Hello, all of you out there!

My name is Jesse, and if you're reading this then you're visiting my blog!

On first appearance, there are a few things people know about me and my appearance. I'm a guy. I'm seventeen. I have blue/gray eyes when I'm not wearing my jet-blue contacts, and I've got short, spiked, mandarin cream colored hair (That's strawberry gold and blonde hair with wheat blonde streaked highlights.) Dyed, of course.

If you get to know me a bit better, you find out the following: I am a high school student graduating early this spring! I get good grades, I consider myself to be rather smart, I have a college scholarship and I work at a laser tag arena making more money than my teachers, which I find to be a problem, don't you? I mean, it rocks for me! But I think that teachers should be paid more since they work at home grading papers and figuring out lesson plans, as well as dealing with all the drama of high school and high school students lives. Education should be worth more than what they are paid.

Still with me? Good!

I'm an athlete, which is how I got my scholarship, I'm on the track team at school and I play baseball when the season arrives. I love going to ball games, going to Super Bowl parties, playing basketball at the park and hockey at the arena on the week ends.

I'm Christian and I go to church every week and have Bible Study at friend's houses every Wednesday night. But don't let that scare you off! I'm not judgmental. True Christians are taught to love everyone who doesn't hurt them, and to turn the other cheek as much as possible.

I want to own my own business building houses, and be a real tycoon! Until then, I'd be happy doing construction (so long as the pay is fair), being a contractor, repairing cars, or computer technician. The last one's a bit off, I know, but its great money and I love doing it. Those summer courses in computer repair I took are finally paying off!

I have tons of friends who support me and I support them back. I have dreams, I'm fairly intelligent, I love to read, draw and, as you can tell, blog online.

I'm also a runaway.

Caught your attention, hu? Let me explain,

I live in a teen center with about ten others. It's hard to keep count, people are coming and going all the time, but there are ten here who I know very well.

The owners this center are two terrific people. They are also Christian, but they don't press their religion on anyone who doesn't ask about it. They give us food, clothes, shelter and the option of staying off the streets. They even go so far as to pay medical bills for us.

Because they are religious, and get donations from religious organizations, they don't get any government aid! Not a penny... private donations and money from their own pockets; that is what they give us. I don't know what could equal the value in that. I just wish we had more aid and donations... these people work so hard, they need everything they can get! People this great deserve good things.

In return they don't ask much. If you've stayed a while and they think you'd be helpful, they ask you to volunteer a few hours a day to the Runaway Line; a phone number given out at schools and online for teens thinking of running away. We're supposed to talk them out of it, but there is an untold rule amongst us that says if the kid calling has a real problem we have to get them help, because we don't want them forced to run like we were, but sometimes that is the only option. Then we tell them where to go and what to do if they have to get out.

L and her brother M, for example, left home because their mother was a drug addict and their father beat them. They talked to people at their school, friends, neighbors... then they ran and slowly their bruises are healing due to the aid they are given here.

This place is not just a safe haven; it's also a recovery center. It brings people who are on the brink of suicide back into the realm of the living. In fact, writing this blog is part of my therapy. (Cool, hu?)

As you might have noticed by now, names are not allowed (sorry). You know my first name, but not my last. I have to make sure none of you can ever find out who I really am or where, exactly, I am.

Because then they might find me.

"Who will find you, Jesse?" You might be asking.

Well, I'll tell you. My parents and their cult of a church group are after me, that's who.

Yeah, they say they're Christians too... but we must interpret the Bible much differently. Because they consider me to be sin incarnated and I consider myself to be human, just like they are. But no, not in their eyes. In their eyes I'm a heathen, a traitor, a disgrace, a wasted gift, a broken promise and a monster. (I'm very talented, wouldn't you agree?)

It wasn't always like that. I was their star for a long time. I played catch and basketball with my dad, I cooked dinner with my mom and I even played baseball every year for the company my dad worked with.

I wasn't perfect, sure. I left my room a mess on occasion, I was on the phone a lot, I didn't like homework. I broke curfew once or twice, I smoked once and that's how we found out I had asthma... also, I had the habit of leaving my backpack by the front door no matter how many times my mom complained about it and begged me not to.

I loved my parents, though. Despite how they'd embarrass me on occasion and the nagging I got whenever I forgot to do my chores or something. Over all, we had a great relationship!

I thought I could tell them anything...

But two words changed all of that.

"I'm gay."

I had never felt as hated as when I told my parents that. Mom started crying and ran to their bedroom. Dad cursed more than he ever had in my life, and screamed at me. He wouldn't let me get near him; he'd back up and order me to stay away every time I took a step toward him.

The day before that we'd played basketball together. Me and him against the neighbor and his son. We won. Even went out for a streak dinner to celebrate after the game was over, using the forty bucks we'd won to help pay for it.

But after I let my secret out Dad acted like I had broken into his house, stole things... and had leprosy or something contagious and deadly or disfiguring. I'd gotten a better reaction from my friends at school. Most of them just shrugged it off; a few asked some questions... and swore that the rest of the school didn't need to know; just to be safe. I was still Jesse! I always had been, always would be.

My parents wouldn't talk to me for weeks. They wouldn't let me go to church with them, wouldn't drive me to school, wouldn't stay in the same room with me!

It took about two weeks before they would even look at me... it was awful! Like someone had flipped a switch or hit a button on that Life Remote everyone wishes they had. (I'll admit it; a reverse button would be sweet.)

School was ending before they finally spoke to me again. I remember that day like it was a scene from a favorite horror movie. You know; the kind where you have nightmares about it for months and you know your friends do, too, because they keep bringing up how stupid the scene was. What the character should have done.

I'd walked in and my parents had been sitting on the couch, together. They both looked at me as he walked in, and smiled.

It freaked me out! It was like an infomercial! Where the hell were the cameras?

I asked what was going on; (because I swear that's the first thing that hit me, how abnormal this was) they told me to sit down, please.

There was too much smiling... they said the understood me and how hard it must have been to admit something like 'that'. They mentioned they had been speaking to a man from a church who'd helped them decide how to handle this, and that someone was coming over.

A Bible study. No big deal; those were usually fun (shocking, I know), and I'd been to a bunch.

The man who showed up was a reaper. Bringer of death, torment, torture! Think, Hitler with a Bible and without the stupid mustache (though he did have a stupid haircut.). He even brought goons with him.

Dad locked the door from the inside, with a key. That's right, a key! Somehow, while I'd been at school, all the locks in the house had been changed and more had been added. Now you needed a key to get out of the house, not just in.

The man told me that he had been speaking with Mom and Dad, my 'sponsors'. That I was a new 'client'. He said he understood my 'condition'.

WTF? CONDITION?

I asked him what he was talking about, but no one would answer. They just said they understood and they wanted to help.

Now, my first thoughts on that were awkward... I told the man that he wasn't my type, but everyone in the room seemed to come to a silent agreement to ignore that comment the instant it came out of my mouth.

They said they were going to help fix me. I told them they had better not mean like how we'd 'fixed' Sammy, my dog. Again, the silent ignore agreement was passed as if the 'mute' button had been pressed.

I was already going to a summer camp; or so I'd thought. Dad informed me that he'd canceled my registration at the summer camp we'd picked out just a month before hand, and that instead I was going to be going to an 'Actions for Love' (it was the group the guy they had invited over was from) program called Harborage.

I still didn't understand it... but I was informed that I was not going to have a choice.

But that isn't why or how I ran away.

They pulled me out of school the next day and took me to Harborage. It was like a draft. I should have fled to Canada. Dad dragged me out of the gas guzzling SUV and into this building that was twenty minutes from home and ten minutes from anything else.

This place was called 'campus'. Like a school.

Once inside, I was surrounded. Too many fake smiles and criticizing looks, I felt like I was drowning.

They all knew my secret... he'd told them. My father, my pop, my dad whom I trusted so much... had told them.

We entered yet another room and Dad shoved me into a chair that reminded me of a dentist's chair. He stepped behind the chair and kept hold of my shoulders; someone grabbed my backpack and rushed out of the room.

When I asked about it, Dad just said they were going through it. He said it as if it was no big deal! They were going through my stuff and it was no big deal? If I went through his briefcase I'd be in trouble! These were strangers going through my stuff!

They took my shoes. Shoes! They stole my sneakers! What possible use could they have for an old, used pair of sneakers?

The comment was made that my fingernails were too long. Took my bag, stole my shoes, complained that my nails were too long! It wasn't like I had a manicure or polish or something! And even if I had, what business of it was theirs? They cut my nails so short my thumbs were bleeding and my hand ached. I'd never had then that short!

They complained about my clothes and told me the new personal appearance and hygiene rules.

I had to shave daily, use deodorant and shower. No big deal, I did that anyway.

Cologne was not allowed. Neither was perfume, but I didn't wear perfume and was confused as to why they would bring that up.

They seemed insistent that I realize what wasn't allowed and what was expected, and explained that it wasn't just for this place; it was for life in general until they said it was okay to change.

Then they threw a fit about my hair. My mom had taken me to get it dyed and spiked; she thought it was 'funky' and 'fun'. Dad went to the same barber and had taken me a few times, he had never opposed till this day when suddenly he got amnesia and couldn't remember where I'd gotten that hair.

My hair then wasn't that different than it is now. It was a lot longer and the tips were frosted, but it was cool... They cut the frosted tips off and dyed all my hair to restore the 'natural color'...

I got some simple highlights and frosted tips; they were putting color all the way through and that was natural? So who was altering my appearance more? It wasn't even my natural color they dyed it to; it was darker than it should have been.

They styled it weird... 'Business Professional' they called it. No more spikes allowed.

They made me take out the contact lenses my dad had bought me. They wanted to make me get glasses and five people had to go with me to the appointment and they had to make sure my frames of choice were acceptable. My eyesight really wasn't that bad, though, so Dad got out of shelling over a few hundred dollars for frames I wasn't going to wear. I had glasses before, they bugged me, even the ones that made me look awesome, intelligent, etc. because there's always this frame there, making a barrier where most of the world is clear but the edges are fuzzy.

When I got home my clothes were gone (The ones in my closet). Replaced with something that a complete suck-up would wear. A preppy school-kid who wore sweater vests and suits to school in august (a school were uniforms aren't required)! Long pants, all the shirts had sleeves, I was told I had to button every button on the shirts when I wore them; 'modesty is key'... there was even a list of places where I wasn't allowed to buy things from! (It was a long list. The mall would have cried.)

And my door was gone.

My windows had bolts on them; they wouldn't open no matter what I did. My computer was gone, my books, even my school books! My notebooks, art pads, everything! The sheets on my bed were different; the posters on my walls were gone!

I was informed that I didn't need them anymore. I was also informed of a new rule.

No. Talking.

None! No talking, no communication at all! If in a dire emergency, I could write a very short note and give it to my parents or a Staff Worker for Harborage.

I was to keep my personal feeling to myself, and only allowed to talk about them in Group. Group is where every other 'client' stuck in Harborage meets up in a room with a councilor and talk.

Except for those under Safe Guard like I was. Safe Guard meant I still had to attend Harborage and Group, but I was not allowed to talk with, write notes too, or even look at the other members.

