Now, let's get started with the biography. I would first like to say Welcome to my personal page and biography. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I take it since you are here that you would like to know more about me and how this site came to be. These pages cover my life from age 10 (Since that is as far back as I can remember) to present day.
Before getting into this bio, first I would like to let those reading this to know, that this is a very detailed biography. Some have written me saying I should have warned that it could be triggering or upsetting to some people. So I have added this little warning. Severe child abuse details are mentioned throughout this biography. So please, if you have been abused, or find abuse details upsetting, please close out this window now. Otherwise, if your feeling like you are in a good place, and feel you can handle reading about it then here we go.
This is a tell all sort of bio. Anything that happened in my life is held within these pages. Even my switch from being a atheist to a believer in a god and the afterlife and what it was that caused me to switch what I believed in is within these pages. I refuse to lie about and/or hide details of my past. Those incidents are what made me who I am today. If you see something you don't like, well, I am sorry. But this is MY life and all I can be is....Me.
Also I would like to make note that these pages are in no way here to get attention or sympathy from anyone. After all, there is always someone out there who has it worse than you and me. These pages are merely here to give you some insight into my life for those who want to know more about me and how I came to be who I am today and how this site came to be. Nothing more. So here is my story....
Well first off my name is Stanley Thornton Jr. I am 32 years old. I was born in Torrance California on December 26th 1980 to parents Brenda and Stan Thornton. I am the oldest of three. I have a brother named Jonathan Thornton who is 3 years younger than me and a sister named Christina Thornton who passed away when I was about 7 years old (I am told, I don't remember her, just seen pictures and heard stories about her). I am currently living in Redding California.
I have been the owner of this site since it opened in July 2000. Since running this site, I have come to meet so many wonderful people. I opened the site when my search for support sites for adult bed wetting/day wetting and sites for AB's (Adult Baby) with no fighting or name calling was no where to be found (at that time anyway).
I decided since such a place wasn't out there, that I would create it. And I tried to make it as much like a family environment as possible because I consider every member of this site as part of my extended family. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Me and the moderators go above and beyond to help those who come here any way we can. Be it a quick reply, or if it takes a week to find the requested information. We will do our best to help.
I made a place where people could come and talk about their problems without being in fear of being made fun of or attacked. A place to find information about a problem that frankly most people rarely even disclose to their medical doctor out of embarrassment, however the person they fear embarrassment from is one of the people who could help them most. But the plus side of having a web site like this is you can talk about your problem without having to look anyone in the face, you don't have to tell anyone your name. It's totally anonymous if that's what makes you comfortable. Some ask me "Why both things together (bed wetting and AB/TB/DL's). Why not two separate sites?" Well that breaks down to two reasons. The first is the Bed Wetting. I have been bed wetting since I was 13, and day wetting since a few months after turning the age of 20. There wasn't much support for that out there, at least not for adults. A few message boards here and there with very few posts. It was hard being young with the problem such as bed wetting and thinking your the only one. Harder being a adult and not having a solid active place to go to for support and information.
Had I found a site such as this one back then, it would have been a lot of help to connect to others with the same problem and have others to go through it with together. And that's part of the goal here, to help people through this problem. Let them know they are not alone in it and they have a place to turn for help and support.
Then about the AB/TB/DL section. I didn't know what AB ( which is short for Adult Baby which is a sub catagory of a term called Infantilism, the act of acting like and being treated like a baby.) was until I got my first computer around mid 2000. Before that I had no idea why I had a desire to have and felt so comfortable in a crib, why I wanted a baby bottle so bad along with other baby items. All I knew is I wanted them, and for some strange reason they made me feel safe when I had them.
At the time I thought I was crazy. I went through many stages of bingeing and purging of the items, just to collect them all over again a few weeks later. Once I got my computer and researched what it was I understood what it was in my case. For me, being a AB (Adult Baby) is a safety thing, like a safety blanket or stuffed animal. Due to child abuse during much of my childhood and abuse as a adult as well, being AB helped me to relax, feel safe and was fun as well.
So because I am both a bed wetter AND a adult baby, I joined them to make the name of the site "BedwettingABDL". I do try to keep them separate for the most part. However there are some pages that are jointly used on the site, including the links to diaper companies and the message board for example.
With the new message board server though, we are no longer sharing the same chat room. There is one for our bed wetter members, and one for our AB/TB/DL members. Both are moderated to keep them safe.
As to why I became AB, that is for a few reasons. One is because of the bed wetting and using diapers to manage it. It was a way to cope with being in diapers at my age. In the beginning I hated wearing diapers. But over time that feeling changed and morphed into giving me a secure feeling. Like the loving passed to the baby when it's Mommy or Daddy lovingly changes their diaper. The baby feels the love from the parents doing it. When I looked back to find the reason for the AB a bit deeper, a memory of a time when I was younger surfaced. At the time I was perhaps 7 or 8.
The memory was a time when I was at my grandma's for the day and my grandma gave me some money for a can of soda and a candy bar. I walked down to the corner store where she worked. I was in the alley which let out to the back of the corner market when I had a messing accident.
I went back to my grandma's and she took my pants and underwear and tossed em in the washer. I was visiting and didn't have anything else. She was babysitting at the time and put a diaper on me. Why a diaper and not a towel or something, best I could guess is perhaps she was afraid I was sick and might have another accident. I don't know.
I just remember her walking me out and me sitting on the chair in the living room in a diaper and the shirt I was had on waiting for the clothes to finish washing. One of my cousins was also there and both my cousin and my grandma did their best to keep my mind off being in the diaper by talking about things and just shooting the breeze. About 2 hours later the clothes were done and the diaper came off and that was the end of it. Nothing was said to anyone and it was forgotten.
Was that incident the cause for the whole AB feelings? I don't know. But I think it helped to fuel it. The child abuse was what really pushed me into it full on. When I was role playing as a baby, I felt calm, safe, protected and loved. It was a way for me to be the protector I didn't have. I came from a very abusive childhood.
A lot of my relatives were abusive either hitting me or they would be mentally abusive through yelling, calling me names, telling me I was worthless, pulling my hair, throwing hot sauce in my eyes, putting things in my food, sending me to psych hospitals as punishment and so on.
