As a troubled teen ugliness became my new teacher
By Craig Rogers – Parent Coach
The following story is just that, a story of a troubled teen, my story. It is an allegory that is not factual as it pertains to actual events, incidents, or timelines. But it is very true nonetheless. The format of this story is meant to bring attention to a place that many just don’t understand. As a struggling teen my parents certainly did not understand. This is attempts to describe the feelings I dealt with as a troubled teen and as a young adult; feelings of isolation, loneliness, and abandonment. I was misunderstood, and there is no doubt about that. Throughout my struggle I blamed everyone, including myself. The truth is that I struggled greatly to connect with others. I couldn’t explain what was going on, and my emotional literacy was underdeveloped. Years later I found a way to describe what I had experienced. By that time there was a lot of self-imposed damage, and many relationships were destroyed.
Although many of the “feelings” and “emotions” described in this story are real, the events are not. I purposely did not go into “detail of actual events”, nor did I attempt to describe an accurate timeline of events. The purpose of this story is to help others to understand the depth of the despair that some kids go through, even if their pain is self-imposed. The depth of the loneliness and anguish I experienced caused great confusion, and I didn’t know who to trust and who to follow. Mostly, I turned against those who attempted to care for me, coach me, or to pull me out of the pit. Although most of my pain was brought about by my continued poor personal choices, I didn’t experience any improvement until I began to take full responsibility of me. It really didn’t matter if I was a victim (hurt by another) or that I had caused my own demise despite the attempts of others to save me from myself. It NEVER matters. In the end if you (anyone) wants true freedom, to live a full life of freedom, you must first begin to take full responsibility of your choices (they are truly your choices) and to hold yourself accountable.
You can spot a person (young or old) that is still “caught up” into victim hood. They stand out like a sore thumb and they have similar thinking and typical behaviors. They are easy to spot and its simple to identify their obvious patterns. As they describe themselves they describe being “helpless”. They describe events as if these negative events are “happening to them”. Almost as if they are totally set apart from the negative situation, having no responsibility, victimized. Moreover, you find the same mentality in jail, prisons, and other institutions (reoccurring mental health treatment) where a person fails to grow up and be accountable. If you look closely the victims are not responsible in any way, blind to the obvious reoccurring patterns of dysfunction thinking. But what is really weird is the fact that true victims (people who were truly victimized) are still responsible to over come their wounds, or they will continue to be paralyzed and trapped. As a matter of fact the most successful people in the world are people who were true victims but overcame the unfortunate events by turning them into strengths (having rich relationships based empathy and forgiveness, understanding and mercy).
Therefore, this story is written for those who don’t understand why some people (teens and adults) get stuck and they strike out in blame for what has happened to them in their journey through life. This story is not for the one who is stuck in victim hood. They won’t hear it, and they are blinded to the fact that they are trapped in a self-imposed prison of helplessness and anger. The absurdity of their blame shifting can not be comprehended, and therefore I suggest that you don’t try. It is senseless to try to convince them to that they are responsible. Even if you showed the video tapes of their actions that led them to their demise they will not admit that they are responsible. They twist reality to fit their schematic of victim hood. Stuck troubled teens grow up to be adults who are “victims of self”; the self-inflicted wounded are hostile, angry, vile, and they seek vengeance. They are on the constant mission to identify the culprit when the truth is that they are the responsible party.
The blinded victims of self are really convinced that they have been victimized. For example, there are a few former students of Abundant Life Academy who blame us (myself and ALA) for what happened to them before they were enrolled, prior to meeting us, and there is nothing we can say to change their illusion. For example, Andrea Johnson, the young lady who is the biggest critic of ALA (a student for 51 days) puts all of her problems on ALA. She doesn’t include the continual involvement with mental health hospitals in the years leading up to her short stay at ALA. She doesn’t mention that her mother withheld this information from us. Andrea does not say a single word about all the outrageous behavior she displayed prior to coming to ALA. She does not mention that she had been in and out of the emergency placements (mental hospitals). We didn’t have a single thing to do with those incidents and did not know of them until after she departed from ALA. Upon her arrival it became very obvious that something was wrong. It didn’t take long before we took her to a mental hospital after she attempted suicide. As Andrea describes the events ALA is the singular cause and these events happened to her because of her stay at ALA. I am hard pressed to find a way to take responsibility for events over the years prior to coming to ALA. But she is convinced that it is our fault.