I had to memorize the 'Program Expectations' and was told that everyone around me was now my superiors. I was told the name of my new Staff Worker who was in charge of making me behaving and making sure I showed up for things.

They spent three hours destroying my world and giving me new rules, all designed to 'help' me.

No smoking, drugs, alcohol... duh. Oh darn! I was so hoping that this place would be pro-narcotics. I don't drink because I've taken too many health classes, I don't do drugs because I want to have a legit athletic career with no tabloid pictures and I only smoked once at a sports bar with my dad who's friend wanted me to try it... I didn't like it.

No prescription or over the counter medications could be with me at any times. Now, I didn't take a lot of medications. I take a pill every day for my asthma and I have an inhaler if I need it, a nebulizer for asthma attacks, and a fast-acting inhaler for emergencies if I'm out playing sports, as well as injections I'd never had to use for emergencies incase I wasn't able to take a pill or use the inhaler... they decided that it meant my asthma was under control, and took away all my medication.

Including the bottle of Ibuprofen in my room.

Took away my inhaler... Man, do you have any idea how scary that is? That's my life line. That little plastic thing with the blue cap, gray body and the metal replaceable canister designed to keep me alive and they were taking it from me!

No sexual/emotional misconduct. Any temptations, fantasies, or dreams are to be presented to one's (I'm a 'one' now) Staff Worker only. I was not allowed to share any of these things with other Harborage members or anyone other than my Staff Worker!

No hugging, no touching, nothing but extremely brief handshakes between Harborage members or anyone else (male or female). Exceptions had to be made through a request in writing and put into a box outside Harborage's main office door on campus. You have to fill out a form for everything in this place, and that includes going to the bathroom!

No leaving the 'safe zone'. The 'safe zone' was marked on a map inside the Harborage building. It was a huge map of the town, with a small section highlighted in yellow, which was the 'safe zone'. The rest of it was forbidden territory. The only exceptions were for those who resided outside of the 'safe zone' and were commuting. That was one of the rules that you could not get any other exception for.

Honesty at all times! Unless you feel like this is all a load of crap and you just want to scream! Or you want to talk to another human being your own age. None of that now, none of that! We're all in here at the same time as a space saver. All us freaks in one handy little box. But how dare we acknowledge each others presence! Grrrr! Bad dogs! Sit, stay, no speak!

We also had to be prepared to give an introduction... Hello, my name is (fill in the blank), I am here because (fill in the blank)

First blank is filled in with your name; second one is filled in with whatever reason they give you that you are here... all of us have the same reason but worded differently... coincidence? Sure. This camp is for one thing and one thing only: Brainwashing.

I had to attend a different church... the 'host' church for the Harborage program, with my parents. We had to go every Sunday and we had to go to the Group meetings for Harborage members and their families on Friday nights for an hour and a half.

We had to go to the church's events, too. Fund raisers, everything and I was ordered to be thrilled about it.

That's right, folks! The rules state I have to be happy about all this. I must maintain a positive attitude.

No journal keeping... as you can tell, I'm a blogger! Its fun, it's normal! A lot of people get famous doing it; you make friends, stay in contact with old friends, and keep your sanity by talking about stuff you wouldn't normally just say.

None of that allowed, even if we don't show anyone. The only journal type things we're allowed to do are these Moral Inventories. Which are basically where we write down our character defects, according to what they tell us is wrong. What their Bible tells them to tell us is wrong. I tell you, they must have a different copy than the one I grew up reading.

No calling Staff Workers after hours unless there is an emergency and prior permission has been given. ("Hey... later tonight I'm going to have a mental breakdown, can I call you?" "Hm... next Tuesday would be better..." "Okay, I'll wait." "Don't forget to fill out the form.") That's fine. My Staff Worker is a prude and a bastard at the same time.

No 'False Images'. False images are who we really are, and they aren't allowed. The program operators think we all have gender issues, so they are trying to reprogram us. They say that's why they took all my stuff away, and every day I go to Harborage I have to submit to a search. They go through my new backpack, make me turn out my pockets, check to make sure I'm not wearing clothes under the clothes they have give their 'ok' for me to wear, check my shoes to make sure nothing is in them except my socks and feet, make sure I haven't written anything on myself... and I am not allowed to leave the entrance until all this has been done. Anything they don't like, they can take.

No photographs. Not of my friends, not of my family, not of my dog Sammy.

No 'campy' talk. No 'gay' talk. Now there's nothing fabulous about that.

No gay behavior. I did ask about that. If a person is something, isn't all of their behavior what they are? I was told I was not allowed to speak and had to write a ten page essay about how wrong it was for me to have asked that.

No personally owned computers. Computers owned by Harborage are available for supervised use to type something up if we absolutely have to. The computers in my parent's house, minus the one in my father's office, were all taken away... and donated to Harborage. My computer and webcam included. Took my external hard drive, too. (Bastards... I had my RPG saves on there.)

They went through it looking for proof of how evil I was. (What? Church? No time, I've got a date to go smoke crack with Satan! Pictures will be saved on my computer!)

I'd never felt attraction toward people... the attractions I'd felt were 'weird' so I'd ignored them, thus my computer didn't contain adult content; mostly out of respect for my family since they bought the computer and I let mom use it every now and then when she needed help with stuff.

Now, Mom wasn't very computer savvy, so she was on it a lot so that I could help her out and she wouldn't have to drag me downstairs; she'd just come up to my room, knock, and I'd tell her to come over, I'd show her how it was done. She helped pay for that computer, I'd be an ass not to let her use it.

A sane person would think that in all the time I'd left her alone on my computer, had her go to my documents so she could save stuff of her own, and even let her use my email account, she would have seen something if there was anything on there that would be a sin to them.

No computer, no phone, no TV.

The first few days are them explaining all these new rules and how they are for my own protection, how they will help me, and why I must obey.

Why must you obey? You must obey because you go to hell and disappoint everyone in the entire world if you don't. It sounds so stupid now... but the way they said it really sinks in. They make you feel like these feelings are caused by a mental disorder they have to train out of you. If you leave, you are never welcomed back by your parents, church, community. I'd seen it. Anyone who left the program became an outcast. We weren't allowed to see them or speak to them or even be around them; we had to ignore them.

I grew up an active member in my church, the thought of losing all that was overwhelming. I was turning sixteen, I didn't even have my driver's license yet, what was I going to do if I wasn't welcomed anywhere?

And there was no choice. This was not a "We have told you our side, now what are you going to do?" thing. It was mandatory, no option given. This is what was happening and I'd better get with the program.

Usually, if something like this was going down, I'd have stormed off and went to a friend's house to vent! But that wasn't happening. They were making sure of that by locking all the doors and bolting the windows and using a thing called Safe Guard.

Safe Guard is torture. Safe Guard is the no communication rule. No communication means no communication! No hand signals, writing, speaking, eye contact, gestures of any kind. Usually for two to three days, but that time can be extended if they feel the need to. And for me... they felt the need to.

Seventeen days, not a word. If I spoke they said they would extend the time for a full day and they made me write essays about how cruel I was being for going against my parents wishes.

Curses actually got my mouth washed out with soap! You think when you're fifteen they can't possibly do that! I mean, I'm nearly as strong as my dad; him trying to hold me still long enough to do something like that seemed impossible! But it happened thanks to my Staff Worker who helped my father hold me down long enough... let me tell you, that taste stays with you long after the event is over.

Doors were locked, I couldn't get out... and every word I said added time to my sentence. They also said they would bring it up in Group, and who wants strangers hearing you had to have your mouth washed out with soap to shut you up? One tablespoon per curse... a few thousand dishes could have been done.

And yeah, I accused them of child abuse but that threat didn't work. They had locked the doors and windows, disconnected the phone... everyone in Group had to suffer through the same thing, being lectured at about it just made me feel terrible. All these other kids sitting there, glaring at me like I was the reason their lives were so awful...

So I stayed silent.

I went to Harborage Monday through Friday, for eleven hours each day. Then I was to come home and go to my room for two hours alone. I was supposed to read the Bible or work on homework from Harborage. (That's right, homework.) Homework about how much of a disgusting monster I was... if we get out of this program depends on our 'grade' so we had to get the answers correct according to their answers... meaning we had to write out all the trash they were saying to us, every day.

You have to feel sorry for the kids who were from out of town or even out of state... they had to live on campus. But it was hard seeing my friends walk by my house... according to my parents, no one ever called asking for me (though how could they?) and they never came by. It was like my life had stopped, like I'd never existed... Like there was a big sign hanging above me saying "Danger, keep away!"

Nothing was private anymore and yet I was always alone. The only doors up are invisible and internal; all the others are taken down unless they lead to escape. Including my bathroom door which is gone... I have fifteen minutes to shower before someone walks in.

I had to sit down with my parents to eat at least four times a week and we weren't to talk about any of this. I tried; they reported me to Harborage... I was put back on Safe Guard for three more days.

After Safe Guard, I got to a level where I could watch one movie a week with my parents. It had to be rated G and it had to be approved by Harborage. Later, I got a book that also had to be approved by Harborage. I couldn't even go into town without an escort, and was not allowed into any book store that was not Christian and on the approved list. I couldn't go into any store not on the approved list! (I bet that one Christian bookstore that sold all the CD's they allowed and was making a killing. No one else had them and eventually you get desperate for music. A lot of it wasn't bad, either!)

I started hating myself. Blaming myself for this. While I was cooking dinner as I was required to at least once a week, and I could see my mom standing in the kitchen watching me like I'll do something wrong any minute, I started hating even the idea of food.

At campus, I got overwhelmed and overemotional in a way that had never happened before and I had an asthma attack. Waiting those agonizing moments for someone to run and find my inhaler and then return while I laid where I had collapsed on the pavement made me wish that I could just close my eyes and let the attack take over.

The second time it happened, I did. I felt it coming and I said nothing. I was jogging and just kept going, speeding up. I wanted to get as far away from the Staff Worker following me as I could. It was after a softball game on campus; an awkward event where no one is sure if they're allowed to do anything and you have to earn the right to go, but you're afraid to even sit or stand too close so someone else on your team... It wasn't far enough that we drove, but it was a long walk from campus.

I hated the entire game. People so scared about being around each other some had to leave in the middle. Others were chancing looks at one another and being scolded. I looked at another guy on my team—not in any specific way. It was the same way I'd look at a girl or anyone else, but it was 'communication' they said 'eye contact' and maybe it was. But if anything had been said it was a simple mutual feeling of sympathy. "So, you're stuck here as well?"

We hadn't been at a level where we'd been given permission to communicate with one another yet. Not anywhere off campus, and these games counted.

You weren't even allowed to get excited about winning. I'm an athlete! When we win, that's big! That's great! Straight men hug each other after the winning point is scored, or console each other if that point isn't made. But that life was over for us.

Couldn't even touch the girls! But harborage supports friendships! Oh yes, they sure do! So long as its 'appropriate' and 'healthy' no relationships allowed, and if you got too close to anyone they put a stop to it.

So anyway, we won the game and were taking a victory lap around the field. There's a ball out by the fence, so I go to get it because I'm fast. They send a Staff Worker after me incase I'm also fast at climbing fences. I don't know what triggered the attack, but I felt it. A tightening in my chest, like I was tied up and someone just kept tightening the restraints around my chest. Then my throat.

