Confronting our demons would ultimately result in us being free to live a productive life.

How a "feeling level" is accomplished is something I cannot really explain or attest that, in fact, it actually exist. All I know is that the physical sensations of hatred and fear caused a definite tightening in the body and then at the appropriate time the therapist would lead the person into grieving that feeling away with verbal commands That sensation felt like what crying would be without the tears or noise. A trembling in the gut was present throughout the grieving process. During a person's time on the mat, the therapist would lead the person through a trip down memory lane by speaking softly to the person lying next to them. The therapist's words were emotionally charged aimed at certain responses. At the end of this process the person was supposed to feel emotionally naked and unworthy of acceptance, yet each person completed their therapy by asking someone in the group to accept them for the person they are. The person asked for acceptance was supposed to be the person who would least likely accept that person. The person shows acceptance by going to the person and embracing the person asking for acceptance and then rest of the group follows suit.

When the marathon is over the group then leaves the marathon room and rejoins the rest of the house. The house welcomes the group by embracing each member. The high point of the marathon process for most is definitely the physical contact they experienced. For most, being affection starved has become a way of life so a simple hug feels as if the sky has opened and God has smiled upon that person. Due to the intimate surroundings of the marathon room and the males and females not being separated, usually more physical contact happened than just the embracing during each person's acceptance. Negative contracts were a favorite pasttime of any marathon along with card playing and falling asleep next to the person of your choice.

The Object Is To Learn A Lesson - Part 9

Tue, 31 Oct 2006 22:01:02 GMT

After publishing that last entry, I knew it was time to take the next step and explain what an object lesson is. The last photo I published showed a female wearing a cardboard sign around her neck and also a stocking cap. Both can be considered an object lesson. The combination of the two words, "object" and "lesson" makes the meaning of "object lesson" fairly easy to figure out. An object lesson is an object used to teach a person a lesson. Were object lessons effective tools? Like with most things at Kinsman Hall, I think most people grew tired of getting in trouble and got to a point of toeing the line just to make it easier for themselves. That’s only my opinion and perhaps someday, others who were at Kinsman Hall will find their way to my blog and make their own comments on what I’ve written. I’m sure each person there had their own way of looking at things and each person’s perspective changed as they advanced through the program.

In my first post about Kinsman Hall, I mentioned someone wearing a wooden peg taped to their forehead. The reason why that person had to wear a wooden peg taped to their forehead was because they had forgot to move their peg on the giant pegboard located right outside the MAIN AREA. On this pegboard , each resident's name formed rows. The pegboard was divided into columns. Each column had the name of the various locations inside the house and outside as its headers. When a person first came downstairs from the dorms in the morning, they would move their peg from (BOYS or GIRLS) DORMS to DINING ROOM. Upon leaving the DINING ROOM and going to work, they would move their peg to the location in which they worked. "Expeditors" whose job it was to do continuous headcounts all day, would mark on their clipboard where the person was located last. A head count took anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes to complete. During the next head count the expeditor would go back to the last location the person was and if they were not located in that place, the next step would be to go to the peg board to see where this person's current location was. If the person had forgotten to move their peg to their new location, the person would have to wear a peg for a few days. At times, some people wore numerous pegs. It just depended on how scattered-brained a person was.

Other object lessons included costumes to depict the type of persona you displayed to others. For instance, The Atomic Reactor was a person who had problems controlling their temper, Snidely Whiplash, was the bad guy who tries to drag others into forming negative contracts, The Baby wore diapers to show they had putney, immature feelings and needed to grow up and The Clown made a joke of everything. These were just a few of the various costumes people had to wear at times as an object lesson.

People who worked in the kitchen could always count on wearing burnt toast in a baggie around the neck or a broken plate for several days. The most common of all object lessons was the cardboard sign. Signs were made with some written comment on them indicating what the person had done wrong. For example a sign might have " I think other people's object lessons are funny. Please help me change my bad behavior." A person wearing a sign had to know word for word what their sign said and had to be able to recite it whenever asked what it says. From the example I used, you can conclude that laughing at someone's object lesson or making fun of it in anyway would only get the person in trouble. I have to admit that some object lessons were difficult not to laugh at because they were so ridiculous. Most people learned the fine art of laughing internally and sharing that laughter with a select few.

