Date: Mon, 23 Jan 2023 18:50:21 -0500 From: James Heady Subject: Boy Traumatized--Chapter 6 Boy Traumatized By James Disclaimer This is a story which deals with sexual as well as romantic situations between consenting teenaged males. This story will also deal with sexual assault, child abuse, Anti-LGBT Bigotry, Racism, Suicide, Ableism, Discrimination and other possibly sensitive topics. If you're unable to handle reading about such sensitive subjects, then back out of the story now. Also, if you're not of the legal age to read this type of story, then please find something else to read. Other than this, no additional Trigger Warnings will be given. Also, "Flame E-mails" will be ignored. Please remember to donate to Nifty, as it's your donations that keep this as well as other stories and reading materials on the site free to the public. Finally, if you like this story and haven't done this already. Take my e-mail address jamesheady1985@gmail.com to visit what you explained would be a litter of puppies at one of your friend's house, but when you drive off, take them to a house that's infested with hundreds of Brown Rats instead,. Once there, tell them to get out and hide behind one of the bushes then quickly drive off without warning. Thanks again to K. for editing. Good job as always, and your edits are truly appreciated. Thank you. Boy Traumatized Chapter Six "I don't want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can't think again. Not ever again." Stephen Chbosky The Perks of Being a Wallflower Omri I was pulled out of my thoughts when I felt someone holding me. I figured that it was Chase, and I wondered how long he had been there. I had been completely consumed in the flashbacks, and it was truly frightening when that happened! As the memories were getting more and more distant, I snuggled in to Chase's arms as he held me close. I was so glad to have him there in that moment! Finally the flashbacks were gone, and I just lay there in Chase's embrace with my head on his chest. Neither one of us said anything for a long time, and I wondered if Chase had fallen asleep, then he moved his hand to lightly stroke my hair, then he kissed the top of my head. "I'm alright now," I said. "How long have you been here?" "I came in a couple of seconds after you came in here," he said. "You must have been really reliving everything." "I was," I answered. "If you're angry with me for not telling you sooner about the letter, I'll understand," he went on. "I probably should have told you immediately." "No," I said as I kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you didn't come right away with the news." "I was trying to just let you have your time with Deon," he explained. "I'm glad you did," I said looking into his eyes. "The letter and what will be resulting because of it are what scared me, and you have nothing to feel guilty about." "I'm glad to hear you say that," he said as we lay there continuing to stay like that with me in his arms while he held me. Soon we got up, and I talked with him a little more about Deon coming over next weekend. He made sure that his schedule was clear, and after checking with Deon's parents to make sure that their schedules were clean, everything was set for sure. Deon would be coming over to my house that up-coming weekend, and I couldn't wait for that! I wanted and needed to see him again. I needed to see those warm blue eyes of his, as well as his sweet face! I needed to feel his arms around me once more. I wanted to feel his strength as he held me in his embrace. It always made me feel like all was right with the world, and also made me feel like nothing bad would ever happen to me! 0000 Deon I was spending that Saturday night in my room watching different music videos on social media, as well as doing some reading. Once I had finished all of that, I was glad to see that I had a call coming in from Omri. I missed him throughout the evening since he had left my house, and it would be good to hear from him again! I accepted the call, and his face filled the screen. "It's really good to hear from you!" I said as I got myself in bed. It was almost 10:00 P.M., and though I wasn't going to bed yet, I still wanted to be settled in for the night because I would soon be asleep. "It's good to hear from you again," Omri replied. "I wanted to let you know that everything is set for you to come over this up-coming weekend." "I'm really glad to hear that!" I said smiling widely! "It'll be really nice to see you again, and to spend even more time together for a couple of days!" "I agree!" he said smiling just as big as I was! "How was your evening so far tonight?" I asked. "It was good," he answered. I could tell that he was holding something back, but I ignored it for the time being. "What have you been doing tonight?" "Chase and I were watching a couple of movies tonight," Omri responded. "We watched the first two Saw Movies, and they're definitely interesting." "I haven't seen them myself, but have heard about them," I answered. "What did you think of them?" "I'm still trying to process them," he answered smiling. "I'm not really sure I like the idea of what Jig Saw was trying to communicate. It sounds too much like the idea that some people push that sometimes one has to let a kid burn their hand on the stove to learn that things can burn or even hurt." "Yeah, I can see your point," I said. "My bio parents were like that. They would be physically abusive, then