I did a 56 day program a few years ago. I even stayed an extra week and made it 63 days so I could get my IDs and attend a beautiful pow wow. I was prescribed Percocet for over 5 years straight by my family doctor. Because I dislocated my shoulder when I was 14. I was trying to be perfect then and tried to do karate like the blue power ranger. I always came in second in track and field. I tried so hard to change myself to be liked. I also had my heartbroken by a best friend and I was always trying to fit in all through high school. I would often change into different clothes in the bathroom. I wanted friends so bad. I was born into a CFS family. Straight out of birth. My sister and I left home for good when I was only 15. I was so scared when we first arrived in Calgary. I was turning only 16. When we arrived we went searching for help. I was assigned a Jedi master. He was such a good worker. He never gave up on me. He knew how bad I wanted to get out of this. Sometimes I would be the only one to do my daily readings. They let you write down goals and take them home. They would read them to the group. I helped run AA. They were my running buddies. Sometimes I would forget my ID. The desk staff would contact the retreat house. They would come to the office to get me and take me back. I would eat my wheaties and off I go again. Sometimes we would read about the sacred pipe. Often we would have to jump this gate in the valley. To get the hell out of there. When I was 13, my sister said she made me a promise. That she would save me from harms way. When I was 8 my dad told me he could save me from falls and spills at home. He would hold my hand at McDonalds. Nobody was gonna get through him to hurt me. The day I turned 17, I was told to phone my aunt to get a plane ticket to come home bury my father. On my dad’s ceremony, I was told, “don’t ruin your dad’s day.” I did this. So they put me in a room till I could go to Treatment. They drove me to the airport. Many years later, I was told what happened to my dad. I didnt remember till I went in therapy. Then, it was my fault that my dad passed away. Who the fuck is this devil-girl question person? I loved this place and my heart will break if you don’t respond. Just let me know you are there. I am scared.

I did a 56 day program a few years ago. I even stayed an extra week and made it 63 days so I could get my IDs and attend a beautiful pow wow. I was prescribed Percocet for over 5 years straight by my family doctor. Because I dislocated my shoulder when I was 14. I was trying to be perfect then and tried to do karate like the blue power ranger. I always came in second in track and field. I tried so hard to change myself to be liked. I also had my heartbroken by a best friend and I was always trying to fit in all through high school. I would often change into different clothes in the bathroom. I wanted friends so bad. I was born into a CFS family. Straight out of birth. My sister and I left home for good when I was only 15. I was so scared when we first arrived in Calgary. I was turning only 16. When we arrived we went searching for help. I was assigned a Jedi master. He was such a good worker. He never gave up on me. He knew how bad I wanted to get out of this. Sometimes I would be the only one to do my daily readings. They let you write down goals and take them home. They would read them to the group. I helped run AA. They were my running buddies. Sometimes I would forget my ID. The desk staff would contact the retreat house. They would come to the office to get me and take me back. I would eat my wheaties and off I go again. Sometimes we would read about the sacred pipe. Often we would have to jump this gate in the valley. To get the hell out of there. When I was 13, my sister said she made me a promise. That she would save me from harms way. When I was 8 my dad told me he could save me from falls and spills at home. He would hold my hand at McDonalds. Nobody was gonna get through him to hurt me. The day I turned 17, I was told to phone my aunt to get a plane ticket to come home and bury my father. On my dad’s ceremony, I was told, “don’t ruin your dad’s day.” I did this. So they put me in a room till I could go to Treatment. They drove me to the airport. Many years later, I was told what happened to my dad. I didn't remember till I went in therapy. Then, it was my fault that my dad passed away. Who the fuck is this devil-girl question person? I loved this place and my heart will break if you don’t respond. Just let me know you are there. I am scared.