Now picture if you can, The Atomic Reactor coming across the stage in the Dining Room...red tights and a cape to match. His skin tight white shirt has a picture of nuclear explosion on it. Just as he reaches the edge of the stage, he decides not to use the stairs but to jump off the stage. His cape flies up behind him and makes it appear just for a second he's going to fly away. Laughter breaks out and more object lessons soon follow!

The House Of Cards - Part 8

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 14:54:38 GMT

In writing about Kinsman Hall, I've tried to remain as objective as I can be while describing the program and how it ran. I intentionally have avoided any personal stories other than what lead to my confinement there and my first impressions of the facility. Of course, I have many stories I could share that involve my interaction with other people which I had intended to share a few of my more memorable ones when I finished describing how the program worked just to give this whole tale the Red Kitten touch, but a comment made in the previous entry (thank you Kid) got me thinking about some of the unfair practices that took place at Kinsman Hall and I felt the need to mix make this entry alittle more personal than some of the previous ones.

I'm a strong person...I can survive anything life throws my way. I guess my philosophy has always been "if it doesn't kill me, it'll only make me stronger". Even at a young age, I had the ability to land on my feet most of the time. I can think of only a very few things during my life that have made me struggle to regain my footing. Yes, drugs was one of them! When a person stops any addiction, they become vulnerable to many things. As with most addicts, trust is an issue that comes with time and hard work from both sides. Not only do we have to regain the trust of others, but we also have to learn how and when to trust those people closest to us. Addicts have spent a great deal of time isolating themselves from real intimacy with other people. The relationships they have with people are totally orchestrated by their own comfort zone. What others see is just an illusion and the only people who know what really lies beneath are people who have either been there themselves or are the people who knew the person before the addiction. Those grassroots people will always remain as people I can and will trust unconditionally because they truly do know my heart and love me in spite of my flaws and imperfections.

Kinsman Hall was geared towards totally breaking a person down and presumably rebuilding a new and improved model. A scene from the beginning of each Six Million Dollar man comes to mind.

"Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster."

During my rebuilding stage, I started to make friends and trust people again. The people in my peer group shared all their dirty little secrets with each other. Most of it wasn't very pretty, but in the unveiling process a bond was formed and friendships were made that have passed the test of time and distance. Initially this bond is fragile because sharing for most of us is a foreign concept and allowing people inside is a scary thing.

I was 16 years old when I was probated to Kinsman Hall indefinitely. That meant I had to finish their program or go back to "reform school". When I had been at Kinsman Hall for several months, another girl from the State of Maine's School For "What The Hell Do We Do With This One" Girls was sent there for help also. I remembered Denise, but she was no more than just an acquaintance to me. When she arrived, she expected to be friends with me. Having her there was just another reminder of what path my life had taken and I found myself avoiding her any chance I could. I was surprised that they hadn't placed us on a ban we she came into the program, but I think they wanted to see how we interacted with each other first.

When people break one of the Cardinal Rules (no getting high, no treason, no physical contact and no splitting), they get what's called a General Meeting (GM) in which the whole house is gathered in the dining room and the rule breaker is placed on center stage in front of the house and then the house very loudly screams at that person about their bad behavior. Of course, the person standing there can't understand anything anyone is saying, they just see angry faces and hear what sounds like a lynch mob coming to burn down Frankenstein's castle. After the person gets a GM, they are put on an 18 or 20 hour in definite contract in which they work on a special crew run by someone who's talented in the art of blow-aways.