say that I had to learn that the world could be a cruel and harsh place. They would say that after my dad or my mom would smack me on the ass. That was always their justification, as if that made it right." "It definitely didn't make it right, or even almost acceptable," Omri replied totally horrified. "I'm sorry you were put through all that." "Thanks," I answered. "I'm guessing that you and Chase will watch something a little more light-hearted tomorrow, or whenever you decide to have another movie night?" "Probably," Omri said. "We don't tend to watch too many horror movies that are so bloody like that, but sometimes we make an exception." "Are there any movies he won't let you watch even with him there with you?" I asked. "Definitely not that one movie called a Serbian Film," Omri answered. "I've seen different YouTube videos that talk about that movie," I said. "That's one that I wouldn't watch even if I was a legal adult. It's too dark as far as I'm concerned just from the bits that some of the commentators have shown in their videos." "I've seen a few videos talking about it as well," Omri responded. "I wouldn't watch it even if Chase were to give me permission to do so. Just the Infant Rape scene alone is enough to keep me away from it." "I know what you mean," I replied. "That being said, I'm sure that if Chase and I watch any movies tomorrow we'll find something that we can both enjoy," Omri added. "That sounds good," I said. We talked for a little while longer, then I told Omri that I was getting tired. I could feel myself fading a bit, and my eyelids were growing kind of heavy. "It was really nice talking with you again Deon," Omri said. "I'll give you a call tomorrow sometime if you're not going to be busy." "I would really enjoy that," I replied. "I won't be too busy. I hope you sleep good tonight." "Thanks," he answered. "I hope the same for you as well." "Thanks," I said. "Good night Omri." "Good night, Deon," he answered then signed off. I put the phone on the charger and after saying goodnight to my parents, I returned to my room and shut off the ceiling light so that only the bedside lamp was on. I got back in bed, and after making sure that my texts, e-mail, and other alerts were cleared I lay back in bed after shutting off the bedside lamp. The nightmare filled with flashbacks came shortly after I fell asleep. It was basically a recall of the events that had happened that caused my stroke back when I was ten. My parents, as I had mentioned, had been abusive, and any rage I showed, at best would be medicalized. At worst, it would be met with beatings. My parents would usually say that I had a rage problem, or if I wasn't paying attention in school, then I had some issue with paying attention. They'd still yell at me though, and things finally came to a head when I came home from school one afternoon in the fall. On this particular Tuesday, I came home, and I had already been in a bad mood since the teacher had yelled at me a couple of times when I couldn't get a couple of Math problems correctly. I didn't understand them, and the Bastard wasn't attempting at all to be patient. Then they had spaghetti for lunch. I hated, and still hate spaghetti, and definitely didn't want it that day. I had only a few bites of it before tossing it. The cafeteria worker didn't appreciate that and wasn't satisfied when I said that I would get something when I got home. As a result, the teacher was informed, and I got detention for the rest of that lunch period. Once I got home with a note detailing what had happened, my dad and mom said that this was the last time they would put up with my bad behavior. They said that they would be fixing this once and for all! I had always been a resistant person growing up, but I didn't feel like I was so resistant that I was a problem child. But my parents seemed to see and think otherwise. I made it known when I didn't like someone or something. I had no problem telling my parents what I thought about a person or thing I didn't like. They saw this as disrespect, and the more they pushed, the more I pushed back. Apparently though, my resistance on that Tuesday was the last straw for them. My parents' way of handling my problems was to take me to the psychiatric hospital that was near our house. At that time, I was living in a town that was about six hours away from Sangger where I live now. It was one of the towns that most of the richer families lived, and my family was considerably wealthy. The right foods had to be served at parties, the right clothes had to be worn at the various functions we went to. I hated the foods they ate, and they of course, didn't like that I felt that way. So, within the town I lived was a psychiatric hospital that was for children who belonged to some of the more wealthy families who lived there. I had heard things about this place, that it would practice certain techniques that would make a kid behave the way that the kid's parents wanted them to behave. I didn't think too much about what was said, and while no one went into specifics I always got the sense that what was done there was viewed as bad. Again, I didn't think about it. Now it was different though. As I learned that I was going to be going to this place, I wondered if it was as bad as people implied. How would it actually be. My parents told me of their decision to take me there on Tuesday. I was taken there at the end of the week of that Tuesday. Once