Staff at the psych wards abused me, including a spinal injury when I was 16. And the teachers at school did things as well, including almost killing me on my first day at a new school (Tobinworld) when I was 16 1/2. I was getting it from all directions. All kinds of abuse I will get more into as I go on with the biography.
Through much of my life I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was adopted perhaps. I just didn't have a connection with anyone in the family. I often felt like the outsider of the family. My brother was always treated very different than I was.
For example, when I got in trouble for something my mom would call the psych ward and lie to them saying I was suicidal. I would be taken away to the hospital for 3-14 days at a time. When my brother got in trouble he just got grounded. Why was I treated so harshly and him so mild? Only those who treated us so different know the true reason(s). All I can do is guess.
There was one time I was so sure I was adopted. It was when I was 21. I went online signing up for sites looking for my "real" parents. I was so sure the way I was treated, that it had to be because I was adopted or something. That I didn't really belong to this family. I was, and still am nothing like them. Sadly I was wrong, I did indeed belong to this family.
Much of my family is very violent and only are nice to each other when one wants something from the other. It's a very dysfunctional family. But I on the other hand avoid fighting whenever possible and try to walk away. I HATE violence. So I figured I couldn't be from this family. I was nothing like those in my family. So being AB was an escape for me. Still is. When I am in my room, or the crib, I feel safe. I pretend that I belong to a different family entirely, a loving one. That this loving family is right outside my room, and I don't have to worry about being hurt.
It was my way to relax. I also use it to deal with the bed wetting/day wetting as I mentioned above by pretending in my mind that it's all just a game and I can stop and take off the diapers anytime. Amazing what the mind can do to cope.
Being AB also helps with my heart problem. About mid 2009 I was at the hospital for severe than normal flashbacks and chest pain. My blood pressure was at 190/110 with a pulse of 120. I was put in a wheelchair and taken back because they expected me to have a heart attack at any moment. Thankfully I never did.
The doctor ran several tests and finally told me my heart was damaged. The cause was the PTSD he said. He explained that because the PTSD went untreated so long, the anxiety attacks like the one that shot my blood pressure up to 190/110 with a pulse of 120, that because these attacks happened several times a day for years, it had done damage.
He advised me that one day I would have a flashback or nightmare that would be one too many for my heart and would cause a heart attack. So the role playing physically saves my life. The role playing helps me to calm down after the nightmares or flashback as soon as possible to reduce the risk of heart attack. The faster I can calm down, the less the risk of it triggering a heart attack.
With some of the back story now covered, the following of this page will cover age 10-16. The rest covered on later pages, the link for which is at the bottom of each page. All links in the biography open a seperate window so you won't lose your place.
The first thing to know about me is that my biography starts at age 9 (one month shy of being 10) because I have almost no memory of the first 9 3/4 years of my life. For much of my life up to 9 3/4 was totally blocked. Only in the last 6 or 7 years has a few past events of began to surface in bits and pieces. I am going to touch on the memory loss a bit here before getting into future events.
Some memories that surfaced are funny such a memory of me and my brother getting up early one Christmas and opening a mouse trap game that was supposed to be a gift and playing it and losing some of the pieces along the way. Others are quiet serious such as one I get into about being tied to a chair by a baby sitter and another about a sexual assault.
Here's where things get a bit weird. The memories that surface have no emotional attachment at all for me. It is like looking at pictures in someone else's photo album. I see the pictures, but I don't feel any emotions about what is going on in them. Like they are not mine.
And then I don't see a full event. What surfaces is like one or two frames of a event. Over time sometimes more pictures of the event may surface and when I have enough frames I can begin putting together what is happening in the memory. It's like being handed a Polaroid picture of a time in your life, one at a time, not always in order, and trying to put together what occurred. It's strange.
Anyway, later in the end of my bio, where I speak with a psychic medium named Kim, I begin to understand why these memories that are surfacing have no emotional attachment to me. Some things mentioned by the medium I already knew about, others quite frankly blew my mind.
The first in the series of blocked memories that have surfaced are about a incident when I was about 6 or 7. Based on those I talked to. it happened around the same time my sister was alive, so that places the time frame around 6-7 years old. Give or take.
The flashes of memory I saw was of me tied to a wooden high back chair with arms. My wrist and arms were tied to the arm of the wooden chair. My waist was tied to the back of the chair, another piece was tied just under my arm pits to the back of the chair, and my legs were tied to each of the front legs of the chair.
Another flash of the same day I was tied to the chair is of my arms and legs tied up and I was in what appeared to be a closet. The story I got was I was apparently being baby sat at this persons home and they tied me up. No one knows why. My mom said she came to pick me up and one of the kids who lived there said I was being punished in the closet.
I have no idea what I was punished for or what happened during it all. All I know about the incident is what has surfaced. And from that, all I know is I was being punished for something and was tied up. I don't even know who did it. Yet anyway.
There is another surfaced memory regarding a sexual assault. Well two actually. What I see is a flash of a camper and one of me and my brother naked in a dumpster in the back of the apartment building we were living at. According to those who recall the incident best, a old man in a camper came along and paid me and my brother to get naked in the dumpster and he took pictures. I guess I was about 6 or 7 is my best guess. Aside from the flashes, and the stories I was told about the incident I still don't have the full story. And I am not really sure I want to know the full story. What I do know is the guy was caught and arrested and the pictures of me and my brother were destroyed.
The second one happened around age 9ish I think. It happened before my memory cut off, which is November 20th 1990 is the cut off of my memory. There are two pictures of this event, images of this incident. It's a bit difficult, because I have only told one other person about this newly surfaced memory. That person is my good friend Sandra. Anyway, the memory recently surfaced about 8 months ago in the beginning of 2009. I can't believe I am going to share this. Please bare with me here.
Anyway, the first image, I am about 9 years old. I am in a small shed behind the apartment building of the select suites in Covina California I was living in at the time. I am in the shed with a boy that is maybe 15 or 16 maybe. I can't tell. In his hand, is a knife. Like a army knife, one of those that fold out. He had me kneeling. The next imagine, his pants are down, he has the knife pointed at me, and had me.....well. You know. Pleasure his private area by mouth. Of those two sole images, they make me sick to my stomach. I am very grateful that I don't know anymore about it. And I hope I never do know anymore. I like the saying, "ignorance is bliss". It truly is in this case.
