High school abuse

  I decided to try to set up a small page providing links to healing
resources for survivors of abuse, and to (hopefully) make more people
aware of the enormity of this problem.

  Unlike many survivors, I have a very supportive family, and I'm
eternally thankful for that.  But they can't undo the damage done to me,
no matter how much love they give me.  Nobody could, except me.

  And I've decided to update this, because the telling of it is also a
healing exercise for me.

  All I'd remembered were a lot of threats, and close calls while I was in
high school.  I might point out that I had transferred from the local
schools to a high school which mainly consisted of vo-tech stuff,
especially agriculture-related.  I was after a more "basic" education,
instead of the experimental educational programs they were then trying in
the local schools.  And I was always being kicked into the advanced
classes, and had a lot of trouble with the pressures...

  I'd been warned about some of the sexual abuse going on in the school
where I transferred, but most of it was so unbelievable that I just
discounted it.  I knew they de-pantsed the freshmen, as a sort of
"initiation", but figured I'd just stay out of their way.  I was already a
very insecure kid from all the pressures of the local schools, and I was
always a non-conformist.

  So, I went there with high hopes of just getting a good education, and a
determination to make it work.

  Within about 3 weeks, I would've believed anything was possible down
there.  I started avoiding the bathrooms, or even walking past them in the
hall.  I'd been dragged into one bathroom already, and I clearly remember
that nothing much happened that time.  I was acting the scared little kid
(which I was), and these creeps sort of forgot about me.  I finally asked
somebody if I could go, and I don't remember what he said, but one of them
said something to the effect that it was OK.

  Then the threats got worse, they threatened to shove a tampon down my
pants, and use a wire brush on my testicles if I removed it.  Even this
wasn't an uncommon thing, with the freshmen.  The threat of it, anyway,
I'm not sure anybody ever followed through with the wire brush treatment
on anybody.

  I lived with these threats daily, for 2 years.  It got to where I was
THE main target, probably because I'd been raised to believe I deserved to
be treated like a human being.  They had other ideas.  And of course,
being a small, skinny kid didn't help, either.

  It got to the point where I was using a fire escape door to avoid
walking down a 2nd floor hallway, where my locker was.  And cutting
classes early to get to someplace safe before there were too many kids
wandering around.

  One of the worst things was that the administrators and some of the
teachers did nothing.  Nor did they care.  It was like one huge joke to
them.

  I could go on and on, but it's emotionally exhausting everytime I write
this.

  This all happened when I was 13-15 years old.  I'm now 39, and never
told anybody about any of this, until February of '96.  I've had many
emotional problems and am a recovered alcoholic.  I use the term
"recovered" because, despite what I've read on the subject, once the
physical addiction was broken (4 days of detox, w/seizures,
hallucinations, etc), I haven't had a desire to drink.  Escape, yes, but
not drink.  I quit in 1983, with a lot of support and a great therapist.
And while I really trusted him completely, and he wanted me to talk about
what happened in school, I just couldn't, I don't know why.  Maybe just
because he was a man, I don't know.  He is now retired, but I'll always
have a warm spot in my heart for him.

  Moving on, in late 1995, I started reading the Fidonet Mental Health
conference, which is sort of a support group setting.  And I just loved
it, I started posting on it, and felt at home there.  (Still do, in fact.)


  But in early '96, somebody on there e-mailed me, asking if I'd like to
talk to her about my school problems.  She is also a Survivor, and I don't
know whether she guessed there was more than what I was saying, or what.
I just went into a total panic attack, trying to think of a way to dodge
the question.

  And that's when something inside me said "How about the truth?".  That
thought REALLY terrified me.  But somehow, I guess it was the right time,
or the right person asking, or something, so I told her.  And spent the
night in terror of what she'd think of me.

  Her response was so kind, so caring and understanding, that I just
couldn't believe it.  And I spent the next week or so crying, off and on,
a very healthy kind of crying, I might add!

  That's when I started looking for a therapist who could help me really
HEAL.  My doctor recommended a couple, and thank God, the first I saw was
*perfect* for me, and experienced in dealing with sexual abuse victims.  I
told her about all the threats, etc, and she reassured me that what had
happened WAS abuse.  Very comforting, for some reason.  And she emphasized
that it was NOT MY FAULT.  That was a new idea to me, I'd been blaming
myself for 23 years!

  Several days later, I had a memory of a metal shed.  Nothing more, just
a shed, at the school's ag department's animal pens.  It really shook me
up, because I couldn't imagine why it was so vivid.

  I told my therapist about it, and she asked if I had a yearbook from
high school.  I did, but it was wrapped in plastic, and put away, I wanted
no reminders.

  But I dug it out, and on the inside front cover was an aerial photo of
the school.  Including the fields for the ag stuff.  And several metal
sheds.  I didn't even remember there BEING any sheds there, another reason
to wonder about the memory...  So when I saw them, I don't know how to
describe it, but I started thinking that there could be something relevant
in the partial memory.

  There was.  It came out while I was writing an e-mail letter to the same
person I'd told about this.  And it ALL fell into place.  The only way to
describe it is a physical violation of me.  I just couldn't believe I had
suppressed that, even from myself, for so long.  I've never repressed
anything in my life!  But it was simply there, to be dealt with, once it
came out.  I just couldn't deny it, as much as I'd still like to,
sometimes.

  I guess this is why I get so pissed off at the false memory syndrome
theory.  Nothing whatsoever was suggested to me by my therapist, she was
just going to help me deal with my destroyed self-esteem from the constant
insults and verbal abuse.

  So now, I'm trying to heal from this stuff, which will probably take
years.

  And that's why I started this page.  You may not see a lot of graphics
or fancy designs here, but if I can reach even one Survivor who is now
where I was for so long, then it's worth the time and effort.

  And hopefully, I can also bring awareness to more people about this
evil, which can happen to anyone, anytime, and anywhere.

  I hope this story of myself made some kind of sense.  Although I've
written it before, it's still not easy.

  Thank you for taking the time to read it.


     Stephen Stocker
     March 8, 1997

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