there, I was told that I'd be staying there for possibly a period of two weeks. The stay would be extended if no improvement was shown. I was given counseling, and that started the very next day. I thought that much of what the counselor said was Bullshit. The counselor seemed to think that I was deeply angry with my parents because of them not being there for me enough. The counselor also went on about how maybe I was repressing my deep-seeded rage at my parents. While it was true that I would get angry with my parents for how they treated me, I didn't think that I had any of this deep-seeded rage that the counselor seemed to believe I had. I didn't feel like I was repressing anything either. I was good at letting people know when I was angry and if I didn't like something, as I had already mentioned. The counselor didn't agree, and I was informed that our counseling was at Level One Status. Level Two Status would be employed the following week if I didn't improve. I had been there for about a week at that point, and the day on which they informed me of this was Thursday of that first week. I didn't think too much of it, and when I still disagreed with the counselor, this time more vehemently, he would push back harder. After our session for Friday concluded, he let me know that on Monday, Level Two Status of our counseling would begin. "What's Level Two Status anyway," I asked staring at him defiantly. "You'll find out on Monday," he answered as we neared the door to the room to which I was assigned for sleeping and various leisure activities. "The only thing I'll tell you for now; you won't like it." "Whatever," I said looking back at him with the biggest Fuck You Look I could muster. That Monday, Level Two Status of therapy began. It was the worst thing I had ever been put through, and it would forever change my view of people in the so-called "Helping Profession". They believed that I wasn't giving vent to the deep-seeded rage towards my parents for the past traumas they said my parents had subjected me to long ago. They said that I needed to be made to vent to that rage. To that end, they went on to explain I would be given what was called Holding Therapy, which is a therapy in which the therapist and/or parents hold the child tightly. The idea is that this is supposed to make the child angry enough, so they would let out all of the primal rage that's within them due to whatever traumatic events they suffered in the past. It sounded like Pseudo-Scientific Bullshit to me. Even at that age I didn't believe what the counselor was saying. Edward was the counselor's name who was working with me throughout my whole stay there, and it was during this first session of Holding Therapy that I found out just what a hateful Bastard he could be. I was hardly able to move as he held me tightly, and by the end of the session, I was struggling against him as hard as I could! He claimed that this was my rage trying to come out, and over the next couple of days it would continue like this. It kept going until a couple of assistants were brought in as I had begun to fight too strongly. I had even elbowed Edward in the jaw on the third day of the Holding Therapy. By the time the second week was beginning I was scared and would get more violent with each session. When the assistants were brought in in the middle of that second week of the Holding Therapy Sessions, I was held down by them, and it was getting worse! Finally, by the end of that second week, I struggled so hard that I broke free from one of the assistants who was the smaller of the two. After breaking free of him, I kicked him in the shin as hard as I could, and only when Edward gripped me tightly and quickly strapped me down to a gurney did the session end for the day. "You'll remain strapped down for the rest of the day," Edward said to me with a purely cold look in his eyes. Things finally came to a head the following week when Edward moved to grab me. I fought back harder, and the doctor who ran the clinic came in and between him, Edward and the assistants who were there to help, they held me down, and I struggled all the harder. "He's being placed in four-point restraints," the doctor whose name was Dr. Smith said. They began restraining my arms and legs, and I screamed for them to let me go. When Edward moved to push my head back against the bed, I was able to get the side of his hand in my mouth, and I bit down hard. "God Damn it!" he screamed yanking his hand free. "He bit me!" "Get him sedated!" Smith yelled. A nurse joined the team by this time, and I was struggling with all the strength I had. The nurse was frustrated as well as agitated. She grabbed a syringe from the tray. There were several on the tray, and it was in the middle of the row of syringes. She injected it as fast as she could, and I screamed both in pain and in rage as I tried once more to throw everyone off me! Suddenly I felt that something was wrong. I felt my body going limp, as if all the strength was leaving me. I stared up at the nurse, and she looked back with a sudden look of worry which turned quickly to fear. "What's happening to me?" I asked, but it came out slurred as if I was drunk. My face felt slack, and I felt a sudden pain in my head, then everything went black. 