From here, after age 9 1/2, after November 20th 1990 everything is crystal clear. It's taken many years to put this all together with all the details. Every now and then I remember something from my past that I forgot to add to the biography so what's here is of all the memories of what's happened in my life. Many trips to southern California, using Google Earth and talks with family members (when they would still talk to me) have helped get facts on different memories and some infomation around what memories that have surfaced.
About the day where my memory stops, it's been difficult trying to get to all the facts. None of the family seem to know exactly what happened. The day I woke up in the chair just outside the principles office (November 20th 1990), here is what I have managed to recover so far about the days leading up to what happened that day.
Apparently I had been having many problems at school. I got in trouble and suspended a lot. Mostly for not doing my school work. I had a lot of problems sitting still and keeping my attention on track. Thinking about it now, considering all the information it was likely that I had undiagnosed ADHD. I was diagnosed with adult ADHD in mid 2008. It would explain a lot of the problems I was having back then. And at one time, I was on Ritalin, but was take off shortly after when my parents didn't get the desired zombie effect.
Today, I am on 10mg when I am having a hard time. Not enough to cause the zombie effect, but enough to help control the high energy and lack of attention. But I only take it like every few days and only when my blood pressure is near normal. I never take it if my blood pressure is high. Other days, unless it's a very important thing that has to get done, I do my best and go without. Anyway, had I had the proper treatment, perhaps things would have turned out a bit different. Who knows.
Around this time during summer vacation (about 6 months before the incident in November happened) me and my brother flew out east to visit our aunt and uncle in Virginia. The visit all in all was good. I only remember a few bits and pieces that have surfaced. The rest was put together from talking with my cousins and my grandma who had a copy of the video made out there. But it was hardest on my brother.
Of some of the memories that have surfaced of the trip was about his bed wetting and what was done to him for it. He was still bed wetting and my aunt had a hard time dealing with it. She took us to the store in town and got a pair of white plastic pants for him. It was a 3 pack. Nothing inside, just the plastic pants. How she thought these would be a help I don't know.
After dinner she had him put them on. I remember him coming out of the bathroom, and my aunt checking to see if he really had them on. She checked again before bed. And because there was no cloth diaper inside or anything to absorb the pee, they leaked. It made the visit hard for him. And it wasn't exactly a easy thing to watch.
About 3 months after returning, we were visiting my grandma on my mom's side. My mom wanted some "Space". My grandma, Pat, was pretty mean. My brother had wet the bed there and she went to the woman next door who had a toddler and got a diaper. She came in the door and with the diaper in her hand she told him if he wet the bed again, she would put the diaper on him.
He was scared, you could see it in his eyes. His eyes didn't leave the diaper. She put it on the coffee table for him to look at all day. However that night, instead of the diaper, she had him sleep in the bath tub for the remainder of the week we were there.
It was because of the way my brother was treated for his bed wetting by the family, that I was scared to tell anyone about my wetting when it started when I was 13. This time, and the one with my aunt were not the only times. But it was enough for me to keep my mouth shut and do my best to keep it secret. Besides being almost found out a few times, I was able to keep it to myself till I was almost 22 years old.
Pat, my grandma on my mom's side, was doing other things to me and my brother during our stay with them. She put hot sauce in my brother's food while he was in the bathroom. As he was coming out I quickly got up and as I passed him in the hall I warned him before he ate it. She just liked messing with us for some reason. Doing cruel jokes.
During the week there I got angry at Pat and yelled at her to leave me alone and then cried on the sofa. I hated it there and wanted to go home. I don't remember what it was about. But she walked over to me and was talking all nice and said "awww, let grandma see your eyes". When I turned over to look at her she splashed the hot sauce into my eyes.
I couldn't see for several hours in addition to my eyes burning. I couldn't believe she had done that. She just walked away. No helping me wash my eyes out, taking me to the ER. Nothing. Just walked away. All I had were the tears to wash out what got into my eyes. It was a very cruel and VERY painful thing to do to a child.
Sadly the week felt VERY long. The last day we were there I knew we had to get us out of there. So I gave my god father Kenny's number on a piece of paper to one of the kids I had played with (Pat Korn and my grandpa Jeff Korn had the phone locked up), and told him to call Kenny, and tell them we needed help, that we were being abused.
Just as I finished talking, Pat grabbed me by my hair on the back of my head and pulled my head back in the window and shut the window. Thankfully the call was made and we were picked up within a few hours by Kenny and my dad Stan.
This part I am not sure if it was before or after the trip to the east coast. I just don't have enough information from what has surfaced. All I do know was my parents were both living together in the "Select Suits" apartment building in Covina during this part. I had gotten suspended for a few days for not doing my school work when asked. I don't recall the suspension itself, just the incident that took place at the dinning room table that was to be the mock classroom and Stan sat in the living room on the sofa acting as the principle.
During the suspension from school my parents would like, play school. My mom would play the teacher sitting at the dinning room table giving me work sheets she had created, and my dad the principle in the living room. When I would get frustrated as always from the work, instead of taking a break and then trying again, my mom took that as refusing to do my work and had my dad punish me.
If it wasn't a actual spanking, he did the book holding thing. He would have me stand with my arms out and palms up. He would place 2 inch or two thick dictionaries in each palm and tell me to hold it for 30 minutes. If I dropped them, I would be spanked a few times, and the whole time would start over. I dropped them a lot. I just wasn't strong enough to hold books out that long. Finally, I was just sent to my room after about 5 or 6 rounds of dropping the books. This incident I put together from about 4 or so images. And to the best of my knowledge, that is how it happened.
On November 20th 1990 is where my memory starts from. Everything from that day on, I remember in great detail. And all the memories from this day on I have a emotional attachment to. When I think about every event after this day, I have a emotional attachment to. Anyway, at the time, I was going to school at Cypress Elementary school in Covina California. I lived in a apartment building 4 blocks from the school called the Select Suites. We were living in a small 2 bedroom apartment off of Citrus and Arrow Highway in Covina California at the time. I have a page with two pictures of the school. The first picture is of the front of the school, the second is a overhead view of the school taken using a program called Google Earth. You can see them by clicking HERE (Opens new window). I don't remember going to school that day. My memory picks up at about 2:00pm and from then on. It's like I was asleep and then woke up. I woke up sitting in a chair outside the principles office. I have no memory of that day up to that moment in the chair. I sat there a bit scared trying to remember how I got there, and why I was sitting outside the principles office. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't remember anything.