The purpose of this is to give the guilty party as much stress as possible so they won't ever break a rule again. During this period of time the person is not allowed to have a mattress to sleep on and they are placed on a ban with the rest of the house with the exception of the person running the crew. If anyone else is on the contract crew, the crew members cannot talk socially with each other. In fact, no one has much time to do anything besides "LINE UP" and say thank you and do the dirtiest of dirty jobs until they are deemed ready to come back into the house and a resume normal routine. One other thing that happens as a result of getting a GM is that any guilty males get an immediate shaved head and females receive the equivalent by having to wear a "stocking cap" while on contract. A stocking cap is made by tying the legs of panty hose tightly together and then turning it inside out. This forms a skin toned cap. All a female's hair is tucked up under this cap which creates the illusion of a shaved head. There were times when skin-toned panty hose were not available and we had to use colored tights. Colored "skin" always seemed alittle more fashionable to wear, but the biggest advantage of being a girl was that when the contract ended, the stocking cap is removed and our flowing locks could once again dangle. A guy was stuck with the shaved head and had to start growing his hair again until next time he does something bad enough to warrant a shaved head. For some there was always a next time! Some guys went through most of the program with no hair!

A few months after Denise had come to Kinsman Hall, one afternoon I was given a message that one of the staff members wanted to talk to me in the dining room. I had been doing a job away from my normal crew that day, so the break was a welcome one. When I entered the dining room there sat the whole house (how did they get there without me noticing it?). As I walked out on the stage, I was asked if I knew why I was there, but answered "no". I really was clueless. I hadn't broken any cardinal rule, so this whole scenario seemed like a cruel joke or a nightmare from which I couldn't awaken myself. The house stood and walked towards me. I remembered looking down at them as they started to scream at me. I really wanted to hear what just one person was saying, but I couldn't focus on what anyone was saying. I felt numb. I went from face to face trying to see one that was less angry than the others, but failed to do so. Where were the people who were my friends? Why were they yelling at me, too? When the yelling subsided I was lead off the stage and was given the rest of my punishment. Due to the rule that no one could "challenge" their punishment immediately, I waited til the end of the day before I asked what I had done.

I was told Denise had gone to staff and told them that I was treating her cruelly. I never got the full details nor really wanted them, but I can only assume from the severity of the punishment that what I received was not as a result of avoidance, but as a result of a fabricated tale against me. Upon learning what I had done, I knew staff couldn't have investigated the story at all because if they had they would have found out I was cordial to Denise and had never done anything outwardly mean to her. My avoidance was definitely not right, but it didn't warrant a punishment. I should have been confronted in some other manner like during a therapy session or even during a hostility session. I think if someone had said that Denise was miserable and needed a friend, I would have made myself make more of an effort, but avoidance is so easy and safe especially when dealing with addictions. Avoidance is the key to the grand illusion of having every little thing in magnificant status quo. It's like a house made of playing cards...ready to tumble at any second. My house of cards came tumbling down that day and I never looked at things quite the same after that. I spent 2 years at Kinsman Hall and Denise left shortly after my GM.

Happiness Is A Warm Gun - Part 7

Thu, 26 Oct 2006 05:23:52 GMT

Living under the same roof with any amount of people is a difficult task. Even under the best circumstances, problems will occur because after all we are human beings. And aren't we taught to err is human? As problems arose at Kinsman Hall, we weren't allowed to confront a person at the time of the incident or to express anger. Instead the problem was left to fester until a "hostility session" was held. Each crew had hostility sessions about once a month, while house hostility sessions were held less frequently. The logic behind that was that the people one had the most contact with on a daily basis would naturally be the people with whom problems would most likely develop.

Seated in a circle, the staff member would go around the circle asking if anyone had any hostility for each person. This was the time to vent! A person could say anything anyone they had hostility for at that time in whatever way they wanted to say it. The only stipulation was that everyone had to remain seated and the person receiving the hostility couldn‘t do anything, but sit quietly and listen. The only positive feature of these sessions was being able to finally vent. In theory these hostility sessions were supposed to make crews run more smoothly, but what I saw happening was a lot of pettiness developing as a result of these sessions. Some people held grudges and would do dirty little tit-for-tat things back and forth after going back to work. Eventually if it went on long enough, the people involved would be put on a ban with each other.