Panic hit me first, but I sped up. The closer I was to that gate, the closer I was to freedom, one way or another.

I dropped with a few feet to go. Just dropped. Boom. Agony, panic, disbelief. I couldn't believe what I had done and at the same time I was cheering myself on. 'Die, die die!'

The Staff Worker was confused at first, but when I started turning blue he understood. Man, he could run! It was like he was escaping blame.

I knew it would take too much time.

I wanted it to take to much time, but I didn't, too. I didn't want to die; I just wanted this pain to stop. The pain of being here! The pain of looking in the mirror each morning and loathing what I saw! It wasn't me anymore...

They say that after you die your appearance is reflected by your soul. You get to look like who you truly are, not what your body makes you. Maybe that's why it hurt so badly to be here. My soul was crying out in anguish. It wasn't the loss of privileges, clothing or hairstyle. It was deeper. I looked into my eyes and I saw stuff I'd never seen before, stuff I did not like.

This new life was making me a terrible person. I resented my parents, I envied the people who didn't have to go through this, I hated my church, I hated being nice! I wished I could hurt people! I wanted to make them feel as bad as I could, and how could God forgive me for that?

I was breaking all His rules, wasn't I? They said we were here to better ourselves by the Bible's specifications... I must have been doing something wrong, because I couldn't see how God could forgive me for the hate I was feeling toward everyone around me.

Suicide was a crime.

I'd always been told that by everyone; even at school. It was an unforgivable sin... but according to Harborage my very existence was a sin. Which would be worse? Either way I was going to hell. It felt like I was already there...

It got so cold. It was a sunny day, we weren't allowed to wear shorts, and I had a thick shirt on, but it got so cold. I was shivering a bit. I had my eyes open, I know because I blinked, but my vision... the sides were closing it. Tunnel vision I think they call it.

I felt sick to my stomach, dizzy, and my vision was weird, it was like I was falling into myself, and the further I got from my eyes the less I could see. I looked around, I was scared, suddenly. No one was around... the Staff Worker hadn't even made it back to the field yet.

This was the end. In school they tell us the 'light at the end of the tunnel' is actually just the person's vision fading. I forget the whole reason for why it happens... but that's what crossed my mind. This is what happens before you die.

No one was around, that was the last thing I saw before my vision faded enough that I couldn't see anything, but then I heard a voice.

"Keep holding on." it said, quietly.

My eyes widened, desperate to see and slowly my vision came back. It was muggy, but I saw someone kneeling beside me. I couldn't see who, or even make out if it was a guy or a girl; not even from the voice. I didn't think it was real at first, just a hallucination. But this person took my hand and I could feel it. Their skin was soft and warm, and my whole body seemed to focus on that.

This figure, this person... they smiled at me, kept hold of my hand, but aside from that they did nothing, and it was somehow enough. I don't know how long it took for the medical staff to arrive, but that person stayed with me the whole time. When I was put on a stretcher, when the ambulance came, even the trip to the hospital. All the way until I blacked out.

I woke up sometime later and I was in a hospital room. The police were outside the room, talking to my Staff Worker about the event. That filled me with both fear and hope. If the police were there, they'd have to ask what happened, right? They'd have to hear my side. Would it be enough to get me out of Harborage?

"Jesse." He appeared out of the shadows I tell you! The shadows! He was the man who had come to chat that first night when my parents had changed the locks. The director of Actions for Love.

The room was dark, but he seemed to creep out of the darkness like nothing I'd ever seen. I thought he was there to apologize, tell me I was out of the program.

He wasn't.

Oh no, he told me how disgusted he was just to be in the same room as someone who would pull 'a stunt like that'. He quoted scripture about suicide being wrong, verse after verse after verse. He said I was a disgrace.

As shameful or embarrassing as it might be to admit it, he made me cry. Not like, sobbing, blubbering crying, more like "my allergies are acting up" crying.

He informed me that I was not out of the program. I would be put on an even closer watch, 'suicide watch', and that I would have my movie night privileges revoked.

I told him I hadn't been trying to kill myself; I was trying to get the baseball. I had asthma, he knew that.

He insisted that my asthma had been under control. Yeah! With my inhaler!

Then he told me the 'deal'... if I stuck with my 'story' that it hadn't been intentional (and in the beginning, it hadn't been) then I would not lose my weekly movie right. If I said it was a suicide attempt, then I had to admit that my wish for death was why I was at Harborage, rather than the other way around.

He said it was a part of my 'therapy'. That if I were suicidal I had to either admit it, or get over it right now.

That's when the police came in. They said they had received a few complaints about Harborage and so they were required to investigate issues like this.

As I mentioned earlier, I don't consider myself stupid. I knew what was going on; he wanted to save his own ass and was afraid of what I'd say.

Bribery was not above him, but there was something he hadn't counted on. The Bible said not to lie, and Harborage ordered us to be honest...

The police asked if this had been an accident, I told them yeah, it was... mostly.

What do you mean, mostly? Well, I went to get the baseball after the game, being the nice guy that I am. The staff had been informed I have asthma, yeah. Yeah, I knew it was dangerous. My asthma was under control. So what happened?

"They took my inhaler away."

Welcome back to Safe Guard! (I'm sure the voices in my head missed me...)

I didn't care, I'd won this one. Investigation! Nothing really came from it... but for a few days campus changed a whole lot. Different posters were put up, others came down. The campus seemed to turn into a recovery center for alcoholic or drug abusive teens.

Then things went back to normal.

And no, those of you wondering, my parents never asked about the incident. They didn't show up at the hospital till it was time for me to leave and they had to sign me out.

I don't want to die. I told my father that once my Safe Guard was over, he seemed irritated by it. Asked if I wanted to change. I asked if he meant from how things were now, or how they were? He said how they were... I said no. He said then I should want to die.

Thanks pop.

They gave Sammy away... said I didn't deserve a reward or the responsibility. Sammy had been one of my 'chores'. Feed him, water him, bath him, take him for walks (with my parents)... they gave him away. To who? I wasn't allowed to ask, and when I did I got no answers. Was he safe? Happy? Alive? No idea...

I miss him.

I told you I could see my friends walking past my window, right? They started walking by with other people. People I didn't know. When I saw that... I lost all faith in them.

My parents were now required to stay in the room during my two hours of 'alone' time till I earned the privilege back, which took a week of blind obedience, doing my homework, saying their words and giving in.

I almost cracked again. So they forced me to repeat a chant. "I want to change. I want to change. I want to change."

They days stretched on. Endlessly. I swear weeks went by in a day! But I was starting to make new friends. Once we got to a high enough level, we were allowed to acknowledge each others presence on campus. It made things a lot easier; you have no idea. (Or maybe you do... If you do, I am SO sorry for you)

Being able to talk to people at lunch! Being able to realize you're not alone here; it's so refreshing it almost made going to campus each day worth it! Scary thought... but an honest one. (And we have to be honest!)

At home it was solitude; parents and no one else. They'd taken away everything. Losing Sammy... it made home not worth being at. Campus was better. Campus had people! Sign this, write that, say this, fine! Just let me sit with my friends at lunch.

To be honest... I wasn't attracted to any of them. I don't know if it was the knowledge that being interested or attracted to anyone (boy or girl) would get us punished and separated, the fact that we were all not ourselves, or the fact that I had actually been driven to the point where I didn't think anyone ever could or ever had loved me, but I didn't find anyone at my table attractive.

Mike was cool. He was switched around a lot... Because he kept telling his Staff Workers that they were sexy! Even the bald forty-year-old who smelt weird and had acne worse than most teenagers. Mike begged doors for dates. "Okay I'll be honest. I'm desperate, I'll date anyone. But we can make it work!"

He wasn't at our table long.

Allen was afraid of everything. Our Staff Workers sat with us at lunch and Allen always stared straight ahead, at no person for more than three seconds, and always looked at his Staff Worker after answering anyone, checking to make sure it was okay.

Saundra completely ignored her Staff Worker during lunch. She made a point not to look at any of the Staff Workers.

Jahlil never said anything at all. Voluntary self Safe Guard, I guess. He followed the rules to the letter, did the work the instant it was given to him, and was always at church with his parents, not even trying to use church as a, "Look! People!" time like I did. (That and making pyramids with those tiny pencils.) He was removed from the program by his parents after a doctor's appointment where he was diagnosed with severe depression and said to be suicidal. He went to a mental help institute instead of Harborage.

April must have spent as much time in Safe Guard as I had... she stopped eating just before Jahlil. Both of them had sad eyes all the time. April was the worst, though. Because she did talk, but her words were agony. Like she was tearing herself up inside and trying too hard to believe what they were telling us. At first she cried... then she stopped responding at all, just stared at her desk, listening.

That should have been a sign. But I didn't know... we'd been taught for so many weeks to keep our feelings to ourselves and not to show any resentment toward this place to one another... I didn't see the signs.

As summer was coming to an end, the teachers got even worse on the scriptures and preaching. They had graduates from years ago come and tell us how great their life was now; they had even more of them attend the meetings we went to with our parents.

"I didn't think it was possible, but I overcame that phase of my life." Blah, blah, blah. Now they're married and have twelve kids that crap gold.

The thing you notice is that there are so many of us in here... but so few graduates to testify that their new life is grand!

April was sitting next to me during these meetings. She noticed the same thing; it was evident in her eyes. What I didn't know is that while it just bugged me, it terrified her.

Her parents got up; she followed... left just a few minutes before I did that night.

And the next evening she killed herself.

I didn't know April was so terrified. I didn't know she couldn't get these 'impure' thoughts out of her head. I didn't know it terrified her to be able to look at me and not feel attraction. If I had, I would have told her it was fine; that I didn't feel attraction toward anyone here. That the program was designed to make us not really see one another. That even if she still felt attraction only to other girls, it was fine... it's what's in your heart that counts. Love is love. I would have been punished for it, but I would have told her all of that.

I would have done anything.

Saundra had noticed April had left her activity book at school, and was given permission and orders to return it to her. April's Mom answered the door, read the note Saundra had been given, asked a few questions and then called out for April.

No reply.

Her room, like mine, had no door. So they only had to walk into the hall to make the discovery.

No one knows where she got the blade. Her mother swears she'd kept a close eye on her in the kitchen or office. She'd gotten some blade; Saundra didn't have time to give me specifics.

April slit her own wrists.

It wasn't a quick death... Saundra said she was all dressed up like she was going to church. Feminine, modest clothes her mother had bought her. Folded the sleeves up and filled the bathtub with hot water.

It must have hurt. Saundra said April's mom just started screaming when she saw the red water, but that it looked like April was praying. I bet she was. Asking for forgiveness; asking for it to be quick... asking for the pain to leave.

Saundra had been told not to tell anyone, but Saundra wasn't one to follow rules.

We were allowed to go to her funeral. It was terrible, though. They covered her dark skin with makeup that way too light. It made it look like she was wearing a mask. Straightened her hair... covered her wrists up with white lace. It was like she was getting married.

Then we were forbidden from talking about it. Which was supposed to help us get through the grief and back onto schedule. Heaven forbid it if her death interrupt our therapy!