It was like I was just born, no prior memory of my past. I knew my parents name, how to speak and things like that. But actual memories of the past, of my childhood and such was blank. As if I had no past. The incident that got me in trouble that day I have no memory of, and was never told the truth. The so called truth I have been told by family, doesn't add up. What I do remember of the day is of me sitting outside the principles office waiting for my parents to come out of the office in the afternoon hours.
The story I got from my mom made no sense. My mom tried to tell me I took a plastic Easter egg to school with two marbles in it and said it was a bomb. Why would I do that? As I said, I am not violent, and the whole thing makes no sense. And to top it off, I have a very hard time believing this story.
There were no police called to the school, or a bomb squad to check out the so called "bomb". Which would be called if there was a bomb. So I find it hard to believe. And if I had brought a bomb to school, I would have been arrested, or at the very least, had police there. No police were there. Instead, I was taken to a children's psych ward where my mom told me to tell the nurse that I was suicidal. What does saying I am suicidal and a psych ward have anything to do with a Easter egg bomb? It makes no sense.
I was really confused and upset. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't understand why I was being locked in the unit. None of it. The psych doctor asked me what happened, I couldn't tell him anything. I didn't know what happened. That whole week there was worthless. I never found out what it was I was supposed to have done to be there. And I was upset that I was put there without knowing what I had done. Seemed very unfair to me.
Anyway, as I said, I woke up in the chair with no memory of the past. Imagine how confused you would feel if you just woke up somewhere with no memory of how you got there, or the last 9 1/2 years of your past. I just wanted to go home.
So here's what happened that day after I woke up in the chair. So I woke up sitting in the chair outside the principles office. I was confused trying to remember how I got there but my mind was totally blank. I was afraid to even move because I wasn't sure if I was being punished or some other reason to be sitting in that chair. So I stayed seated trying to remember. A few moments later my parents came walking out of the principles office.
I was walked out to my dad's 2 door peach Ford Pinto. The principle got into his school bus yellow 2 door VW bug. My parents took me to Charter Oak Hospital in Covina. It was November 20th 1990 and about 2:30pm when we got to Charter Oak Hospital.
Just before getting out of the car my mom told me I was told to tell the lady at check in that I was suicidal. I didn’t quite understand why, but did as I was told. Back then, I trusted my parents. Soon I would realize that it was one of many mistakes made.
We met with a woman who talked to me and my mom for a bit. I said what I was told to say. I was then told to wait outside the room while the lady and my mom talked. I thought we were going home after the meeting. I was wrong. The woman and my mom came out of the room and we went over to a computer where she entered a bunch of information.
I was then told I would be there a few days. I got this feeling similar to being hit in the stomach. I became very scared. I started crying and begging my mom to take me home and not leave me here. She put me on her knee and the woman passed me a tissue. I just couldn’t stop crying. Every few minutes I would start to beg again to be let to go home. It didn’t matter. There was no leaving.
After about 30 minutes or so of entering my personal information (birth date, social security number and other similar information) we walked to a building at the back of the place. This was the children’s unit. We entered the building and came to a desk. To the left was the girls unit. And to the right was the boys unit for kids. Most of the kids there were around my age of 9. The youngest there was about 7 I think.
Soon the big metal double door was buzzed open and we walked onto the ward. To my right was the day room. There was a foosball table, TV and other games and activities to do. The room also was used to serve meals. To my left straight across from the day room through a door was the solitary rooms. 2 rooms with a bathroom between them.
A few more steps down was a door on the left that we went into. The room was for the doctors to use on the ward. It was where I met the doctor that was going to be assigned to my case. His name was Dr Brown. After another 20-30 minutes with him I was told to say my goodbyes to my mom. She gave me a hug and left out the doors. I wouldn’t see or hear from my parents for another 2 days.
A nurse came up to me and walked me down the hall of rooms. I had the last room on the right just before the door that lead outside to the playground. I had the room to myself. The room had two beds, 2 closets with a desk and chair between the two stand alone closets. There was a small room at the back which was the shower, sink and toilet.
Just below the window was a heater/air conditioner. On the walls where pictures of Mickey Mouse and others. One picture was in black and white probably from the 50’s, and the others where of Mickey Mouse and other Disney favorites.
Just outside the room next to my door was a picture frame attached to the wall. In it sat a paper grid. I was explained that the hospital used a point system. If you were good, you got points. The more points you had got you extra game time and could stay up till the second bed time.
After I was explained the rules and point system it was about 4:30pm and I was left in my room to “settle in” and get ready for dinner. I was still VERY upset and just wanted to be left alone. I just laid on my bed crying till dinner time at 5:00pm.
A nurse came and told me it was time for dinner. I walked down to the day room and sat down at one of the tables. I was given a tray of food. I ate it slowly. I wasn’t feeling too hungry. I ate a few bites. Enough to please the staff as they kept track of how much you ate based on a percentage (0%-100%). I returned my tray to the woman and went back to my room.
From 5:30pm-7:30pm was visiting time. My parents didn’t come, Which left me more hurt. I stayed in my room till I had to come to a group at 8:15pm. At the group I was given a journal to write down my feelings. It didn’t get used. They wanted me to talk about how I was doing and why I was there.
I knew what I was told to say to get put in there, but I wasn’t suicidal. I didn’t know why I was really there. I had no memory of anything before sitting in that chair in the school's office. I just knew I was being punished for something.
The group ended at 8:30pm which was the first bedtime for those with not enough points for the second bedtime at 9:00pm. I had to go to bed because I didn’t have enough points. I didn’t care. It was only a half hour more anyway and I just wanted to be alone anyhow. I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next morning I was woken up at 7:30am (November 21st 1990). I was told to make my bed and a staff member would come in and inspect it. If your bed wasn’t made and the floor was clean of anything you had to do it before you could go eat. My bed was the same as it was when I came in. I fell asleep laying on top of the bedding. The room was warm so I never got under the covers.
Since my room was ok I was sent to the day room for breakfast. On my way to my room I heard some screaming coming from the door to the solitary rooms. It sounded like someone was being killed. At 8:00am the trays came out. I ate about half and returned the tray to the woman.