Another type "session" we had was called a "guilt" session. Being the imperfect beings we all are and being prone to making mistakes, each person carried guilt. Guilt could be as a result of those rules broken without anyone's knowledge or as a result of a negative contract formed with a friend by breaking rules together. The purpose of a guilt session was to cleanse the conscience. With no guilt a person could function better and become a stronger individual. We were told guilt weighs a person down and prevents any healing to occur.

Guilt sessions reminded me in many ways of the Catholic Confession. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned..." Sins were revealed, forgiveness and penance were given followed by reflection before moving on. This process was similar and but instead of receiving forgiveness from some Divine source, our absolution was given by a group of saintly staff members!.

All residents were called into the dining room and were told to take a seat. Talking, eye contact or any type of communication was not allowed. We were left in there for what seemed to be a long time, but in reality it probably was no longer than a hour before one by one each of us was brought to the Main Area where we stood in front of several staff members. At that time we were expected to give up our guilt.

The tricky thing about this process was that amnesty was given during these guilt sessions. Any guilt a person copped to doing would not receive a punishment UNLESS it was guilt involving another person. Let's say two people had physical contact. If no one said anything then the chances of staff ever finding out was slim to nil, but remember we're dealing with real people in these situations and these real people are in various stages of recovery. Let's say the two people liked each other at the time the physical contact took place, but these two no longer were a hot item. Maybe one or both of them liked someone else at this point...the one who had been given the heave ho for someone new might hold a wee bit of a grudge. (That sounds like a typical reaction, doesn’t it?) Wouldn't a guilt session be a great time to burn the other person? You cop to the guilt, but the other person never mentions it when they have their turn because they think you‘d never admit to it. The outcome is that you have no punishment and the other person gets severely disciplined.

Many different scenarios can play themselves out here during a guilt session. The psychological maze a guilt session creates is phenomenal. In the back of each resident's minds is that voice...a conscience screaming that having false loyalty is street behavior. Afterall the code of silence among druggies may be strong, but in this setting it was the very thing that the program was trying to crack and erode anyway it could. Pitting friend against friend in this situation was a great way of showing how false loyalty leads nowhere. Most people might wonder why anyone would admit to doing anything...good question, but as a person's defenses are torn apart over time what takes their place are values that may be completely foreign to that person. See no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil just didn't seem to be an option, but what were the options? Selling out? Or was that just old bad behavior speaking to keep a person from cleaning up their act?

Blown Away - Part 6

Wed, 25 Oct 2006 03:42:52 GMT

Previously I explained how the house was divided into many crews and how the job assignments rotated periodically. Of course, doing a good job was important, but sometimes I think doing well wasn't the real key to success. I think failing or at least stumbling was equally important. Without mistakes a person can never reap the full benefits of experience and without experience compassion and understanding is virtually impossible to obtain. Where does it leave a person if they are completely void being able to identify with another person and to actually feel that person’s pain as if it were their own? I'm sure occasionally all of us have moments where we truly do understand how a person feels and at that moment we can step inside that person's shoes and feel their sorrow or joy. Somehow...almost by accident each person who entered Kinsman Hall formed a lasting bond with others who had experienced this unique time warp.

One of the most commonly used therapeutic tools at Kinsman Hall was the "blow-away". Its purpose was to point out bad behavior in a very intense manner. For lack of anything else to compare a blow-away to, I'll liken it to what a drill sergeant would do to his troops while they train at boot camp. Let's just call a blow-away the ultimate pull-up followed by a thank-you. Blow-aways could only be given by people in positions of authority whereas pull-ups were used amongst crew members. For example, a ramrod observes his/her crew working slowly and not doing what they’re supposed to be doing. First, the ramrod would holler for his/her crew to "line up" or to "take their positions". Lining up was like coming to attention in the military...eyes straight forward and standing completely erect side by side. Next, the ramrod would express dissatisfaction to the crew in a loud, demeaning way. Finally, the crew would say "thank you" in unison and then resume working in a way that would reflect that they were attempting to correct their bad behavior.