If they had let us talk to her in the first place we wouldn't have her death to grieve over. They say that if you can get a suicidal person through the first thirty minutes, they'll be okay.

This campus couldn't have spared her thirty minutes?

She hadn't spoken to her Staff Worker... that's what they told us. They said her Staff Worker had resigned because she couldn't cope with the possibility that she had been at fault; she swore she'd given April permission to call at any time.

Then they reminded us all that we were supposed to report suicidal thoughts.

They said April could have tried to get help. If that were true... I don't know. I know I wouldn't call my Staff Worker for now what are you going to do?" thing. It was mandatory, no option given. This is what was happening and I'd better get with the program.

Usually, if something like this was going down, I'd have stormed off and went to a friend's house to vent! But that wasn't happening. They were making sure of that by locking all the doors and bolting the windows and using a thing called Safe Guard.

Safe Guard is torture. Safe Guard is the no communication rule. No communication means no communication! No hand signals, writing, speaking, eye contact, gestures of any kind. Usually for two to three days, but that time can be extended if they feel the need to. And for me... they felt the need to.

Seventeen days, not a word. If I spoke they said they would extend the time for a full day and they made me write essays about how cruel I was being for goinanything. But... this was all almost over... Now, I know. I gave up early on; I have no right to question her. But with so little time left, why not just grit your teeth and go through it?

... I guess the fact that she still felt the same as before this all began was too much for her. Who really wants to go to hell? She must have been so afraid— too afraid. So she took her own life.

Things like that shouldn’t happen.

Two more weeks and it would all be over. Two more weeks of hearing what a freak I am. Two weeks of torment and torture... so bad. Two more weeks of wishing I could cover my ears and just scream till I drowned them all out.

What got me through it this far? The teachings of my Youth Group from my old church. Love is love. They didn’t encourage certain things, but if someone loved someone of a different race, religion or same gender, they were never turned away from the church. (They discouraged some things in either the 'that’s not what we were designed for’, 'that may cause problems’ or 'we don’t suggest you’ statements, but they told us God loved all his children who loved him back and so would they.)

As I said... different Bibles.

They started pointing people out. Confessions that should have been private were brought out into the open. People were always crying and being ordered not to. You shed a single tear; you were weak and even more worthless than before.

One more week of being told I had no friends and I never would unless I changed. They go through the group, singling out any of the 'stragglers’ who weren’t showing the proper responses. They get to me. Track Super Star! Praising me! Then asking me why I’d given it all away.

What?

Yes! "Jesse, why did you give it all up?"

Uuuuuuuh, possibly because I’m stuck here rather than at the camp I’d planned on going to?

Noooo, I’m squandering my gift by not conforming to their standards! Now why didn’t I think of that? It’s the stupidest answer there is, so of course it’s the correct one!

They slice through you, dig their filthy claws deep into your heart and start pulling till you lose control. Vaguely, I wonder if my parents know this is what they’re doing to us here. We are not allowed to talk about it and they have been ordered to stop us if we try.

They must know... but how heartless of them to know and let it go on.

I went home one day and just... fury. Blind fury just hit me. BANG! It started out bad and just got worse.

Dad had a meeting with a client of his who had skybox seats for a hockey game we’d been waiting all year to get to see! I mean, my dad killed for these tickets each year. And Dad wasn’t taking me. It wasn’t because it was out of the 'Safe Zone’; it wasn’t because I was not supposed to go out to an event like that. He told me it was because he didn’t want his clients to see what a freak his son was.

I was going through their stupid camp, I was pretending to be who they wanted me to be, what was wrong now?

This was not fair! I told him so in a few different ways...

Hand soap sucks, but I started getting used to dish soap. It’s not as bad and has a certain zest to it you get used to... (Just trust me, don’t try it. Just like you can’t lick your elbow.)

I think the green apple is my favorite, but if I made any comment I got to 'try’ it again and sarcasm wasn’t worth that twice. Well, maybe twice, but rarely a third time.

The day before this was all over they told us that our changes were not complete. That we should remember what we had learned and implement our teachings into our daily lives, even if they were not there to be sure we listened.

Congratulations, you made it. (You tried to lick your elbow, didn’t you?)

There wasn’t a real graduation ceremony... or of there was, I wasn’t invited. I just... stayed home that Friday, all day. School was supposed to be starting Monday, but I hadn’t been able to call about what classes I was taking.

My parents confused me that day; they didn’t seem to understand that this mess was over! If I tried to mention it, they would quickly change the topic. The doors were still gone... My father still had a lock on his office door where the only phone that was plugged in and the only computer was.

The whole weekend passed... with nothing being different.

We watched a movie Saturday night, a G rated film on the approved list. Sunday was church... Sunday night there was nothing. I asked about getting some new clothes for school, Mom said no. I asked about getting supplies, Mom said no...

I thought they just didn’t get it. Turns out I was the one who misunderstood.

Monday morning, Dad said he’d drive me to class.

School... school, right? School?

Get in the car, Jesse; we’re going to be late.

See, this is one of those times where if I had the Life Remote, I’d have hit rewind, found my past self and shouted; "RUN, JESSE, RUN!!!"

He took me to get breakfast, which was great! But according to my watch made me very, very late for school. We were actually talking, though. He let me read the sports section, we chatted about what teams were good this year, argued about who would make it to the Super Bowl, challenged each other to see who could eat the most pancakes with tobacco sauce on them, (he won) then we walked back to the SUV.

Dad wanted me to sit in the second row rather than the front seat. Confused me a bit, but... whatever. We’d had such a great morning I didn’t want to start a fight. So I get in and we drive off.

Straight to Harborage.

"... You lost, Dad?" Campus was closed! They had promised us! Promised! Informed, swore, said, etc.!

"Jesse... your mother and I talked." Now that is never good!

Talked to who? The creepy shadow guy in charge of Actions for Love. I swear I would have jumped out of the car if the stupid child protection locks weren’t on. It suddenly became very clear as to why I couldn’t sit in the front... could escape in the front seat, no child protection locks there.

"And he just doesn’t think you’re ready."

Ready for what?

Society.

Why?

You’ve been resisting the program.

So?

So we don’t think you’re cured.

Cured from what?

Well... you know.

... Holy crap!

I am proud to say I almost broke the left window. The second row of seats used to be much closer to the front, but we removed the back row and pushed the second row to the back. Why? Because then we could play Car Bowling. Set up pins, put down a basketball, and see which pins remained once we reached our destination... it made going to mom’s antique shows and craft fairs worth going. Long drive, many bowling games...

Now that gigantic gap became the distance I’d have to jump in order to get to the front. Also meant I couldn’t kick the crap out of the back of Dad’s seat.

"Jesse! Now calm down!"

Calm down? Calm down? You’re sending me back to the concentration camp and you want me to calm down? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT GONNA HAPPEN!

I begged, pleaded, bargained and when that didn’t work I threw a tantrum like a three year old. Off went the seatbelt, I smashed myself against the door (that’s how I almost broke the window), but nothing worked! You wouldn’t think it would be so damn hard to get out of a car!

This must be how kidnappers do it. I expected duct tape and a black hood.

Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

"We just want you safe, Jesse."

Safe? Have you seen the suicide rate for this place? For one term? And you’re sending me there again? I don’t get it! I did their assignments, said their words, did that crappy homework, why was I being dragged back?

Dad informed me that my resistance at the beginning of the program had damned me. "If you had been more willing to change..."

Fuck this! Change to what?

"It’s just that you have changed."

Pardon? I thought that was the point!

No, you changed before all this and we want you back.

No! I haven’t changed; you’re the ones who changed! I had kind, loving, supportive parents! Where are they

He swears this is for the best... the whole "We’re doing this because we love you" crap. I’m not a drug dealer! I don’t smoke, do drugs, abuse animals! I don’t self mutilate, I don’t overeat, I don’t starve myself, I don’t have an obsession over my weight, I don’t hurt people, I didn’t hate myself till you brought me here!

He drove around to the back... where there were five huge guys waiting. They were either wrestlers, bouncers or ex-cons who were also gym-rats.

I hope they were wrestlers because I sure was in the mood for a fight! Dad parked and the goons walked to the middle door closest to the sidewalk and my concerns switched from arguing to debating what would be best, making them drag me out or jumping them.

Jumping them seemed stupid to the gladiator mindset I suddenly had. If they had to drag me out they couldn’t all attack at the same time.

"Come on, Jesse. Don’t make this harder than it has to be." Dad pleaded, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

Oh, but it has to be this hard. Trust me.

First guy unlocks the door and leans across the seats and gets to taste my shoe. Now, that pisses him off and I would have been pissed off too if I were him. I think I stepped in some form of animal do-do outside the restaurant.

He grabs for me again, but it’s a big, wide SUV... he had to come in.

Dad starts shouting at me to get out, but I’m in the mood for a brawl! Fifteen year old teen moves much easier inside a vehicle than a bolder of a man can. Left hook, right hook, jab, jab, jab! Isn’t boxing a wonderful sport? I took classes at three summer camps and Dad and I both took one last year after his work ended each day.

Left jab! Uppercut! Straight right hook!

Rinse and repeat!

First guy backs off, Dad’s throwing a fit, but I am feeling better than I have in months! Yes, this is glorious! What am I accomplishing? Nothing. I am aware of that. I fully understand that even if I, by some unnatural means, manage to beat them all down they’ll just send more. My dad is not going to go "Fine! You win!" And drive me to real, people school. I am stalling. Delaying the inevitable, but it’s so worth it.

Last time I went down without a fight and it almost killed me. This time I hoped to get the point across! Hoped this would show them what they’d turned me into! From a loud, complaining, but relatively harmless teenager into a vicious fighter not afraid of causing pain! And why should I be? After the torture they put me through, why should I show mercy if they wouldn’t?

Next guy! Right uppercut, left jab, 'Adriiaaaaan!’ This guy leaves.

Next, please?

Door behind me opens... What a cheap trick! Oh well. Roundhouse kick! Front kick, side kick! Kickboxing... wonderful sport, isn't it?

The first guy has, for some idiotic reason, decided to come back. He makes the SUV rock when he gets in and is greeted by a straight right hook.

Problem with the straight right hook is you lose your balance easily. Someone grabs my left leg, pulls, and down I go.

Dad gets out of the car like he’s going to help; apologizing up a storm. They pull me out; I grab the door and kick like mad. One of them gets me around the waist and pulls me away from the door, the other gets help from a third and manages to get hold of both my legs and helps pin my arms down. I’m off the ground so I can’t fight or run.

No idea what happened to the other two. I have the hopes I scared them bad enough they won’t think about trying that with anyone ever again... but I have a feeling they were laughing at me from the other side of the car.

And who is this, oh-so-calmly walking over? It’s the founder of this little program!

He puts a hand on my dad’s shoulder and shakes his head. "It’s alright; you have done your part." He assures, smiling like he’s a saint. Then he looks at me. "Hello, Jesse... how are we today?"

Now isn’t that the stupidest question in the world? At this point I’m wishing it were possible to use witch craft to blow up the founder’s head... and that someone had showed me how.