There was a bit of time where you could play a game or two while the others were finishing their breakfast. I couldn’t get over the screaming. I have always been one to take care of those younger than me. Like a big brother. I wanted to see what was going on and if the kid was ok. I told this one kid to tell the nurse that I hit him. My goal was to be taken through the doors to see if the kid was alright.
The kid came back and said the nurse said for him to tell me to leave him alone. I told him to say the same thing again. This time it worked, a nurse came in and took me out of the day room and through the doors to the time out area. She opened the first room and pushed me in and locked the door behind me. At first I couldn’t understand what the problem was. I wasn’t being hurt or anything.
A few seconds later I heard banging and faint screaming from the second solitary room. It wasn’t loud, just loud enough to hear though the rubber padded walls. The kid in the “time out room” next to me was trying to break the glass window in the time out room door to get out. The last hit broke his hand instead.
About 20 minutes later I learned why the room made kids cry to be let out. The kid next to me was taken out of the room to get his hand taken care of. Suddenly it became totally quiet. Not just quiet, but so quiet it was deafening. You could hear your own heart beat and nothing else.
Nothing from outside the room could be heard. The walls were covered with a tan rubber padding, as was the door except for the small window with chicken wire mesh in the glass. The door was locked with a dead bolt and 3 barrel locks. One barrel lock at the top of the door, one just below the dead bolt and another almost at the bottom of the door. Like a child could get even the dead bolt open. The amount of locks was overkill.
There was a wooden frame bolted to the floor with a blue waterproof mattress laid on top of the frame. In the frame was small slots cut into the wood. I had no idea what they were for, not for many years would I find out that the slots were where the leather restraints are secured to. Above the mattress in the first solitary room to the right was a skylight about 10-12 feet above the bed. The smell of leather and rubber filled the room.
Now the room was getting to me. I had been in the room about 15 minutes. Each minute felt like hours. I now wanted out, and NOW. I yelled for someone “Hello?”…..”Can anyone hear me?”. No one came. I started getting scared. The silence was getting to me in a major way and no one could hear me screaming for help. I started banging on the window for help. Now I understood why the boy in the room next to me wanted out so bad and why he was banging on the window.
The rooms are sound proof for the most part. You have to be right up to the window in the door and pretty much scream for the person on the other side of the door to hear you. The only way to call for help in a way that could be heard was by banging on the little window in the door. Finally a woman came to the window and asked if I would be good. “Yes, yes, just please let me out” I said to the woman. She unlocked the slide locks and unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door. I couldn’t step out of the room fast enough.
After I got out of the “time out room” I was told to go to my room and take a shower and get cleaned up, and I did. I never wanted to see that room again. I got in the shower and tried to forget that horrible experience. The water felt good. I showered like I always did and almost forgot where I was till I opened the bathroom door. I quickly snapped back into the horrible reality of where I was. I wasn’t home.
At 9:00am we were called back to the day room. For anyone who thought you were clear from having to do any school work while in the psych ward, You would be wrong. You had to go to school there too. Though it wasn’t the typical 8 hours long school day. It was only a hour a day at this hospital. Depending on what hospital your at, it’s different for each place. Anyway, they gave me some school work to do. A packet of school work to do based on what grade I was in. The “school” lasted for an hour.
At 10:00am was what they called AT or Art Therapy. You can draw, color….whatever they have planned. There was a different topic each day. Draw family, your favorite place to go, draw how you feel and so on.
At 11:00am was a group to check in and see how everyone was doing. They want you to use your journal. My reply was I was doing fine and wanted to go home. It’s been my reply for each hospital stay for the last 20 years. I learned fast that what you said was used against you. Let me rephrase that. If you say you have a problem with anything, you are kept longer to “solve” it. If your mad, depressed, or anything else, they want to extend your stay to “make it better”. If you “go off” your stay is extended.
So whenever asked, I was doing good and looking forward to going home. Basically, I said what they wanted to hear. My feelings inside were never shown. When I cried, no one saw. So I checked in with a similar answer at all the meetings. I just wanted to be back home where I couldn’t be locked in the awful room.
It was now 11:45am. We were sent back to our rooms while lunch was set up. At Noon we were called back to the day room to eat. This time, I had a better appetite and ate everything. I finished my food and went back to my room early. From 12:30pm-12:45 is basically time for some down time. Everyone is sent to their room for 15 minutes.
At 12:45pm they unlocked the door at the end of the ward. Everyone was let outside. Just outside is a play area and a tennis court. Though they didn’t have a ball or racket so no one played tennis. I was just glad to be outside. While sitting in the grass with my eyes closed trying to pretend I was somewhere else I heard yelling and laughing. Just on the other side of the brick wall was a elementary school.
At 1:00pm we had to go back in. From 1:00pm-2:00pm was journal time. I was sent to my room to write in my journal how I was feeling. I just laid in my bed with my eyes closed. 2:00pm came around and it was time for art therapy or AT.
We were walked to a wood shop on the other side of the campus. Once inside everyone was given a project to do. I chose a wooden car. Nothing fancy. The car frame was a solid piece and the wheels just snapped into place and you got to paint it.
At 3:00pm we were walked back to the unit and we went to our rooms for more quiet time. At 3:15pm it was time for recess and snack. We got a snack and then was let out into the playground again. Again I sat in the grass and closed my eyes trying to forget where I was. From 3:30-4:30pm we had another group.
Then at 4:30pm we were sent to our rooms once again for some more quiet time. It was the quiet time I hated more than anything because I tend to think about my situation and what I would be doing at home. It just made me upset and homesick.
5:00pm came and it was again time for dinner. I ate swiftly and waited to see if my parents were going to come for the 5:30-7:30pm visiting time. By 6:15pm they still had not come. I went back to my room upset and crying. I just wanted to go home. And I didn’t know why my parents had left me here and not come back. No visits and no phone calls since they left me here. I came out for the short group at 8:15pm and then spent the rest of the night in my room and like the night before cried myself to sleep.
I was woken up at 7:30am (November 22nd 1990). It was Thanksgiving. I was told by the staff that my mom had arranged to pick me up on a day pass for Thanksgiving but wasn’t told when. So I was looking forward to getting out. I made my bed and after inspection I went to the day room for breakfast. At 8am the trays came and I ate my meal and went back to my room.