Sometimes the heads would really roll, when a staff member would line up the whole crew including the ramrod and the department head. Usually if a staff member blew away a crew, they accompanied it by "tossing" something. If they tossed the dorms that meant all dressers were emptied into the middle of the floor along with all the contents of the closets. Turned loose in the kitchen, they usually tossed all dishes, pots, pans and silverware all over the floor. After creating a mess, the crew was expected to clean the area as fast as possible. If it wasn't done fast enough or to the specifications of that person, then the area would get tossed again and again until either the crew finally did it correctly or the staff member grew tired of creating the mess. A crew could always expect more of the same given by the department head and ramrod after the staff member left the area. Some days it seemed little work was actually done because the crew spent most of its time lining up and saying thank you.

Blow-aways were referred to as "stress" and stress was an integral part of the program. It wasn't until much later that I figured out why the creator of Kinsman Hall felt stress was necessary. Living in a stress-free environment would have been great, but it would have been dissimilar to the real world. We all face everyday stressors and are expected to cope in a mature, acceptable way. Many people turned to drugs as a means of coping with problems and to alter that impulse one had to be driven like a robot in their response. Much like Pavlov dogs, the residents were reconditioned to respond in what was deemed a positive way of coping with stress. I think what was overlooked was that once a person left Kinsman Hall, blow-aways and all the other strange features would no longer exist. No one was going to stand at attention if someone verbally assaulted them. Who was going to respond to a confrontational person by saying "thank you" after receiving a tongue-lashing? Perhaps, if nothing else what the artificial stress did was to teach us self-control and to find a more passive response to the harshness and unpredictability of stress.

What's A Ban? - Part 5

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 02:03:13 GMT

When I think of all the rather peculiar rules, disciplinary actions and just miscellaneous BS that was thrown a resident's way, one of the most ridiculous was the use of bans. This may be a rather effective political tool at times, but when dealing with people especially on a close interpersonal level, bans were very hard to uphold. Bans could be between 2 people or could involve as many as the whole resident body. Bans were implemented if two people hang around together all the time. Staff would think that the two people needed to "spread their action" and not form exclusive friendships. Bans were placed on 2 people who knew each other outside Kinsman Hall. Staff would think the two people might tell "war stories" (talk about negative things) and form "negative contracts" (conspire to break rules together). A male and female might have a ban imposed upon them if they started "building bridges" (initiate an unapproved relationship with each other). Physical contact was one of the big no-no's there and any relationship had to be approved by staff. Approval was given when two people met certain criteria and had gone through a series of steps. On the other hand, two people might be placed on a ban if they didn't get along. Fighting was not tolerated (physical contact included physical voilence) nor was doing underhanded things to someone a person didn't like. Staff thought placing people who didn't get along on a ban was a preventative measure aimed at giving the people a chance to cool off and think about their differences realistically. So you see bans were used as therapeutic tools and also as a form of punishment. At Kinsman Hall there were 3 types of bans a person could be placed on:

A social ban - this type of ban restricts the person from being able to socially talk with the person or people they are placed on a ban with. This person is only able to talk about work with the designated person or people.
A function ban- this type of ban restricts the person from being able to talk about work with the person or people they are placed on a ban with. This person is only able to socially talk with the designated person or people.
A social/function ban - this type of ban restricts the person from being able to talk with the person or people they are placed on a ban with. If this person needs to communicate with the person or people they are on a ban with, it has to be through a 3rd party.
An existence ban - this type of ban restricts the person from acknowledging the presence of the person or people they are placed on a ban with. No eye contact is allowed. The person is not allowed to use the person's name. To this person the other person or people do not exist and vice versa.

