Dear Jaclyn, Everything I write to you is a total waste because you’ll never get these letters or even the chance to read what all 150 of them say. In this place, that my mom and dad call, “a happy place like home,” I am forced to eat their gross and I-feel-like-throwing-up meals, forced to have a roommate who carries around a stroller along with a plastic baby, forced to take three minute (and timed) showers (which I hate because the water is extremely cold), and forced to go to bed at our “bedtime:” 8:30 p.m. I was sent here to lose weight, control my temper (and diet), and to become a better person… First of all, I’m not even fat, second of all, I don’t have a temper, and third of all, I’m already a perfect me, and there’s no way I can become a better person than what I already am because that’s just how I was made (not that I am saying I am perfect or anything). The nurse assigned me a doctor, Allan Roy (such a fake name), who will work on my issues and get me on the path to a healthier eating habbit. I do have to admit, I skip a lot of the nutrition that I need, but the vegetables are gross and that’s the only reason I do not eat my mom’s vegetables. “It looks to me like you have had quite an experience with food,” Allan says and he holds my shirt up to look at my stomach. This makes me want to scream, “I’M NOT FAT,” but he always has to interupt with, “I know you don’t want to become a vegetable,” or “Sorry to break your heart sis, but the only thing you’ll be eating (while you’re here) is yogurt, carrots, aspargus, and applesauce.” My stomach hurts already, so what’s the point of even eating! I wish you were here with me, I absolutely need a different doctor, or for better, I want to get out of here as soon as I have a chance to!
Dear Jaclyn, This is my 151 letter for you, and I am still in the same place, taking showers in the same stupid cold water, and sleeping with the same roommate along with the same stupid plastic baby. I finally talked to her this afternoon, when they locked us in our rooms after two people in the food line were having fist fights. She was staring at me the whole time, and eating a half eaten sausage pizzia from a week ago.Next next thing I know, she’s coming towards me, and then I have to watch her spit the sausage out into the trashcan near my bed. It drives me CRAZY, especially when the trashcan has to be next to MY bed and NOT hers. After a few minutes, the smell is fine, after a few hours, it smells like sausage (I kind of get tired of the smell now), but after a few days or weeks, I start feeling like throwing up even in my sleep. The nurses don’t even want to come in and take out our trash. “We think you ‘kids’ should take more responsibility for yourselves, so this room has the honor to take out the trash,” the staff people tell us. What gets me is that we’re the only room that has to take out the trash ourselves, so why aren’t the rest of the people who stay here do the same thing? I think it’s because they’re either retarded, lazy, or if it’s because of the nasty sausage spit that my roommate, Ali, feeds to the trashcan (which has to be next to MY bed). I am supposed to be asleep by now because it’s just about 15 minutes after nine o’clock, and in about three seconds from now, Rachel is supposed to come in and check to see if we’re ‘asleep’ or not. Please tell my parents that I hate it here and even though they can be annoying to me, I want to be with them now.
Dear Jaclyn, today I learned some new rules from some of the people who “live” here.
- Never ask to go to the bathroom during snack time. The staff members hate taking kids back and forth across the hallways.
- Go to sleep around 9:00 p.m., or at least fake being asleep. The ‘night guards’ will give you this nasty medicine to force you to fall asleep, and it will cause you to oversleep through the alarm and morning group sessions (that we’re required to go to). Missing group sessions means getting supervised TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN by a crazy counsoler who takes you to your ‘doctor’ for afternoon check-ups (EVERYDAY).
- Eat everything on your plate in the food court…they’ll put the food inside your throat until you throw up as a punishment for not eating. “Be glad that we’re giving you food, most places like this don’t even feed you.”
- Say only compliments at the group meetings and nothing else such as what you want to do, or what you’ll be doing when you get out of “The Happy Place.” It will cause you to stay longer. They give out discounts to the parents to pay for you to be here, so that you’ll stay longer and your parents will pay longer for you to stay.
- Never make any phone calls or send mail, because they open it, read it, or edit it to make the parents feel that you’re having a GREAT time here, and want to stay longer. They will even add in there own words that look like your saying, “Dear mom and dad, I love it here. I am making lots of new friends. Please let me come back for the next summer. The staff and food are wonderful.”
Well I’m supposed to get more rules later, but we were interupted by Mr. Groff’s speech saying that he’s making us go to school here…I am getting the wierd feeling that if I stay here long enough, I will become one of “them.”