They tell me I need to calm down, I try biting them. They tell me I really need to calm down; I manage to kick one of the brutes in the shoulder.

The founder again says I need to calm down. But then he adds that if I refuse they will be forced to sedate me.

I don’t believe them. They prove they aren’t kidding... I wonder why my dad is letting strange, sadistic men stab his son with a needle full of God knows what! I bet Satan knows what, too... I bet he loves this little camp. Using God’s word to bring pain and suffering into the lives of hundreds of teenagers.

Being sedated hurts—it burns and then you feel like you’re paralyzed. But it’s not like a tranquilizer... I didn’t fall asleep. It’s not like a pain killer, either. I didn’t feel loopy, just really calm, tired and yet still mad as ever. Oh yeah, and did I mention they stab it into your hip? Through your clothes? That sound sanitary to anyone?

At the very, very least I looked better than they did. Psychotic, but with far less bruises. Then they let me stand, but they keep my arms pinned. I felt like throwing up and passing out at the same time. I still have no idea if that shit is legal...

Dad gets a pat on the back and told everything is going to be just fine. He tells them my sleeping bag is in the back of the SUV along with my suitcase. The shadow man says that is excellent, they will search it immediately.

Dad almost looks like he’s going to apologize to me for a moment. Maybe he meant it; maybe it was how pathetic I looked. But in the end he just said, "This is for the best."

I am informed that this program will be different. My school has been informed that I will be taking a year off to be home schooled. There were a lot fewer kids here for the school season, and there were way, way less Staff Workers. I should feel lucky my parents love me so much, as I have not proven myself at all worthy of their love.

I will be here for a few days and nights until I am able to calm down and realize this is for the best. They would hate for me to sabotage my own program. I have to write a thirty page paper on why fighting is wrong and my 'little tantrum’ will be discussed in Group tomorrow for constructive criticism...

And what do you know? You can get your mouth washed out for slurring what would be a curse word if you had full control of your jaw. I think I was getting famous for most times having that little practice done.

Then I’m dragged to the cafeteria/gym/auditorium and dropped onto my sleeping bag. The gorillas stood there guarding me for a few hours like I was going to get up and start killing people. I bet that reassured the other inmates.

"Hey, that blonde guy had four wrestlers surround him... Why are they so bruised?" Ugh... I was well prepared, though. I’d had to spend two hours a day, at least, in my room alone in silence for months. I could handle a few hours of being guarded like a dangerous animal.

After they had determined I was not going to throw a fit again, they leave and the introduction starts.

Hello prisoners, welcome to Hell.

People set up sleeping bags, Staff Workers patrolled to make sure friends didn’t end up anywhere near each other. I shut my eyes and hoped the floor would cave in. Loudly... some noise would be good. Everyone here was going to start Safe Guard in the morning I bet. I didn’t know why they were letting us talk now... There was a lot of crying.

"Hi!" Someone had taken it upon themselves to invade the danger zone that was around me.

I opened one eye and then the other to see a guy my age staring down at me. He was very tan and had hair that was either really, really dark brown or black and brown eyes that stared at me as if I were a vampire awaking from a coffin and he wanted to be the first to see. Maybe he was Romanian and had read Dracula too many times, or maybe Hispanic (which he looked) and... had read Dracula too many times

"... Hey," I replied. But in a 'get out of my face’ sort of way.

"I’m Troy." He replied, ignoring my bad attempt at making him get lost.

I was still in a bad mood... so all I could think to ask was where was Helen?

"Ah, that would be my cat." Troy grinned, moving back as I sat up. "Who are you?"

"Jesse."

Troy was new here. He said he was trying this place out for a bit. I figured 'hey... whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day.’ He wondered what the rules were, I told him, he told me they sounded sadistic, I agreed.

He wondered why so many people were crying. That confused me for a moment. I asked him what he meant. Of course people would be crying. This is a holocaust! A meaningless waste of human life!

Troy didn’t seem to understand. He wondered why people didn’t just leave. I explained that being here wasn’t usually optional. Usually, it was forced through any means necessary including body guards and sedation.

"Hm. This was my choice."

I lost all respect for him right then. And he must have been able to tell by the look I was giving him. Troy laughed and told me his parents were actually fine with him being gay. Their church had given them worries that they brought to him, but the ultimate decision was that the God they believed in loved all His children.

"My parents wanted to be sure this was who I was, not just a choice, a feeling, whatever." So he agreed to go here to get the church off their backs and to be sure this is who he was.

"After three years... I’m pretty sure this is who I am." Troy smirked, "But what can you do? Though I gotta say this set up is freaking weird... Three days not allowed to leave home and not allowed to talk?"

I told him that was Safe Guard. And was surprised to learn everyone here had gone through it, and most thought that would be the end of the program after those three days. Explained all the crying; they’d just figured out there was more.

I told Troy that was fine, but being here sure wasn’t my choice. Troy gasped and put a hand on either side of his face, mock shock. "You mean you don’t want to change to what society says you should be despite your heart saying that’s not what you are? You actually want to be yourself? For shame!"

Then they turned the lights off and Staff Workers with spotlights walked around all night yelling "hands where we can see them" over and over...

The next day was the same as I was getting used to, except on campus rather than at home. Even less privacy. Anyone ashamed of their body at all was going to have one hell of a time during the fifteen minutes of 'privacy’ we get in the shower. At home you can hear the water and I’m an only child anyway so it’s not too much of an issue so long as Dad doesn’t come in demanding to know why I’m taking so long.

On campus, there are curtains that hardly close all the way. You have to do what you can and constantly say "In here" as loud as you can without shouting. (Shouting isn’t allowed.)

Lucky for me, I have mastered the five minute shower so I have ten minutes to get dressed and everything else before the Staff Workers barge in screaming.

Next is class as usual... The only real differences are that we have other classes rather than just 'you are heathens’ classes. Though in math class the teacher says we were put on this earth to be fruitful and multiply...(gaaaag) my opinion on that is the fact that there is so much overcrowding in orphanages some kids never even have a chance at getting adopted. Something has to be done about it. We’re supposed to bring more people into this world when there already aren’t enough families for everyone?

Lunch... they let us talk to each other. This was different from the summer program, but who was gonna complain? Troy sits at my table. Then we have more classes, I have track, and then Group...

As threatened, they bring up my fight. They make me sound like I’m out to sabotage this 'program’ for everyone. Like I am the reason they have guards everywhere, why we can’t go home, why the doors are always locked. And for all these kids know it was true.

The Group leader looks right at me while he’s talking. I look at the floor to avoid the burning glares, but I feel my eyes start to sting anyway. Then... out of nowhere, a laugh.

"That was you? I heard someone had to be dragged in here kicking and screaming! Awesome! You did what we all wanna do now! Mostly to you, sir, and your damn little pen and note book—what are you writing about me now?"

It was Troy... he got all the attention on him, he even stood up and bowed when the Group Leader stated who he was and why he was here, then Troy gave his own explanation.

Group Leader: "Why do you think you are the way you are?"

Troy: "Because chicks are crazy?"

Other Group Leaders kept peeking into the room wondering why in all of God’s green earth people would be laughing here.

Then we were shuffled back into the cafegymatorium for the night.

I told Troy thanks for the help during group. Troy said thanks for kicking the crap out of a few of these sadistic bastards.

I told him he was going to get in trouble with the way he was acting.

"And what about you? Being dragged in here by two guards."

"Five."

"Sure. The number always gets higher, uh?"

I told him to go to hell; he reminded me that’s where we were all going so he’d see me there.

"Can’t wait."

"You can’t wait to go to hell?" (That thought did disgust me until he explained it.)

"Think of it, man! All these people in here and the millions who have escaped this... we’ll take over. Won’t that be sweet?"

"It really would be hell for the Staff Workers. Them chained down while we’re the ones running the place." I had to agree! I mean HAD to!

Troy just laughed this weird laugh he does where he smiles while laughing and keeps his teeth together.

Things went... well, bearable. I didn’t see anyone from the summer program, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. I bet it just meant they were keeping us apart... I hoped so, anyway, because the thoughts that I was the only one forced to go another term was crippling.

... I saw April’s Staff Worker there. The one who supposedly had quit due to the anguish April’s suicide had caused her. She sure seemed fine now. Smiling, laughing, talking to the other Staff Workers. I don’t think she noticed me.

Troy seemed to try and make things easier for everyone. He really didn’t seem to understand how people could actually be forced into this sort of thing, and the punishments didn’t seem to do much to him except make him mad.

Three days and he still didn’t get it. Which was great... they spent so much time glaring at him they left me alone, and he really didn’t mind at all!

He inspired me. Inspired me... to fight back! We were told that 'many’ of us had chosen to be there, and so we were not allowed to interrupt their treatment, but it wasn’t hard to find the people who did not want to be there. Mainly, because we all kept ending up taking turns being punished and whoever spent most of their time writing essays or eating soap were usually against the program. That and they announced our 'crimes’ in group.

Two girls were caught making out. After the Group Leader was done informing us of their crimes some guy threw his hands up into the air and announced that he must be 'cured’ because that story totally got him turned on. He said that the girls should be praised and he should be set free. Troy seconded it and then, somehow, got the entire group to start some song about the choices we make the hearts we break with lyrics I think he made up on the spot.

Group was long that day because we all had to write essays. Essays about how wrong it is to disturb Group and how none of this is a joke. Thirty pages and no one could leave till they got theirs done.

Troy was suspiciously late when we were all thrown back into the cafegymatorium. When he finally did show up, I asked him about it.

"Hu? Oh, I had to re-write my essay."

"Why?"

"I cannot write a thirty page essay. I can write a thirty page adult novel full of spelling errors, plot holes and no grammar at all. Guess what I got in trouble for?"

"Spelling 'the’ as 'teh’."

"Yup."

Next day we actually got to see daylight. Troy was disappointed when the rumor about the Staff Workers being vampires turned out to be a farce. And to be honest, so was I. Not a single one of them erupted into flames when the sunlight hit them. Didn’t explain why they refused to let us have garlic bread or pizza, though. Except, of course, for the fact that this was one step away from being Hell and I guess Hell wouldn’t let you have pizza, either.

We got to play softball. Finally, something normal! There were a few good players, too, which was a relief. At first, the teams were guys against the girls but that was quickly ended for too many reasons. All of those reasons amused Troy and a few of his followers (yeah, he got followers) to no end.

My turn, I hit a home run so the Staff Leader posing as my guard decided there was no reason for me to run the bases... which sucks because I love to run. Next time I was at bat I bunted it, though I had the urge to move aside and let the ball hit him in his...

Game ended, we run bases as a victory lap, then life goes on.

Troy liked to make jokes. His all time favorite jokes were blonde jokes exclusively while I was around.

"Because, no offence Jesse, but blondes are dumb."

"No offence, Troy, but your empire has fallen and your people have become condoms."

"Which isn’t a bad life."

"See, this is why they keep making you eat soap."

"I figure they just don’t know what mouthwash is supposed to be."

Two days later, we’re allowed to go home! ... Which ends up being worse because at least on campus I’m not by myself. At home I am, except for Mom who is only in the same room as I am to keep an eye on me like she was told to. My first instincts were to tell her how Dad tricked me. But, of course... she’d already have known.

