5 Realities of the rehab camp my parents paid to kidnap me cracked.com lower back tattoo designs for females

So my camp was just a bunch of empty desert for us to hike around in. Wrist tattoos for guys tumblr there were no walls, no buildings, nothing but blasted desolation as far as the eye could see. And since there are no federal regulations for how these facilities should operate, each individual program gets to make up its own rules and standards. When I arrived at camp, I was issued a set of clothes and a tarp. I was introduced to my group. Each group in the camp was headed by one male and one female counselor, who were completely unhelpful in answering any questions about camping or basic desert survival.

The only answer I kind of succeeded in getting was to the question, where’s the bathroom? The guy gave me a shovel. I asked him for TP and he told me to use leaves from a nearby sage plant, which wound up giving me a terrible asshole rash (a rashole, if you will), so I switched over to rocks from then on.


In case you just asked yourself, wouldn’t that hurt? The answer is not as much as a rash on your goddamned asshole.

Our diets approached prison-levels of monotony: granola for breakfast, pita bread and peanut butter sandwiches with dried apricots for lunch, and dried beans mixed in a zip-close bag bag with water and rice for dinner, heated under the sun for a few hours. If you were good (or if the counselor liked you), you’d get to add a little tapatio or mustard. Spices were a reward for behaving, sort of like dune only somehow longer and more painful. My group was the only one in the camp to earn mustard, and that was a big deal. We eventually earned powdered cheese, which basically made us gods unto the eyes of our fellow campers.

Incidentally, that kind of diet makes you fart more or less constantly. You just walk around emitting gas like a pipe in an old building. And there were no showers. Since we also wore the same clothes pretty much daily, we smelled awful. Awesome lower back tattoos some administrator lady came by to talk to us a few weeks in, totally unprepared for us or the desert in high heels and a skirt. She was absolutely shocked at how gross we were, which is what happens when you drop a bunch of teenagers in the desert, don’t let them bathe, and feed them nothing but beans and mustard for some fucking reason.

Remember when my parents sold me on the idea of going off to rehab for two weeks? Well, it turned out the whole camp was on an eight-step program, which I guess makes it 33 percent more efficient than alcoholics anonymous. We had to make it through each step before we’d be allowed to go back home. Two days into my stay, we were visited by a group of campers on their eighth and final step. These kids had all been there for three or four months, and they did their best to commiserate with our unhappiness. I remember one girl saying I hated it too, but now that I’m on my final stage I realize how much I’ve learned. It’s been a really great experience.

At the time, I assumed she’d been brainwashed by too many weeks eating beans in the desert, but later I learned that she was just trying to graduate and go home: part of the program requires you to come back and talk to step one campers and tell them how rewarding the program eventually is if they stick with it. Unfortunately for her and everyone else there, it turns out that whole graduation thing is a lie. Amazing male tattoo designs completing step eight means you graduate, but it doesn’t mean that you get to go home. You just graduate from the wilderness portion to a boarding school.

My parents were very heavily considering that boarding school. Now, I was about to turn 18 in a few months and transform into a legal adult with the right to ruin his life on his own terms, but there were rumors flying around camp that there was a way your parents could talk to a judge to give the camp custody until you turned 21. I didn’t know if this specific rumor was true, but a judge can absolutely place an 18-year-old in state custody until the age of 21 and send them to camps like mine, so the rumors were plausible enough for me to be worried.

It’s not like escaping hadn’t occurred to anyone before: one kid fled our group early on, only to get caught two or three days later. It was made clear to us that this was the only way escape attempts ever ended. Anyone caught trying to run off was automatically booted back to step one. They had off-road vehicles to send after escapees, and we even heard rumors of helicopters. They expended less effort chasing harrison ford in the fugitive. On my second or third day there. A counselor asked me, are you thinking about running?

So I had my flip-flops, and my pjs, and two bottles of water I’d managed to hide. There weren’t any walls, so at that point there was no barrier between me and freedom except for the stories they’d told us about kids who got lost in the desert trying to run and nearly died. But now, I knew we weren’t a hundred miles away from the highway or anything. Awesome chest tattoos for guys the lights of blessed civilization were nearby, and I was a’comin’.

It was a warmer night than usual, and the moon was especially bright, which made things easier for me. Once everyone seemed asleep, I just counted to 1,000 and started walking. I walked towards those lights for around nine hours, until I came to a power line pole at about 4 a.M. That pole led me to a paved road, and that paved road lead me to a farm. See, what had looked like a town from the mountain was really just a massive sprawl of farms, each a mile or so apart. I’d gone maybe 20 miles at this point, and I was exhausted. My legs were cramping, and I started to wonder if perhaps I’d bitten off more of an odyssey than I was prepared to odysseus. Cool ironman tattoos the possibility that I’d fallen victim to a diabolical mix of hubris and wishful thinking was beginning to seem pretty likely.

That period after my stint in camp was the most fucked up, irresponsible time in my life. I lived with friends for a while, got tattoos, bought a gun, started experimenting more with drugs, and developed one hell of an anger management problem. I was still furious at my family (and at that camp) for taking away my freedom, and I was bound and determined to show everyone that I was my own, free person, even if that free person was an aggressive asshole.

Eventually I wound up getting in a fight, beating a guy up, and getting arrested. My parents bailed me out, and oddly enough, that helped me learn to trust them again. Gradually I grew up, learned some tough lessons, and turned into a productive, responsible member of society. Not because someone made me wander around in the desert for weeks on end, but because I had a chance to figure things out for myself. The truth is, there is no magical cure for a teenager who can’t handle obeying the rules. If somebody comes along and insists they can whip your kid into shape by having them walk aimlessly around in the wilderness (for a huge fee, of course), maybe save your money and try doing absolutely anything else instead.