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I Can't Breathe!

By Shane Partain

In 1985 I became a victim of organized child abuse. I was 14, and like many teens, I had gotten a little out of hand. Skipping school, staying out late, running away, etc. My parents had no experience raising a teen. So, they looked for some help. A friend of the family had sent their daughter to a place called Bethel Academy in Lucedale, Mississippi - a religious program for "rebellious kids". It was (and still is) run by Rev. Herman Fountain.

I spent 8 1/2 months in that place. During that time I was beaten, tortured, and humiliated in front of the other kids. We spent nearly every day doing hard labor. We were totally isolated from civilization (it was a closed compound in a rural area). There was no TV, radio, or newspapers. I remember hearing what I thought was a rumor: The Space Shuttle, Challenger had exploded. About a week later, during my next 5-minute, monitored phone call to my parents, I learned that Challenger had indeed blown up.

We were also forced to accept extreme religious and political views. Every day we had bible memorization. If you couldn't memorize the verse within a few minutes, you were beaten. You were given a few more minutes, and if you still couldn't remember the day's scripture verse, you were beaten again. This continued until the verse had been memorized.

After playing along for a while, I earned the "privilege" of walking around the grounds alone. I escaped and walked 40 miles to nearby Mobile, Alabama. I spent 3 days hiking mostly at night and eating blackberries and raw corn. Once in Mobile I didn't know what else to do except call my dad in Florida. Luckily, he bought me a bus ticket, and let me come to live with him.

About 7 months later, my parents decided I was caught in another hopeless downward spiral. Once again, they sought out the "Tough Love" community, and learned about a program called LIFE.

LIFE wasn't a religious program, per se. I wasn't beaten (except for the time I was attacked by Helen Peterman, one of the head staff), and I didn't do hard labor -- I rarely saw the outside world. However, I was isolated, totured, humiliated, and subjected to intense group brainwashing sessions for 10 hours a day. We were forced to accept absurd concepts, and were "confronted" in front of a group of about 100 kids if we didn't agree. One of these concepts was, "You'll die without this program!" I wonder why so many kids have killed themselves after leaving one of these places?

I tried for a short time to play along. The problem was, that under such a strong peer pressure, I began to believe some of the things they were telling me. This all changed when, one day, they brought in a newcomer. He immediately began fighting and yelling, "You're not gonna brainwash me!" He was restrained until he calmed down, but the second they let him up, he began fighting furiously. After a few days of this, they let him leave. I remember hearing regularly, "Acts of violence will not be tolerated." This is when I made a decision -- I would fight for my freedom.

I won't go into details about what I did, since writing about this is already making me physically ill. But, they did finally make it easy for me to leave, after 5 1/2 months. Only, about a week later, after I had gotten my old job back and was living with my dad (He was opposed to these programs, but stood by and watched while my mom and stepdad had me locked away.), something awful happened.

My mom called me and asked if I wanted to go out to eat. I thought it was great that she was respecting my independence, and wanted to actually take the time to build a relationship. We had a nice time together. We even went for a ride in the country, and she let me drive the car. On the way back to my dad's house, she said she needed to use the bathroom. So, we stopped at her house, since it was on the way.

As soon as we got inside, my stepfather emerged from the bedroom and locked the front door. It was one of those deadbolts that had a keyhole inside and out, so you couldn't get out without the key. Then, two other men emerged from the bedroom. My step father said, "This is Frank, and this is Joe, and we're going to Mississippi." Now, I had never done anything violent until I was put in a position where I had to fight for my freedom. But, at that point, all I could think about was getting to the kitchen where I could get a hold of a butcher knife. I didn't make it.

Suddenly, a van appeared at the front door, and they dragged me outside. I was kicking and screaming, "HELP! HELP! HELP!" Apparently, no one heard my screams. I wasn't a very big kid at 16, but once inside of the van, Frank (at least 250 pounds) sat on my back while I was face-down on the floor. I still wake up gasping for air, some nights.

Excuse me while I vomit...