While some residents were constantly being placed on bans with people, I spread my action quite successfully because in the 2 years I was there I was only placed on one ban and that was an existence ban with the whole house (a story to be told later). I think I blended fairly well and never did anything too outrageous to be a constant reminder to staff that I needed heavy discipline. Mine for the most part were minor infractions of the rules. My biggest mishap was towards the tail end of my days at Kinsman Hall. Perhaps that wild hair called or maybe I just grew weary of being a drone. Remember all decisions were made for you by staff...your place was just to be and follow the rules of the program. Toeing the line has never been my strong point. I know that comes as no surprise to anyone who has read my blog over the last few years. Let's just say the rules I did break for the most part went unnoticed.

The time warp in which I lived these two years still has a mark on my soul. No contact was allowed with the outside world was allowed. What little bit of info that leaked in was given to us by staff, but for the most part those two years I was on an existence ban with the rest of the world.

Just Say Thank You - Part 4

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 05:31:21 GMT

My big sister, Kelly had her hands full teaching me the ropes. She was expected to make me familiar with all protocol and rules. During the time I was under her guidance, if I got in trouble not only would I get disciplined, but so would she. Usually learning the ropes meant learning how to survive by doing as little as possible to get by, but in this situation there was no easy way out and no corners to cut. Later as I got to know the system better I did see some obvious loopholes, but to me, they weren’t worth the price I would have to pay to benefit from them. Learning the ropes really meant learning who was trustworthy, how far the rules would bend without breaking and what people belonged to what cliques. Yes, cliques were definitely discouraged, but they existed regardless of what anyone did or said to do away with them. I've always consider myself as being intelligent and observant, so I felt all I had to do was merely observe how things worked for several weeks and then I'd be okay. I have to admit, until the day I left I never felt as though I was ever okay!

Kinsman Hall was a therapeutic community aimed at getting people to recognize their bad behaviors through the help of co-workers and staff members and by a hodgepodge blend of various psychological concepts that were popular at that time. Only when a person was able to recognize certain behaviors could those behaviors be modified. The way recognition was initiated was through a fundamental tool called a "pull-up" and then as time went on, each resident was introduced to more complex tools for behavior modification. In order to explain the premise of a pull-up, I first have to explain that each resident had an assigned job. Job assignments would change from time to time, so each person could work with new people and learn different skills. Also, the rotation of job assignments was one way cliques were discouraged from forming, yet how a person actually went through the program was with a group of the peers who entered the program around the same time. Quite frankly, more was done to encourage cliques than to discourage them, but I never made the staff aware of that fact.

The jobs included placement on the service crew whose primary duty was to keep the house clean, the kitchen crew who prepared the meals, did the dishes and kept the kitchen clean, the grounds crew who kept up the maintenance of the outside and the surrounding grounds, the laundry crew who washed, dried and folded clothes, the commisionary crew who ordered and maintained the inventory of supplies for the facility, the construction crew who headed up all the various works in progress, the watch dogs were referred to as "expeditors" who were responsible for continuous headcounts and of course, the various levels of staff members. There were miscellaneous jobs like night watchman, fire marshal, a garden crew and a position for the front desk just to name a few.

My first job assignment was on the kitchen crew. What I basically learned from washing dishes all day and keeping the kitchen area clean was that there was little time for socializing and getting to know anyone. The bigger crews were broken down into a chain of command that went from the peons at the base the pyramid who were the worker bees to the "ramrods" (people who actually ran the various crews) to the department heads to the omnipotent staff member over each crew. Not only was it my duty and responsibility to do my assigned task, but it was also my duty and responsibility to make pull-ups to my co-workers. A pull-up whole purpose was to make a person aware of their bad behavior. A pull-up was never made to anyone above a person on the food chain and a typical pull-up might go something like this:

Ray, Stan, Nina and I are hard at work in the dishpan area. Nina drops a sponge on the floor because she wasn't watching what she was doing. According to Kinsman Hall standards, Nina was probably daydreaming about negative things like life on the streets. To make Nina aware of her bad behavior, any one of her co-workers should say, "Nina, you just dropped a sponge on the floor. You wanna get a grip on it?" Nina's reply to the pull-up should be a simple "thank-you" and nothing more.