0000 The nurse looked down at Deon, then at the doctor. They both knew that something was wrong, then the nurse looked at the cap from the syringe in her hand. It was from one of the syringes that contained medications to increase blood pressure in people with dangerously low blood pressure. She had injected Deon with a Vaso-Pressor, and it's possible that he had suffered a brain hemorrhage. The nurse looked again at the cap in her hand, then the doctor saw it. "God Damn it!" he yelled. "What the fuck was a Vaso-Pressor doing in that tray!" "I don't know," she said getting even more frightened at that time. They rushed Deon to the MRI area to run tests. The tests confirmed that Deon had suffered a stroke due partially to the drug accidently injected into his veins. Complicating factors were his already elevated blood pressure and heart rate. They immediately went in and performed surgery to drain the blood off Deon's brain, then after his parents were called. It was two weeks of waiting while Deon lay in a coma. 0000 Deon When I awoke next, I had no sense of time. I had no idea where I was, and when I tried to speak a wordless stream of nonsense came out. I tried speaking again, but it was the same. My parents were there, and they told me what had happened. My memory wasn't affected, so I knew who they were, and I remembered being at the hospital for counseling. They told me what had happened. When I tried to move my hands, I could hardly lift them. My legs also wouldn't work, and I had to struggle to move my hands to use them. To say that I was scared beyond belief would have been accurate, but it didn't even put into words just how terrified I was! I couldn't believe what had happened, and I wondered if I'd ever be back to normal again! Over the next several weeks I had to work with physical therapists who helped me to regain the strength in my hands again. That went well, and my strength and coordination was coming back faster than what they had anticipated. Speaking was slower, and my parents just barely showed any patience when attempting to communicate with me. They came usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. After the fifth week of me being in the hospital they came a couple of Tuesdays, then one day a week for every other week. Eventually they found reasons not to come to see me. Finally the social worker who had been assigned to my case informed me that my parents were going through the process of making me a Ward of the State so that someone else could adopt me. I couldn't believe it, and I cried for a long time after that. I had hoped that this whole experience would have brought us closer, and possibly help us to restore our relationship, but clearly that wasn't to be. Eventually I met the Christianson's, and they were showing me the care, compassion, and kindness that I had hoped that my own parents would have shown me. We would visit a couple of times a week, and I eventually went to their house for the day. By that time, I was talking again, feeding myself, but still using a wheelchair with which to get around. I was now 11 by this time, and I was glad to have the Christianson's in my life. Finally, they talked to me about adopting me, and they asked what I thought of that idea. I was truly touched that they wanted to adopt me, and I immediately agreed to it. Fortunately, the adoption process went quickly, and I went home with my new parents about a month later. At that point I had been living at a nursing care clinic for kids who were recovering from strokes. Once at my new parents' house, I was glad to be able to sleep in a real bed again! When I awoke from the dream I wasn't as upset as I had been on previous occasions when I'd relive the events in my nightmares. I sat there for a few minutes, and after getting up to use the restroom, I returned to bed. I was glad to be falling asleep quickly again this time with thoughts of Omri in my head as I drifted once again off to sleep. Author's Notes What Deon was put through is a real therapy practiced in some psychologists' offices. Holding Therapy which is used for what's called Attachment Disorder is considered Pseudo-Science, and isn't widely recognized by the Scientific/Psychological Communities. Children have died because of a variation of Holding Therapy which is called Rebirthing which is where a child is placed in a layer of a couple of blankets with pillows sometimes being placed over-top of the blankets. Several adults then sit on top of the pile while the child struggles to get free of the blankets and pillows. The idea is that they're reexperiencing their birth in hopes that they'll be able to attach to their parents. Much of the descriptions of these children with so-called Attachment Disorder is questionable at best and completely demonizing at worst. These children typically are described as liars, manipulators and full of rage. The idea of Attachment Disorder is also dangerous because it ignores the possibility that the child's rageful behaviors are due not to this disorder, but due to them being a reaction to the parents being abusive towards them. The practices of Rebirthing, Holding Therapy and Attachment Disorder aren't as viewed as being of value as they had been years ago. Let's hope that they continue to have more and more people see them for what they are, nothing but institutionalized Child Abuse! In the next chapter of the story, you guys will get to read about Deon and Omri's sleep-over the following weekend. I hope all of you like how that goes. So having said all that, I hope everyone has been having a good day. Have a good evening, and I'll see all of you in Chapter Seven.