We still had group meetings with our parents in attendance every week... Except eventually the focus turned from how wrong we are to one my father brought up.

"Is this my fault?"

Jerk had the audacity to not only make this about him, but to make it seem like I had some reckless habit. I glared and started to say 'yes’ when the Group Leader interrupted me.

Of course it’s not your fault; after all, you are trying to get him help, right?

Dad started ranting about 'well then whose fault is it?’ He blamed my mom for babying me, made her cry. I shouted that this wasn’t her fault, he demanded to know 'Who’s? Who then, dammit?’ And got in my face. I told him he cursed and thus should have to get his mouth washed out. The Group Leader said they don’t do that to the parents, Dad replied that he didn’t have to because he wasn’t a freak like me, Mom had mini seizures where her eyes dart around the room at all the people staring at us.

I grew increasingly aware that technically Dad and I have had the same amount of boxing experience so a fight would be fair and in his eyes I see the same revelation and we move from screaming at each other to the much more dangerous silent glare.

Then Troy’s father breaks in. "Well... we know who to blame in my family."

That gets the attention turned to him. Troy leans back, smirking, watching his father.

"... Oh?" Group Leader seems shocked and confused.

"Yeah. It’s my father’s fault."

"Gosh darn you, Grandpa!" Troy snickers, shaking his head.

"He didn’t spend enough time with the boy."

Troy’s mother is giggling and nodding a lot.

The Group Leader frantically looks through files.

Troy’s father continues, "It’s all his fault! The reason we’re here, the house we live in, the neighbors we have, the fact that taxes are so high, that the pizza guy always takes longer than thirty minutes, that my wife occasionally burns things leading us to the ordering of the pizza that is always later,"

"The gum I stepped in!" Troy added, holding up his foot to display the gum.

"Exactly! The fact that I nicked someone’s car pulling into the lot here. All my dad’s fault!"

Troy’s mom is practically roaring with laugher and the Group Leader finally finds what he was looking for. "Uh, you don’t have a contact listing for your father."

"Of course not!" Troy gasps, he and his father both look absolutely appalled.

"He doesn’t have one." His mother managed to gasp, in-between laughter.

As it turns out, Troy’s father never knew his dad. He abandoned his mother when she told him she was pregnant. So they blamed everything on him to vent their anger somewhere.

The meeting is adjourned quickly after that and we are welcome to stale cookies and overly sweet punch while our parents rant to one another. Then we go to our homes and go to bed while listening to dearest Mom and Dad gossip about the other parents.

Two days later... Troy calls.

Dad answers as I am walking past his office, I stop when I hear him mutter something quickly and hang up. Phone rings again, and I back up because I hear screaming.

"JESSE, YOU THERE? YOU HEAR ME? ANSWER THE PHONE!" Then Dad growls some words that should make him go suck on the soap bottle and hangs up.

Troy repeats the process seventeen times that night.

The next day, Troy lets me know he thinks my parents are insane. I tell him I agree, as always. He asks why I can’t answer the phone, I tell him it’s against the rules and he fakes a heart attack and gasps; "Your parents actually follow those rules?" I’m a little surprised... I reply by asking if his do and he laughs an exaggerated laugh and then says no.

Why?

Because that would be sadistic.

He says his parents had him do the silence thing, but besides that they thought the rules were a joke. He goes out to eat with them, has friends over, still has his computer and is on the phone constantly. They live outside the Safe Zone so they are less likely to be caught by anyone. And if they are? Who cares! They’ll change churches. His parents think anyone who doesn’t accept their whole family isn’t worth being around.

And yes, that includes his cat, Helen.

I ask how he got my number. He says his parents conned my parents into giving it to them and they gave it to him.

I asked what happened when he came out to his parents. He said he started with his mom and she seemed not to know what to say and settled on asking if it meant he wasn’t going to be bringing home any more dumb blonde girls who were all wrong for him from the start. His dad thought about it, shrugged a bit, said 'you know... this is another one of those things that’s probably my dad’s fault’ and his mother yelled at his father about this not being anything to find 'fault’ with, but in the end had to agree that if it were it was Troy’s grandpa’s fault then asked Troy if he had a boyfriend yet. (He said 'no’ she asked 'why not?’ and assured him he was a very hansom man.)

He said his mom became a bit too okay with it far faster then he’d though and his dad really didn’t change at all. Neither of them ever liked his girlfriends.

... I’m fairly sure Troy is one of the luckiest bastard in the universe.

Troy kept calling after campus was over each day. He caught Dad when he was using the cordless phone outside of his office. I follow him around the house so I could hear what Troy was screaming.

That’s when Dad called the campus to complain and Troy had to talk about it in Group.

That’s also how Troy found out why it took five guards to get me inside campus.

The Group Leader asked if Troy thought he was helping me by breaking the rules. Troy nodded, grinning. The Group Leader then informed him that I didn’t need any help, as hardly anyone failed the second time around.

The expression on Troy’s face... It was like his whole expression sank, slowly. He looked at the Group Leader who kept talking, then at me. Just staring this intense stare so much different than anything else he’d ever given.

I wished the floor would open up and eat me alive so I wouldn’t have to see that look. That look that made me feel as much like a freak as my dad said I was. I stared at the floor, demanding it obey me and open up. But it is my superior, everything is, and thus it chooses not to end my suffering.

Everyone in group... staring. Some with eyes full of pity, some with eyes asking 'why?’ Others leaned back in their chairs, trying to get away from me like I might be contagious. When I got home I wanted to go to my room and either scream or cry, whatever came out fastest, but it’s against the rules and my parents would report me.

I skipped movie night and just stayed in bed that weekend. Mom called the program director and told them I was acting strange; depressed. I’ve been depressed from the beginning of this; I guess I just wasn’t supposed to show it. My Staff Worker came over and Dad, him and I had to go running. If I sped up even a step faster than them they grabbed my arms and made me stop. I was faster than both of them, though. Bottling all this speed up was another thing killing me slowly; like a thousand toothpicks constantly jabbing into me. Then I had to write a Moral Inventory... which my Staff Worker threw out before he even left the house.

Back on campus, I got a lot of stares. Troy asked a lot of questions. How long? What was different? Was I alone? ... Why?

Was I alone... no. I had friends... April. Troy was furious when he heard about April and Jahlil.

I’d also learned Mike was supposed to be returning, but his parents had told him what was going to happen. He hung himself from the ceiling fan.

At lunch, hardly anyone would sit at my table, like they didn’t want to risk their freedom by being associated with such a troublemaker. Troy, however... wouldn’t stand for it. He stood up during lunch and loudly asked what all the gawking was about, then answering himself before the Staff Workers could stop him.

He said; "Jesse’s suffered through this longer than any of us have had to! He’s lost people and he is, like the rest of us, just trying to survive this place. From memory of how many began this experiment here together, and from the looks around the room at the faces missing, it seems more than obvious that just making it through is a difficult task. We were told the summer program was worse because they had to pack all this into a shorter time. Jesse’s been through it and this, so yeah, stare! Stare at the one true fighter here!"

I remember that speech more than any I’ve ever heard. It filled me with fear because I expected punishment from it. But it also filled me with pride... something I’d been missing for a long time. When Troy sat down I asked him why he always had to cause such a scene. He said he adored attention more than any other drug on this planet.

And for a while... it felt like everything was going to be okay. Like I could do this; like I could do anything! Much of that anything included the desire to spray paint 'Lord, Save Me from Your Followers’ on the campus lawn... They put me back into Safe Guard before I ever actually did that, and wouldn’t tell me why.

I got a lecture from my dad when I got home. Dad, by now I know you despise me so just shut up about it, k? Thanks. He asked, again, if this was all his fault. I said yes. He shouted "It’s my fault you’re gay?" loud enough I bet the neighbors heard. I shook my head and smiled, replying "It’s your fault I hate you."

No dinner for me. Took away movie night.

They took away Troy, too. Kicked him out of the program and told his parents he’d be arrested if he got anywhere near the campus or anyone here on the campus.

Troy had showed up the day they told his parents that, showed up to find me.

The first thing he asked was how bad it had gotten during the summer program. He asked if under the long sleeves we had to wear was scarring from this place, and I guess my hesitance answered that for him.

He told me he was here for me no matter what, even if he wasn’t physically there. He said he’d be by my side through it all, in spirit and faith, no matter what. The instant he said that I knew something was horribly wrong. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe, but it was different from an asthma attack. I felt the blood rush out of my head and I got cold and, I’ll admit, scared.

Troy put his hands on my arms, just below my shoulders and held on, his brown eyes locked onto my blue ones in a way that would not allow me to look anywhere else. His voice got very serious.

He said "Listen to me, Jesse." Like he did every time he really wanted me to pay attention to him, and not just figure he was joking around.

Troy reminded me of all the times we’d fought back together. When we’d start up jokes or stories in the cafegymatorium at night to keep everyone’s minds off the horrors running through them. When we got Group focused on one another and when we managed to get each other out of trouble. I mentioned that he was the one who always seemed to do the rescuing, and he gave me this half-smile look that said 'you moron’ and told me that it was me. He said he never could have done it if he had never met me, said we worked off each other.

Said it was fate.

It figured, too. If this was fate it would fit this entire year... everything good being taken away.

Troy made me promise something no one in this camp ever had. He made me promise that no matter how long I was here I wouldn’t let them take my life from me, or force me to take it myself. He said to go on as if he were still right there with me.

He said to just survive, that was all he asked of me.

"Survive, and I promise I’ll find you again."

He said to keep holding on.

Then they made him disappear.

I made other friends, I guess... I wished Troy was there every day. With him there, things were easier, you know? I had someone who cared about me... and truth have it, I cared about him.

Even a month later, when things went back to the hell they had been all summer and my pride once again faded, I kept thinking how disappointed Troy would be if he learned I’d given up. I think that’s the only reason I didn’t take the escape April and Mike did.

Just stay strong. For any reason there is.

Sickening as it was, their program was getting to me. I caught myself asking tough questions. Why couldn’t it go on like this? This was bearable... right? What did I need to get back for this to be okay? Privacy? The ability to go to the mall? My parent’s approval? Yeah... That would work... be it not for this gigantic void where my very being was tearing itself apart in an attempt to get out back into the open. It always came back to that. No matter how much they said I was wrong and disgusting and sick, no matter how awful I thought I was, I couldn’t convince myself to just give in.

I tried... but I’d look at these girls and... and nothing! Never had been, ever! Even when I was in puberty and Dad would be throwing cat calls at cheerleaders... I just didn’t see it. Was something wrong with me? I hadn’t chosen this. Just... noticed it. Tried to ignore it, but it never went away, tried to go the other way, kept going to the games, staring at the cheerleaders, thinking up anything I could... 'Oh, she’s pretty... I guess...’ Even at Harborage... 'switching sides’ didn’t mean you lost the fight. I hoped I would switch but it wasn’t happening. We are designed a certain way. Guys need girls; girls need guys in order to continue the species. So... why didn’t I feel anything?

Maybe they were right. Maybe I was damned from the start. A mistake, incomplete, messed up, wrong...