The day went pretty much as it did the day before. In fact, everything is done the same every day. So I knew what was to come next, for the most part. The excitement of leaving started to fade as the day pressed on. It was now 3:30pm and still no one came to get me out. I went to the group and when the group ended at 4:30pm still no one came. I went to my room for the half hour of quiet time before dinner wondering what happened. Did they forget about me?
5:00pm came and still nothing. Today was special as we were let to go to the dinning room to eat. We lined up and were walked to the dinner hall. It was all set up with decorations and all. I picked out some things and sat down and ate. We got back to the unit at 5:30pm and we went to our rooms for quiet time. At 5:35pm I was on the verge of tears feeling that they forgot about me for sure but a nurse came and got me, my parents finally came to get me.
I got signed out and walked out to the car with my mom and dad. I asked why they came so late, no answer. I was asked if I ate, and I told my mom that I thought they forgot about me because they came so late so I decided to eat and not wait. She was a bit miffed by that.
We went to my grandparents house on my mom’s side of the family who lived in El Monte for Thanksgiving dinner. They had been cooking most of the day. I was enjoying the air of freedom. My brother played like everything was just fine.
An hour later the meal was ready and we all sat down and ate. I was done and went back out to hang out with some other kids in the trailer park my grandparents lived in. After hanging out playing for about 45 minutes my mom called me in. I ran up saying “we are playing tag, what’s up?” She told me it was time to go back.
While playing tag I had almost forgotten I was only allowed out of the hospital for a short few hours. My heart just sank. I didn’t want to go back there. I wanted to go home from here like we did the year before. I started to get upset. I just wanted to run and hide so they couldn’t take me back. She must have known how I was feeling because she made me go inside and sit on the sofa while my parents got ready to take me back.
The car ride back was silent. I just looked out the window the whole ride back to the hospital. I had only been off the unit for about 2 hours. 2 stinking hours was all I got with my brother and family. I started crying as we pulled into the hospital parking lot, but I didn’t let my parents see me crying. As we were walking up to the door I broke down, and like the day I came I begged my mom to let me come home. She told me I still had to stay, that I only came home on a day pass for the special day.
She turned me around and opened the door to the building and walked me up to the desk and checked me back into the unit. She gave me a quick hug just before the nurse took me back through the ward doors and locked them behind me. I just broke down. I walked as fast as I could to my room and fell onto my bed crying. I couldn’t believe I was back here.
My parents didn’t shed one tear. It wasn’t hurting them for me to be here. I was really upset. I just wanted to go home. I became very depressed. I spent the rest of the night alone in my room. Except for the last group where I sat quietly and left back to my room the second the group was over. Like the nights before, I cried myself to sleep once again.
I was woken up at 7:30am (November 23rd 1990) like the days before. Made my bed and after my room was checked I went to breakfast. I only had a few bites and drank the milk and went back to my room. I just wanted to be left alone. After school and the morning quiet time we were lined up to go to the gym building that had a indoor basket ball court to play basket ball.
I just sat on the side line watching the other kids play basket ball. After yesterday I didn’t feel like playing basketball or doing much else. I was told I had to play with the others or go back to the unit. I thought it was a good idea to just go back to the unit as I really just wanted to be left alone. I figured I would just lay down in my room till the next group. I thought wrong.
One of the staff members walked me back to the unit. He opened the door to the unit and I started walking to my room. He grabbed my arm and said “no no, you have to go to time out”. My heart jumped. I asked why, and he said if I didn’t take part in the group or activity I had to spend the time in time out. If the group was a hour long, I had to be in time out till it was over. I tried to pull away from him begging him not to put me in there. He dragged me to the room, unlocked the door and pushed me in. He locked the dead bolt and the 3 barrel locks.
I banged on the window screaming to be let out. The last time I was in the room was the first and last time I wanted to be in it. And I had enough after just 10 minutes. Now I was supposed to be in the room for 45 minutes. After 5 minutes of me screaming and banging to be let out a nurse came to the door and told me if I didn’t stop banging that she would put me in restraints. I didn’t know what that was but I figured it was something worse than just being locked in this room. I stopped banging because I really didn’t want to find out what restraints were. The room was bad enough.
I moved away from the door and sat on the mattress and started crying. I didn’t want to be here, and for sure not in this room again. In anger I picked up the mattress and threw it at the wall. Then I sat on the floor in the back of the room and just cried. The room was torture. I couldn’t stand the silence. Each minute felt like hours. There was no clock so I had no idea how long I had been in there.
Because I couldn’t hear outside the room I couldn’t even tell if the kids had come back. I had to just wait till the nurse decides to let me out. It was horrible. 45 minutes later I heard the locks on the door open. I stood up just as the door was opened, tears were still coming. The nurse said “you can come out now”. I went to my room and cried a bit more over the experience as I tried to pull myself back together.
It was now a few minutes before 11:00am. A nurse told me it was time for group. I wiped the last remaining tears and stepped into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face to clean up any evidence of me crying. Then I went into the day room for the group. After group lunch was set out. The rest of the day went without incident.
Since my first day I didn’t once use my points for the 30 minute later bed time, I always went to bed just after the last group of the day at 8:15pm. I gave up all hopes of having my parents visit. And as before cried myself to sleep. Seems to be a trend there.
The next morning I was woken up at 7:30am (November 24th 1990) to get cleaned up and make my bed for room inspection. My room was inspected and I was told to go to the day room for breakfast. During breakfast we were told we would be going on a outing to see a movie after lunch today. Finally a chance to get out of the hospital for awhile. The day went as scheduled. I did the groups and all and ate my lunch. They sent us back to our rooms for quiet time while they got everything ready.
At 1:00pm we were lined up at the ward door and walked out to 2 big white unmarked vans in the parking lot. We were then driven to the movie theater. The movie picked out for us was “Beauty and the Beast” which has become a trigger for me. I can't watch or listen to it since that day without it triggering flashbacks.
Anyway the movies was not exactly my type of movie but I didn’t care too much as it was a excuse to leave the hospital. Several staff went along. You were not able to be out of sight of a staff member.
Even when I used the bathroom at the theater a staff member went with me and stood behind me while I used the bathroom. At least they took off their hospital ID so no one knew where we were from. But you could still easily tell by the amount of staff to child ratio that we were not a run of the mill family seeing a movie. I felt really uncomfortable with being in public like that. I felt like everyone was watching me.
