I have a feeling this will be the first of more than a few posts on this subject. I always thought the situation that played out at the schools I went to was unique to my situation. Turns out, it's not! I've heard other survivors and also researchers discuss this phenomenon. I might ramble a little bit in this post as I collect my memories in a stream-of-consciousness way, so forgive me in advance.
My first experience of being handled in an education environment goes all the way back to pre-k/kindergarten. For some reason my family didn't put me in a traditional school for that. Instead, they sent me to a program run by the YWCA just a mile or so from our house. This is also where I took swimming lessons (more on that in a bit).
At the time, one of my handlers was working there as a life guard at the pool while my homeroom teacher appeared to be a programmer, probably taking orders from that handler. I liked my homeroom teacher. She always treated me well. Most of our lessons were what you'd expect for that age except for one specific homework lesson we received which had to do with programming. I wish I had a copy of it because it's hard to explain what they were doing. I remember a long list of "math" problems that were entirely visual. We had to "add, subtract, multiply, divide" geometric shapes. We also had word problems that focused on antonyms involving the elements (fire and ice, etc).
On off days, the "lifeguard" handler would come to the house and train me to view the alphabet and English language phonemes as having the double meanings that she assigned. I guess you could say there was a lot of programming going on with language, both qualitative and visual.
We also had programming going on regarding the cartoons we watched at home. I can still remember my mom telling me that my handler watched all the same ones I did and knew a lot about them. Then she said that she knew that I could tell what was fantasy but there was another kid who couldn't and that I would see him trying to act out being able to fly the next day. Sure enough, this kid got up on a jungle gym during recess and tried to "fly" over to some monkey bars. He didn't make it. Instead, he ended up whacking his mouth on the metal bar and knocked a couple of teeth out.
I wish I could find the journal where I first wrote about this because right now I can't remember a lot of details. What I do know is that I ran inside to find a teacher to help this kid out. I found the P.E. teacher and she stood with me, looking out the door, and told me there was someone else who had to handle the situation. In that private moment, she also said that she didn't approve of the situation. She pointed to her whistle and said "Just because I've got a whistle around my neck doesn't mean I can be a whistleblower. I'd like to, but I can't."
The rest of the memory is fragmented again. It's been at least a year since I recovered it. All I know is that I was pushed through a door into the gym and made to feel like I was somehow bad or wrong for being the one to try to help this other kid. That I was viewed as a potential whistleblower for having compassion.
Also, due to the swim program and the long operating hours of the Y, it was easy for them to abuse me in secret and at odd hours. I have memories of that handler half drowning me in the pool when no one was around. I also have memories of being assaulted by her in the locker-room, then picked up by one of the mafia handlers afterwards when it was dark out.
I may fill this out a bit more if I can find that journal again soon but this is what I remember from the Y. In the next post, I'll describe what happened through elementary school, where the connection between being handled both at school and at home became more pronounced.
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