I remember one night, I was reading out on the couch at home. Dad went to bed early, he had some business meeting in the morning that I wasn’t allowed to hear about. He still looked at me like I was a cancer cell. Again I got that feeling where I was just fed up with life. (Really fed up... swallow glass fed up)

I looked back at the book (the approved, pre-teen level book approved by Actions for Love), and caught a phrase said by one of the characters.

"Keep holding on."

I flipped to another page, randomly, and looked. Third line down, "keep holding on".

I let my eyes rest on the page, unfocused. Words start to appear.

"Stay strong."

"You’re not alone"

"Don’t give in."

"Don’t give up."

"Keep holding on."

Mom walked into the room. I asked her what it would take. She looked away from her fuss over one of the pillows in the green chair my dad had claimed as his personal chair and looked at me, asked what I meant. I asked what it would take to make this all end.

What did I have to do... to make it stop?

She said she wanted the old Jesse back. Said she didn’t want me to damn my soul.

Oh, is that all?

I said fine. I give up, now let me go. She said she had to be sure; that the director of Actions for Love would tell her when I was safe.

I asked what would happen if I never changed? She said I would. I asked how much more pain she’d inflict on me to make me pretend I had changed; she said she wasn’t supposed to talk about it. I asked if she knew what they did at campus, then I explained it all.

She seemed a bit surprised and bit her lip, then said she should go talk to Dad. I asked what they wanted. Not the church, not Actions for Love. What did my parents want?

She said she didn’t know. She’d have to ask my dad. Then she ran to their room and Dad came down a bit later to scream at me.

What did he want? Anything but a homosexual son! He said I’d go to Harborage until I changed or died, whatever came first. I asked if he knew about how many suicides that place was responsible for... he said he knew.

Whatever it takes to purify the family.

This was not my dad. This was an imposter. My dad was a Christian, love everyone, type of guy who loved me and never had any major religious arguments except when my school tried to make us stop saying the pledge of allegiance. His argument was that whoever didn’t want to say 'god’ could just not say that part. I agreed with him. He was the guy who let me go into sports bars with him till my asthma started acting up. This wasn’t the guy who had been teaching me to try drive and playing catch with me after school. Whoever was sending me to Harborage wasn’t my dad. It was someone else.

Someone else who knew exactly how to hurt me. He called me worthless, a sham. Waste of talent and a waste of oxygen. He threw out my trophies, medals, all of it. Threw the pictures of me he had on his desk into the fireplace that night. I think he threw out every picture of me in the house...

The next morning he told Harborage of my 'disobedience’ that night, and I was put into isolation and Safe Guard all day. They said I would remain that way for the rest of the month, and this wasn’t even the second week in.

They said they’d need to step-up the enforcement on me, permanently. No more going outside, not even on campus. No more track, no more runs. Grounded till they decided I had changed.

I threw another fit on campus, a fit they stopped before I could actually throw any punches. Sedated me yet again. Made me stay on campus for two days... alone.

They were using the bunk rooms now, since there were so few people. I was in one by myself except for two Staff Workers (two who were the first I met at the beginning of this second term. Yeah. I’m their favorite person...) who were ordered not to talk to me.

I didn’t get to participate in any activities, and even at church I had to sit in the last row as if I had to be hidden. They cut my hair again, even shorter, and dyed it again (and again the wrong color). They took away all my books, pictures, comics, anything I had left. They took away everything from my old church.

I stopped talking. Then I stopped eating.

Meals are regulated. They want to see who is eating what and how often... but I guess they were running out of punishments for me because they just gave me a lecture every time I left everything on my tray. Also did that 'you’re not leaving this table till everything is gone’ thing. That was actually nice. I just sat there and rested till they got sick of it.

They made me write a lot more Moral Inventories and I had to talk to the Group Leader in private for one hour a day. I had to start eating, then, because the lectures were destroying me and I noticed I was getting tired all the time. Eating made me feel bad, though. I faked a stomach flu for a few days.

My birthday went unnoticed.

When I got home I didn’t talk to or even look at my parents. I was told not to. It might 'upset them’. Who wanted that? Not me... upsetting them meant being tortured.

No holidays in this house... my parents went to church and office parties for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I got left home with a Staff Worker/babysitter who traded places with my parents when they got home.

I looked into my mirror one winter night. What I saw had instantly turned me aggressive. It was as if I had looked out my window to see someone staring at me, mocking me. Competitive fear. Who are you? What do you want? Why are you in my territory insulting me with that mask?

It literally took me full seconds to realize who I was staring at was me. I turned on a light and looked again, but I saw the same thing... same person I saw every morning, but something else. I saw myself months ago as I had been reflected in the eyes of someone else. Then I saw how I’d changed. I was thinner, pale, my muscles were stressed—tense, and that was probably the only reason they were even still there.

I saw Mike’s face, then April’s, Jahlil’s... Troy’s.

Watching me. 'Okay... so, what are you going to do now?’

They didn’t seem disappointed, just... I can’t even describe it. Not pity, not boredom, not anxiety, something between those. Like... nervous anticipation. No... Augh! I can’t even explain it. When you know a friend is making mistakes, but you don’t want to say anything when they realize it. So you wait for them to explain how they’re going to fix it.

April and Mike. This program had killed them and I was going to let them get away with it? That wasn’t me. That was who I was becoming.

No, no, no. I’m the Track Super Star. I am the guy who had so many friends and so many dreams. I’m the one who was always the rock. When my friends from real, people school were in trouble they came to me. When the coach needed help, when the points were on the line! I’m the guy! I’m the one who got beat up in junior high for being different and just laughed at the brutes. I’m the guy who broke into the rival high school’s auditorium and welded the door to their gym shut!

I’m the one Troy, Mike, Jahlil and April had needed and I wasn’t going to let them down again!

I started working out again. Dad and I had converted the basement into a home gym years ago. I went there and worked out every day after I got home from Harborage. Endorphins! The natural drug your body gives you to make all the bad stuff go away! That’s what exercise gives you more of. Does it matter why you’re happy if you’re happy? As long as you’re not hurting anyone, it shouldn’t.

I started eating again. This camp adventure would be over eventually and I’d get life back on track. Even if that meant waiting till I was in college and then picking the one furthest away. I had the ability to graduate early by a year which meant I was already one year closer to escape!

I can fake normal till then. Not just can, will, would, did. I participated in Group more. Stopped being so sarcastic, I showed more respect to the Staff Workers, (even apologized to the ones whose asses I had kicked) stopped resisting, stopped cursing (I bet that made the dish soap people sad. So much money lost). I did more chores around the house, stopped trying to bring up Harborage at home, showed my parents more respect. Gave my dad a lot of space. They stopped having to ask me to do anything.

Mom eventually asked about it. I told her I realized how completely idiotic I was being. This was a phase, just a phase. For some odd reason, I wasn’t yet feeling attraction toward woman so my mind has panicked and sought out any source to fill that void;, that it had all been explained to me in a way I could really understand—that it happened to a lot of people and it was just a temporary thing; no need to freak out over or jump to any conclusions. I told her that while I did miss my old friends and school at times, and how I still have moments where I wish I could have gone to the other camp we had picked out; I realize that this was my own fault. Had I gone to talk to someone from church when I’d started having these feelings that person could have explained it to me. That I never thought I was... the way I thought I was... till someone had implanted the suggestion into my head and how if that had never happened none of this ever would have happened.

"They have a lot of people doing testimonies. It’s not uncommon; they are even beginning to make some medications for it. Just a chemical imbalance. Like depression. I’ll be fine! Besides. I’m too young to be thinking these things anyway. I’m still a kid, why do I need these feelings? No worries. It should be over soon."

... I know! Bad, Jesse! Such lies! It is wrong to lie. You hear me? Wrong! To! Lie! This was not a lie-off! No battle or war of the lies had commenced... but if it had, they had started it. They’d told me they loved me my whole life, then they hired Hitler to brainwash me. There is no love there.

And it wasn’t all a lie... the suggestion to what I had told her had, in fact, been made. But the people who came to talk to us all admitted the feeling never left. As for the medication... it’s probably true. They say depression is a chemical imbalance, and it is. But it’s caused by something! I have never heard, "I’m so depressed!" "Why?" "I unno. Wanna go get an ice cream?"

... Okay, I’ve heard that, but they were preppy girls.

Mom seemed thrilled. It... was nice making her happy.

She told my dad, things seemed to be working as planned... then I overheard Dad on the phone with the program founder... Dad wondered if these changes were real... and apparently was being assured that his skepticism was not insane. That many clients had tried to fake change long enough not to be sent back. He said all my actions led him to believe I had a lot of problems.

Then my Dad asked what would need to be done for me to attend the summer course... again. He said he didn’t want to take any chances. Then said 'okay, I’ll check my email.’ And hung up.

At dinner it was hard not to ask about that. So hard to keep acting like I had been. Like nothing was wrong... so hard to try and hang onto the hope that I was fooling them.

Why a third time? This was killing me! Every day being told how terrible I was. Why not just let me fake it? Why did they have to keep doing this to me? Why so many times, why? If I wasn’t showing any progress, why couldn’t they just... give up? Why did it have to be like this! Why... why should this happen to anyone?

That night I made up my mind. I wouldn’t make it through a third run unless I at least got some answers. It was risky, but... things had changed. They couldn’t possibly do worse, so if I got into trouble... so what? This time I already knew there were plans on sending me back for the summer. There was no need for me to be afraid of a penalty that I knew was going to happen regardless.

Dad kept the keys to the house by his side of my parent’s bed, in a drawer. Getting them was impossible, but his office door was easy to unlock. He hadn’t changed the locks on it and I’d broken in plenty of times before this all began to get stuff for him when he’d forgotten and locked it.

The fear had always been of being caught. The 'I don’t dare’ overpowered everything. This time, fear was not going to control me. I snuck into Dad’s office and got on his computer.

They never delete any of their mail. Just let other emails stack on top, so I had to flip back four pages, but I found an old letter from Harborage. It was the first letter Harborage had sent them.

The rules are what aggravated me the most that night. One rule for the parents that says: Respect all Actions for Love and Harborage rules. If you do not understand them, support the program in front of your client at all times. Do not sabotage or defocus your client.

It also said that we, the 'clients’, would lie to them. We would tell them it was a lot worse than it was, and to just ignore it. That even if it were true on that case, everything was with the best intensions.

It asked them for permission to use any means, even if they seemed violent, to get desired results from client.

My parents gave them permission to beat me if they wanted. Could that be the next level, the level I was at now and I was managing to avoid it? My parents had even signed saying they would pay any cost to keep me in the program till I was repaired.

And they had looked up other places... worse places, incase I was kicked out of Harborage. Places that were allowed to have 'patients’ sedated for days at a time, strapped to a bed, if they proved to be a danger to themselves or others.

As I was looking, I noticed my email account had been completely deleted, so I switched back to my parents account. A new letter rang up from Harborage...

The letter stated that I could attend Harborage every year and summer if needed, until I was eighteen. They just needed to sign some forms. It thanked them for their donations and assured them I would always have a place on campus.

It quoted a lot of scriptures out of context and closed with a finishing statement that infuriated me.