Anyway, the movie ended and we were loaded back up in the vans and taken back to the hospital. We got back to the unit around 3:15pm or so. From there we were sent to our rooms for some quiet time. At 3:30pm we had a group. At 4:30pm the group ended and we were sent to our rooms for some quiet time before dinner. I went to dinner and we had a surprise. It was a kids birthday and his parents came with pizza for everyone. His parents were really nice.
After I ate I went to my room. His parents being there were reminding me of mine not coming and it was making me upset. I decided to just be in my room. After the last group of the day I went to bed. In the whole time I was there I didn’t use the extra points to stay up later not once.
At 7:30am I was woken up as always (November 25th 1990). I got up and got ready for the morning and made my bed and waited for room inspection. I ate breakfast and returned to my room. We had a few groups that morning and after lunch they let us out to swim for a bit as it was a warm day. I guess the pool is heated or something because the water was very warm for that time of the year. I got back to the unit at about 2pm. We went to group till 3pm. Then everyone had to go to their room for quiet time.
I am not sure why, but around this time I got really home sick. I just started crying for what seemed no reason. At that moment I had enough and just wanted out. I walked down to the nurses station and with tears still in my eyes I asked them to please call my parents to come and get me. I explained that I couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to go home. I was told to back up and not cross the red line marked across the doorway in duck tape.
I asked again “please let me go home, I want to go home”. The nurse said I had to stay. Upset and not thinking I stepped over the line a few steps and again said “Please let me go home”. Because I stepped over the line the nurse got up and took me by the arm to the time out room on the left. She pushed me in and locked the door and walked out of sight.
I broke down crying and couldn’t seem to stop. I was banging on the door and banging my fists on the little glass window screaming to be let out and that I wanted to go home. I was angry now. I picked up the mattress from the wooden stand and used it to point the camera that was in the room to face the wall. Then I went back to banging on the door to be let out.
After 10 minutes of me banging a woman came to the door and told me that if I didn’t calm down and stop banging that she would put me in restraints. The only response I could think of to say was “make my little doggy day”. I know, silly thing to say. I heard it on a movie and it was all I could think of at the moment to say.
Finally I got tired and just sat in the corner and cried. 30 minutes went by and still no one came to let me out. I just wanted to be dead so no one could ever lock me in this room again. It was the first time I ever seriously wanted to die. I made myself a promise that day. If at age 18 that I was still in this much emotional pain, still feeling unloved, still being alone that I would end my life. I don’t know why I picked that date, but I did.
It was at that moment that I felt a wave of calm come over my body. It’s hard to describe. But from that moment on, I knew no matter what was done to me that in 8 years it would all be over and I would be dead and no one could lock me in solitary rooms, or leave me in a hospital for days without even visiting me, that no one could ever hurt me again.
10 minutes later or so I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to think of something to do to pass the time. Growing up I have always loved trains. So I took the mattress and bent it between the wooden bed frame and the wall to make a tunnel and on my hands and knees I crawled around the bed and through the tunnel pretending I was driving my train through the mountain and country side. It wasn’t loads of fun, but it was something to do to pass the time.
After about another 20 or 30 minutes of me playing train a woman came to the door and asked me if I was ready to come out. I told her yea and the door was unlocked and I was let to come out. It was 3:20pm when I was let out. I was told to go to my room till 3:30pm when the next group was set to start.
I went to the group at 3:30pm and the rest of the day went with no other problems. I now was able to control my crying and everything else with the promise I made to myself. Also while in the time out room I began building a mental wall to be able to handle any further abuse that might occur between now and the date I picked to end my life. The wall was used to block my emotions. It was a way to cope, to not feel the hurt anymore. I didn’t cry for the rest of the day. I was just very calm. Numb would be a better word to describe the feeling.
It freaked out the staff as most of my stay I was frequently crying. All the sudden I was very calm and wasn’t crying. They couldn’t understand it. I wasn’t the same child that they put in that room. What I didn’t know is they had tapped me “going off” in the room and playing train. They had called me mom to come down and see the tape. I guess the “new me” really freaked them out. I went to bed that night after dinner and for the first time in the week I had been there I didn’t cry myself to sleep.
The next morning (November 26th 1990) I was woken up at 7:30am as always. Although today was different. I was told by the nurse that today I was being discharged. I went to breakfast after my room was inspected. When I finished eating I went to my room and packed my things and set them on a chair next to my door. I was ready to leave. I just didn’t know what time I was being released. I went to school at 9am and did the packet of work and went through to motions.
At the group after lunch I was given a trophy. It said on the copper plaque “Charter Oak Hospital Weekly Poster Child”. It had a fake marble base with a plastic figure of a guy holding a round circle above his head which had two vines around the rim. I didn’t really care much about it. When I got back to my room I tossed it in the bag.
I continued my day and finally at about 2pm I was called to the nurses station. My parents were there to pick me up. I was told to go get my things and come to the nurses station. They opened the ward door and I left the unit to go home.
Now just over 20 years since that horrible week. I have not forgotten anything about that week. I can still draw the entire floor plan of the hospital grounds as well as the unit I was on with great detail. It’s like it’s burned into my memory. That hospital stay was not the only one.
Because of this and other hospitals my mom sent me to as a form of punishment and things that happened to me in them caused me to develop PTSD. You would be surprised what happens behind those locked doors that the patients family don't see.
During a nightmare storm (a nick name I have for when I am having 1-2 nightmares during a one hour period of sleep) I sat down and drew a walk through of the children's unit at Charter Oak Hospital. It's only done with the paint program on the computer so the colors and stuff isn't exactly right. But it's pretty close. Anyway, If you wish to see the video it's located at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKSIWAMtm-0 .
The video is just basically a walk through of the hospital as seen through my eyes in the nightmares and during the time I was there. Well, as best you can get with paint program. And the hub/blog has my detailed account of what happened each day of the week I was there in November of 1990.
I have a page with a few pictures of Charter Oak Hospital. One of the front of the place, and one of a overview of the entire place using Google Earth. To see them click HERE (Opens new window). After I got out of the psychiatric hospital, my mom sent me to Sunflower Elementary school in Glendora California. Although around 2010 or so the school's name changed to "Arrow High School". I guess the special education school got sold to the regular school district. Who knows. But that's what the school is called now today.