Anyone can see how pull-ups might lead into some rather colorful tit for tat sessions among crew members and instead of the proper response being used, a person might get something much harsher instead. Any deviation from the Kinsman hall standards would lead to a punishment called a "clean-up" which was given by staff members. The punishment process was called a "haircut" in which a "clean-up" was then given to the guilty party as a penance for their offense. I have to admit the some of the punishments were very creative and I often wondered if the staff members didn't stay up late at night brainstorming to come up with ways to break us down.

The Chair - Part 3

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 05:50:03 GMT

What I learned in the future as I was indoctrinated into the program was that "the chair" was used as a therapeutic tool. A person was put on the chair for one of 3 reasons. The first reason was any candidate for residency would have to sit on the chair while awaiting their interview. Although at that point, the therapeutic results gained from the chair probably were minimal. My time sitting there gave me a brief opportunity to have an "Oh my God, what have I done this time?" moment. Smoking, talking and basically all activities were prohibited while sitting on the chair, with the exception of an occasional bathroom break. Standing was definitely not allowed and all meals were eaten from sitting position. The second reason a person might be placed on the chair was if that person wanted to leave the program. In order to leave, a person must sit on the chair for 7 days. During that time, 20 hours of each day was spent sitting on the chair and the remaining 4 hours was to be spent sleeping on the floor without a mattress. In my 2 years as a resident, I saw only one person last the whole 7 days and actually leave. Damon became a sort of folk hero who was often envied for his tenacity.

People might think what's so hard about sitting on a chair for 7 days. Maybe a description of the chair might help answer that question. The chair was a simple straightback wooden chair on which a person was expected to sit upright with their feet flat on the floor at all times. Not only did a person's butt get extremely sore from that prolonged position, but just about every other muscle as well ached from inactivity. Most "druggies" were cigarette smokers as well, so along with being physically uncomfortable, withdrawal from nicotine was an added perk one could look forward to while sitting on the chair. Any deviation from the rules made the person's 7 days begin again.

The third reason a person might sit on the chair was as a disciplinary tool. I'll delve further into other tools and terminology later, but for now let's just say depending upon the severity of the rule that was broken would be in direct correlation of the length of time a person would remain on the chair to be followed by some other equally harsh form of punishment. In my 2 years, I sat on the chair for all three reasons. My introduction to the chair gave me enough time to assess that Kinsman Hall was by far a strange place to be and one that would take me awhile to figure out ins and outs. I wondered how well I would fit in and just wanted to get off the chair after sitting there several hours.

By the time I had my interview, I was more than ready to be compliant with whatever was thrown my way. I was led from the chair to a room just outside the Main Area and was instructed to stand outside the door "in position" until I was told to enter. I know only a few minutes had past, but each minute seemed like hours. Finally, a middle-aged woman appeared and told me to knock on the door. I did as I was told and as soon as I knocked several voices on the other side of the door hollered very loudly for me to enter. Momentarily I was startled by the intensity of their voices. I looked behind me before entering the room, but knew the only direction I could safely go was forward. Once inside the room, what I saw was 6 people were seated while I was told to stand. Each introduced themselves to me and started asking me questions. Some questions were what I expected, but others were things obviously thrown in to catch me off guard.

I tried to answer each question honestly, but I found myself becoming defensive and sarcastic as the interviewing committee became harsher. The process quickly turned from a friendly "what kind of drugs did you do" into an interrogation that was made to make me feel ashamed and unworthy of being helped. The drama heightened to a grand finale in which I was told to ask for help. Since my first attempt wasn't deemed as sincere or adequate enough, I went through a series of attempts until I found myself screaming for help. At that point I was accepted into the program and was assigned a big sister to show me the ropes.

My first day ended as I walked out of the room almost in a daze feeling totally alone. I was assigned a room with 5 other girls and after putting my belongings away in the appropriate places, I finally was allowed to go to sleep. That night I died and in the morning, the person who awakened in my place was someone else. The next two years was the beginning of an extensive manhunt for the person who had expired silently a few weeks before Christmas in the woods on Northern Maine.