'We agree with your feelings on having homosexuals running free in this world and want to remind you that there have been many historical accounts of attempts at their extermination. Your client, Jesse, will be with us till the end.’

... Extermination. These camps were not meant to brainwash us, they were meant to repair or kill us. April... had she died just so they would have the satisfaction of knowing that one less of us were out there influencing the world? I don’t want to influence the world; I just want to live in it. I don’t want to be a 'fighter’ for the 'cause’ or anything else! I just want to be me! I just... I have the right to live, don’t I?

How could my parents do this... how could any parent do this? This was like giving permission to have your child murdered!

... As I mentioned before. I like to consider myself a smart kid. So I printed out the letters from Harborage, put them into an envelope, and put them into my bag.

Then I deleted files from the computer. Every picture of or with me in it. Every email I had ever sent them. Anything on that computer about me that I could get to without erasing everything, I deleted. It was so tempting to download a virus or a worm. Post Dad’s credit card number on a blog or in a chat room.

I considered going to a chat room and asking for help. But if my parents found out I had used the computer they would have the IP traced and find out where I had been; it would get whoever helped me into a lot of trouble. I deleted the files which were technically mine anyway, and then I changed the screen saver.

When dad went to check his email he’d see my message.

I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted, but your actions are in sin. I realize I have filled this house full of them. There is only anger where there once was joy, so I’m ending it. I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want to be the cause of something unforgivable so I am removing myself from this situation. I know what you want, Dad, but that’s a sin, too.

Suicide is a sin. I won’t let you turn me into a heathen.

You haven’t kept it hidden. I guess I am smarter than you, because I realize the true values in life.

Family. Friends.

Love. Is. Love.

And there is none here for me, and I have none left for you.

Honestly yours,

---- Jesse ----

I walked to my room, stopping when I saw my dad coming down the stairs. It was too soon. That’s what went through my head. This is too soon, too early! If he finds out what I’m about to do...

But he didn’t. He checked the lock on the front door, then he headed back upstairs

He looked at the clocked and then glared at me at the top of the stairs. "It’s after eleven!"

I nodded. I said I know. Said I had come to a decision about my next move.

He said he knew I was faking it.

I told him he got me there.

He said he was reporting this to Harborage. I said fine. He said fine. I repeated that I had come to a decision. He said 'oh?’ I nodded. We stared at each other with the same look I imagine gladiators giving each other right before a battle; except there was not the least bit of respect in our eyes.

He asked what it was. I told him it was a decision. A choice. About my life. He walked closer and said that was fine, but to leave him out of it.

Out of my life?

He said he didn’t want anything to do with me or my 'lifestyle’. I told him he misunderstood. He told me to get out of his face.

As good permission as any, wouldn’t you agree?

He went to bed after barking at me till I went to my own bed and pretended to sleep. I know he was awake for another hour because I heard the TV. The moment it clicked off, I sat up and put my shoes on. I figured the worst thing I could do was wait. If the house was dead quiet, they would notice any sound. Right as they were going to bed they’d be shuffling the blankets and pillows, making noise.

How to get out? A problem that had always stalled me. I was ready, but how to go?

My first thought was to grab the baseball bat out of the hall closet and break my bedroom window open, climb out onto the roof, jump onto the SUV, then the hood, then the ground, and then just run, looking back only to be sure no one was catching up.

But that would be noisy and they couldn’t not hear that.

I snuck downstairs while I could still hear them fussing with the pillows and searched, but everything was locked tight.

I walked to the basement and grabbed a twenty-five pound dumbbell. Chrome.

Then I walked back to dear old Dad’s office. I shut the door behind me and relocked it. There was a window in here and I took the dumbbell to it.

It wasn’t as loud as I thought it would be, but there definitely was a noise. I was going for the bolt, not the window, and took it down with two hits. It dented the metal frame of the window, but, with a lot of force, the window opened.

I didn’t wait to see if I had made too much noise, I climbed out and took off. I took nothing with me other than the clothes I was wearing.

I ran out of the 'Safe Zone’ that night—not stopping till I was at least outside that zone. I couldn’t go to a friends house... they could get into trouble, and what friends did I have?

The next morning I got on a school bus that drove me five miles to a high school. From there, I walked three miles to a mall and begged for change for the bus. Got on the first one that came that was going the opposite direction from where I was coming from. Once it’s line ended, I begged for more money and took another bus. Did chains like that till the bus lines closed for the night, then I hitchhiked.

That was an experience... one woman was very nice, she was on her way to visit relatives two states over. Took me the whole way because she was nervous and needed someone to talk to. Also, she thought it would be a good idea to have a man traveling with her.

She got a teenage boy, but it was good enough for her so it was good enough for me! She let me drive for a few hours. That was absolutely terrifying. Never driven on the freeway before. She bought me lunch, though, so the freeway thing was forgiven.

When we got to her relatives house, she even arranged for her sister to take me further, all I had to do was change the oil in her sister’s truck. She took me into town and told me I shouldn’t hitchhike. Her concerns were touching, but what option did I have?

I got a few other rides that were in no way a positive experience. One guy tried to rob me, and when he found out I had no money he tried to sell me and I had to jump from his moving truck. Another one figured out I was a runaway and tried to drag me to a police station to collect the reward money.

Luckily, my mini battle between Staff Workers had prepared me for that.

Hung out on the street for a few days, barely scrapping by... but not being suicidal enough to keep hitchhiking. It wasn’t doing me any favors as it was. I begged for money or food, tried to stay away from the police. I had an asthma attack again. And again, I was sure this was the end, but someone took my hand again. And when I woke up I was here.

The woman who owns this place spent a lot of time with me as I was recovering. I wanted to leave, at first; I didn’t want to be around anyone. She wouldn’t accept that. I complained, I yelled (or tried to... my chest hurt), I kicked, snarled. She ignored it, called me a little angel, and told me to shut up. I finally snapped at her to stop calling me that, that my name was Jesse and then I felt like a moron because that’s what she had wanted me to do; give a name.

She said she understood how I must be feeling, but that they wanted to help me. I informed her that I’d been told that tale before and wanted nothing to do with it! She bought me new clothes... which I accepted because mine were tacky to begin with and travel hadn’t helped. She let me take a shower (in a bathroom with a door) every day, but wouldn’t let me leave the room... the door wasn’t locked, she was just always around.

I saw people come and go all the time, asked why I couldn’t. She said I had been brought here so close to death she had stayed with me all night because she expected my life to end at any moment and she didn’t want me to be alone when it happened, even if I didn’t know she was there. She said it was obvious I had medical problems and until I was fully recovered there was no way I was going to be living on the streets.

I told her it was fate... when you nearly die that many times... you have to start wondering why.

She said exactly. It must all lead to here.

Without my medicine, I didn’t last long in the arguments. I finally had to tell her I had asthma. She said I should have grabbed my meds before running away. I told her they were locked in my parent’s room; she found that to be very odd with a condition like asthma. Then she got me this bottle of eucalyptus oil. One spray and I can breathe again. She said she couldn’t give me medications till I saw a doctor, but knew some herbal stuff we could try. Her husband kept buying me new clothes and books, it almost felt like they were bribing me to get me to stay.

There were no classes, no 'yes sir, yes ma’am’ they gave me all the privacy I needed but somehow knew when I secretly hated being alone.

They let me watch a TV that was in the room with me... and I saw a commercial with my picture listing me as a runaway. It said they had some leads and were looking for more. There was a reward. It said I desperately needed help as I was having a mental breakdown or whatever.

Yeah.

Fun to watch.

I didn’t handle it well... but you have to understand. I thought that meant freedom was over! Even though freedom had been a nearly fatal experience, it at least wasn’t Harborage! I stopped breathing and freaked, asthma and panic attack all wrapped into one. The woman owner saw my freak out, and she made me repeat a phrase over and over... like before, but so much different.

"I want to live. I want to live. I want to live."

Through the entire attack she stayed with me, making me repeat that till the attack was over and I was so tired I feel asleep.

Her husband and she paid for medical treatment for me got me an inhaler, more clothes... so much and I’d given them nothing in exchange except a bad attitude at first. They got me into school, handled the police I guess, because they said not to worry about it.

I had to see a court ordered councilor for three meetings. They asked me what happened at my house, Harborage, and why I had felt there was no other option but to run. Then there was nothing.

I got a drivers license by confusing methods I still don’t get, because I thought you had to have a parent sign for it. These people gave me a home! I had someplace to be with people who cared for me. I got to help others... I got help.

There is a sign above my door that has been there since I first looked around the room and saw it. The woman owner said it’s the main slogan for this place. They don’t take kids who run away because they are mad, they take in the ones at the end of their rope, who might not make it to tomorrow without some assistance, so they picked a slogan to symbolize that.

"Keep Holding On"

There are a lot of runaways. Most go back home eventually, but there are thousands that don’t. We aren’t outcasts or freaks. We’re kids, each with their own story.

And that is mine.

Oh, and Troy... I can’t give you specifics, because if anyone who knows my parents ever sees this they’ll go after you, but do you remember the conversation we had about the hockey game? Yeah, you were right about that third team. I’m thinking they might make it... though, the big game decides it all. I think I’ll go see it, their pro-shop is supposed to be good so I can get a birthday gift for the owners here.

Damn this is long, so I’m going to bed. It was an interesting way to spend a Saturday, but my therapy is over for this session! It does feel good to just get it all out (and blog it because paper is so out-dated) but I doubt I’m ever going to do a rant this long ever, ever again! (This is where you cheer and STOP trying to lick your elbows!)

L8R!

---- Jesse ----

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Author's Note

Jesse's Story is, in fact, fiction. But only in that this story was not really from Jesse. The campus he explains, the events that take place; all of that is completely real.

As anyone who knows me understands, I write about segregation. This is a bad case of it. Parents really do send their children to camps like this and worse! Sometimes for years...

I read article after article in research for this. Went to blogs of people who actually went through these programs, and learned about their friends who did not make it.

As far as a religious standpoint, I don't have one. This story is not meant to attack any religion! This story was only intended to get the word out about these events! No one should be made to feel like a monster because they go through each day and their minds won't let them see what we do as long as no harm comes to anyone. If a guy looks at a girl and sees nothing, why is that hurting us? The world is overcrowded as it is.

I knew vaguely about places like Harborage, but it wasn't until I read a comic that I knew exactly how popular and common these programs are. How vile they are.

I am not pro-gay or anti-gay. I believe love is love. You shouldn't try to be something you're not, you should let fate decide. I don't believe people who are gay should enforce their beliefs on others and I don't believe in the other way around. No one should be made to feel wrong as long as they are not hurting anyone or anything, and it's my opinion that someone liking a member of the same sex isn't hurting anyone!

That is their lives, anyway, not ours to mess into. I like guys... so why would I insult a male who felt the same way? He's just seeing what I do.

I hope I have given something to think about. I also hope you enjoyed the story!

This started out as a small idea, maybe 11 pages total... and... I underestimated myself! It was just going to be a short little joke... kiss that good-bye!

-Ravyn (P.S! We are looking for artists to help make a small picture show for this story to the song: "Dare You To Move" by Switchfoot)

© Copyright 2007 Ravyn Crescent.
All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Ravyn Crescent.