When I was going there it was a special education school. Bullies would pick on me. I got beat up, stuffed into trash cans, had my head put in the toilet (also called a swirly) but because staff didn't see it, to them they said it didn't happen and they couldn't do anything about it. Apparently the bruises, wet head and smelling like trash wasn't enough proof. I was making it up to them.
So it continued and no one did anything to make it stop. But I had my promise to keep me going. So day in day out I was beat up and picked on and I just existed. Sometimes it would be too much, and I would leave class to get away and cool down in the soccer field. You can see pictures of Sunflower HERE (Opens new window).
Then staff from the school's "time out room" would come and take me to the solitary room they had on the grounds behind the office. When you walk in, on your right is two like cubical's. They make you sit in chair facing the brick wall and you have a wall on each side of you as well that goes to the ceiling. There are two of these little cubical's where you look at the wall till they say you can stop and go back to class.
To the left is a desk and across from the desk are the two time out room boxes. I say boxes because that's more or less what they are. The rooms are about 2 feet wide, 2 feet deep and about 6 feet tall. The inside of the room smells of Linoleum tile.
The pattern on the floor tile was of white squares with gray grout lines. It was peeling up and some parts missing from kids pulling it up. On the ceiling of the room is a fan with a grate over it, and a light with a sheet of plexi glass over it that has frosted over with time.
Just outside the room are two switches, one controls the fan, the other the light. At one time there was a door on the little room as evident from the lines left from the three door hinges that were once there. And there still was a hole where the dead bolt would have latched into the door at. I was told the door was removed for fire hazard reasons.
To give you a better idea, here is a link to a Youtube.com video of a "time out" room similar to the one in use in Sunflower, just take off the door from the room and no video camera in the room and you have the time out room from Sunflower that is located in the back of the building where the office is. The time out area even has it's own door separate from the office. Here is the link to that video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1Ar4JZOD98&feature=fv(Open's New Window)
There was one time, I was standing outside the time out room office trying to explain to the one staff member that I was being beat up. He looked at my shirt and asked me what it said. I was wearing a plain shirt, it was a trick.
The second I looked down, he reached out and grabbed my shirt. He pulled me into the office, picked me up off the ground by my shirt, and slammed me into the chair. He pushed the chair closer to the wall and told me not to move. I was scared out of my mind. I couldn't stop shaking. I was in such shock of what had just happened I just started cussing. I wasn't right in the head at the time. I didn't know what I was saying.
Anyway, the male staff member had a tape recorder and was recording me. Of course no where on the tape did it talk about him lifting me off the floor by my shirt and slamming me down into the chair. When I got home, my mom did nothing about the guy who hurt me. She just grabbed my face, and stuck the nozzle of the bottle of dish soap in my mouth and gave a squeeze. I got sick as hell.
Soap isn't made like it was way back when. These days, and back in the 1990's when this happened, the liquid dish soap has degreasers and all kinds of stuff to get those dirty dishes clean. It even says on the bottle "Do not ingest". So yea, I was sick for a few days. And nothing was ever done about the guy picking me up and slamming me into the chair. My mom wouldn't believe me. So the guy got away with it.
Most times when I left the class to cool off after an attack from the bully, the time out room would be called and they would come and get me. They knew where I was. I wasn't trying to hide. I just needed some time to calm down. So I walked out to the soccer field (Upper right of the overhead picture of the grounds) to where the fence around the school was and just sat down and took deep breaths trying to calm down. Sometimes, although rare, the time out room staff left me alone.
As I said, they knew where I was, and when I calmed down I would return to class on my own. But most times, I wasn't just left alone. They would come and grab me by the arm, or both arms and DRAG me, and I do mean DRAG me to the time out room office and put me in the chair facing the brick wall or into the time out box. They never let me talk about what happened. I had to sit silent till they said I could go back to class. Nothing was ever resolved.
And they would draw out the time it would normally take to calm down by dragging me to the time out room and hurting me. About 10-20 minutes is what it took for me to calm down alone in the soccer field. When the time out room and staff was used, it would turn into 1-3 hours. Way more. I was punished for not taking the abuse, plain and simple. The bully not once got in trouble. Just me.
Soon after the situation that was going on at Sunflower, we moved to El Monte California. I transferred out of Sunflower to Carver Elementary School in San Marino California. It's a regular education campus with 2 special education trailer classrooms. In the picture below, I have a cream color arrow pointing to the special education trailers I went to there:
I had very few problems there. All were minor. The teacher was very nice as well as patient. The teacher had this one game/contest. When the class was walked to the bathroom, those that were done could take part in the game/contest.
What you did was stand with your back against the wall and start sliding down till your legs make a table. Then you see if your legs are strong enough to outlast the others. I won a few times. The prize was just a extra portion of the nacho cheese chips or a extra donut or whatever the treat they were about to give out was. I didn't do it for the reward. I did it for the challenge.
There was a few good trips here. The teacher arranged for the class to see a Dodger baseball game. We all went to Dodger Stadium to see a whole game. Him and a few other staff drove all the kids home at the end of the game. It was a lot of fun. I was allowed to get a little AM/FM radio in the shape of a baseball. Was pretty cool.
There was also a trip two classes did to a performance where the two classes were to sing "Heal The World" produced by Michael Jackson. I just happen to find a tape at home of the Super Bowl where the half time show was where Michael Jackson got on stage and sang "Heal The World". So having the tape made it easier for the class to learn the words and hear how the words are song which is helpful. In the end we found out that it wasn't just our two classes. It was several classes from several schools who all did it together. It was ok though.
And then there was a camping trip the teacher put together as well. That was so so. The camp was for a week, paid for by the school. You just had to bring the sleeping bag and such. They had horse riding (my first time on a horse. It was a brown horse), they had star gazing with a telescope, camp fire and S' mores, they had a screen in the dining hall and watched batman the movie. It was like from way back when they still did those "BAM!!" "POW!!" type of thing. But it was alright for what it was.
I found it hard to sleep away from home. I have always been uncomfortable when I am not in my own bed. I also felt very uncomfortable showering because the room was set up for group showering and such. I was, and still am very modest about my body. I was rail thin and stuff back then and all, but it wasn't about my looks. It was about someone else looking at my private parts. Same reason I had problems later in school with gym and changing into gym clothes. So yea, I had to wait for everyone else to finish so I could be alone and shower. But aside from the showering issue, it was fun.