Dear Jaclyn, Today was so wierd but wonderful at the same time. I was told by some random ugly dude, “You’re not FAT, you’re just not skinny,” which was totally rude, but yet it was THEEE bestest compliment a teenager like me could ever get. I got kicked in the butte from Tori who sits right behind me in ‘school.’ She called me a fatass, and not to mention, gave me the finger TWICE for “looking at her.” “Maybe she just doesn’t like fat people,” a guy, Mark, told me, but he was holding his hand infront of his eyes…It was a little disturbing finding out that he was allergic to me. And when I asked him why he was allergic to ME, he *pretended* to throw up in his shirt. I am wondering if I will ever get the chance to meet at least someone who doesn’t call me a fat in the butte, or give me the loser sign every stikin’ time I turn to look at them. I wish you were here with me at this very moment. If you could only see Tori and her *pretend* boyfriend, Joshua, throw paper at me and mark on their hands in the sign of death, then yeah, I bet you wish you were here beside me too. Like I said, today was wierd, but soooo (sarcastic) WoNdErFuL!!! I can’t wait until tomorrow… 😦
Sincerely, Brooke (who’s still in the classroom giving looks at Tori, and recieving looks from EVERYONE ELSE!)
Dear Jaclyn, Today I was sent to the school’s counsiler, to work on my behavior skills, and finish my art project. Miss May wasn’t very helpful and I don’t see why she is even doing this job. I thought counsilers are supposed to “help” people…not make them “worst” or “feel bad.” The first thing she did was ask me if she could see what I painted. “I’m not that great of a painter,” I told her, but she begged me to show her, so I did. Her expression wasn’t so pleasant after. “So why’d you decide to paint your self-portrait like…that?” I could tell she hated it, but she never said the words, “I Hate Your Self-Portrait.” I shook my head, “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, because I’m..” Miss May was so rude. She added in her own sentence to finish mine. “because you call yourself ugly? Believe me girl, it’s hard for me to look at you too, so I think it was a good idea for you to draw the patatoe talking to the corn… At least they’re a little bit skinnier than you.” My face got so red, so she called in a nurse to give me Advil. “It helps you get rid of all ‘this’ you know…the pain you’re going through,” the nurse shoved the pill down my throat, and squirted water into my mouth. “It looks bad to me.” I frowned at her and gave her the finger, but she wasn’t paying attention (I don’t think). “What looks bad?” I asked. She looked at me from my head to my toes and back to my head. “You’re trapped in that poor pathetic body and can’t even get out of the prison bars. Looks to me like your gonna be in ‘this’ DISTORTION for the rest of your life.” She gave a small giggle and rolled the cart out the door. I looked at Miss May and then back at the closing door. “Well let’s get on with this duty of yours, shall we?” She stood up and combed her fingers in my hair. I screeched… “What kind of shampoo are you using?” I shook my head. “How do I KNOW?!” My voice hurt and I didn’t feel like screeming, so I shut my mouth and let her talk until the end of the counsiling. “Honey, I’m your guidence, I’m like the little voice inside your head that tells you what things to do, and what things not to do. I’ll make it real simple for you,” She flipped her hair and gave a small grin. “If you follow my diet, you can end up looking like me when you get older, how does that sound?” ‘No WAY mam, you are ugly, you’re like forty-eight and you don’t have a husband! I am not looking like YOU when I get older!’ She stared at me, so I said, “I’m perfectly fine.” She patted my shoulder, “Honey, I know how you feel about this. Your pain is showing and that’s a fact. I can see your pain, and even though I cannot feel it (which is a good thing), I’m happy that you’re hating your life. That’s why you’re here. To lose weight, make friends, and change your attitude about your life. How’s that sound?” Miss May took her hand off of my shoulder and walked out the hallway, leaving me in the room by myslef. I ran to catch up to her. “Where do you thiknk yo’re going?!” She eyeballed me. “I’m on lunch break, don’t you know it’s 12:00? Oh I didn’t notice you aren’t wearing a watch,” she turned and walked away. “What’s that mean?” I yelled. Before she was fuly out the door, she laughed and yelled back to me, “You should start wearing one! Maybe it will help you lose weight!” I glared and stood in the middle of the hallway until three security guards pointed their guns at me and told me to get back in my room so I don’t hurt anybody. “I’m not harmful!” but they took my shoulders and carried me to my room, which was kind of embarrassing considering they were basically dragging me SLOWLY because I was too heavy. The guard with black hair came up to me and told me that i could lose a pound or too and I asked them why they said this to me and the guard with reddish orangish hair said it would be easier to carry me if I weren’t so “THIS.”