Literally, victims blame others as if they were actually present causing the misfortunate circumstances to occur. As they look back at the circumstances that led to their enrollment into Abundant Life Academy, the victim-type students will not include themselves in the stories. They don’t describe themselves or their actions. They tell the story as if cruel people conspired against them and sent them away for no reason at all. They go to great lengths to blame shift and lump a whole bunch of people into being the culprit, justifying there position of victim. But if you listen to their stories of victim hood you will discover one very odd thing. They describe events that make you wonder if they were even there. It is almost as if they were not there, because they don’t take any accountability for the situation. “My parents sent me away for no good reason, rejecting me, and abandoning me!” What they don’t mention and will not admit is that they had dropped out of school, were extremely disruptive at home, defiant, sneaking out, using drugs, and all kinds of other things (not all students of ALA fit this description, but the “victim” types that blame their situation on everyone else seem to fit this description more often”).
The truth is that I was one of these victims. I can be very bold and descriptive because I was one of these victims who were not responsible for the acts that led to my demise. I refused to take responsibility, would not allow any accountability, and I had become an expert in justification and blame shifting. I can’t go back and remember being the victim, but I can describe to you the feelings and emotions of being trapped. I was truly convinced that all the problems in my life were “happening to me” and that life was unfair, and that I had nothing to do with the detrimental outcome that I continually faced. I was convinced that my problems were my parents fault. I was convinced that many others (most those who tried to help me) failed me, causing my problems to exist. Unfortunately I didn’t wake up to the hideous trap I was in until a great deal of destruction wreaked havoc in my life and the lives of others. I spent years going back and making amends to everyone I had accused, blamed, and railed against – spewing ugly venom upon them, accusing them of causing my plight in life. I had claimed for years that I had become a drug addict because my mom and dad beat me, abused me, and caused great damage. The truth is that I was 100% responsible for all that I faced, and I was 100% responsible for getting out of the trap. I had to kill the victim before it killed me. What a wake up call I had.
I am able to help as many teens as I have because I know the trap, and I know what it feels like to be a self-imposed victim, trapped in a perception that keeps you in bondage. I know the lie, and I know the unique circumstances that the victims face. I know how to stand against it, and I will not give up on the victims even if they persecute me, attack me, and say all kinds of evil against me. I know how horrible they will feel about all the ugliness they spew on others when they finally wake up from the comma, and begin to see what they have done to themselves despite the help form others. If it were not for those who refused to give up on me I would not be here. I would be dead, or in prison. Therefore, I will take the abuse from the victims because I am grateful for those who did not give up on me. I will continue to fight the good fight with the hope that God will open their eyes to the horrid trap of lies. I will continue to fight for them until they are able to open their eyes and be set free.
My Story of Ugliness – by Craig Rogers
I hope that I never forget the years of being a “troubled teen”, and I will always be grateful for the fact that “ugliness” became my new teacher. For many years, I, Craig Stephen Rogers, would have done almost anything to blot out the horrible memories of my late teens and early twenties. I still cringe and become somewhat nauseous when I think back; becoming anxious I hustle internally to stop the thoughts (memories) from fully deploying in the projector room of my mind. My mentor, teacher, and Life Coach was pure evil, training me to hate, equipping me to viciously attack those who loved me, and to isolate me from anyone in my life that could help lead me out of the pit; the darkness where I had become a prisoner, a slave, a drone who’s only purpose was to represent evil – hating everything that was pure and righteous – intolerant and filled with vile and rage toward the love of God… Jesus… I was a slave to the one I later named “ugliness”.
Not all of my memories of that era of my life are bad…. Because when I drank or used drugs I experienced great relief. The problem is that I had to stay intoxicated every night, and over time I had to drink and use more and more to stave off the night terrors. Over time I used heavily just to “get normal”, and to live in peace. But I knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with me… and I promised myself that when that day came I would end it all.
The specific memories that frightened me, causing near-panic attacks, are the memories of my teacher, mentor, and life coach – Ugliness. Ugliness was dark, hideous, callous, and filled with pure evil. When I was in his grasp I felt trapped, pinned down, and ugly – worthless, discounted, and dismissed. Ugly would beat me and tell me to believe that I was unloved, unimportant, and a complete disappointment. He never let up or stopped for a break. He would only change the way in which he tortured me. Ugly promised me that I could end it all if I would just denounce myself, admit that I was scum, born to let others down, and just plain stupid. He was judge, jury, and executioner. I was slowly, over time, losing the will to resist Ugly until one day I stopped fighting. I was convinced that ending my life was the only way out of this nightmare. After 10 years, at 27 years old, I gave up and gave in. For the next year I planned, plotted, and attempted to take my own life. Ugly was most hideous and evil as he mocked me as the failure who failed at suicide. What a loser I had become.
I had been given a crown and it was placed on my head in complete disdain and mockery; a Sceptor was tied to my hand… I was propped up on a throne of vile and hatred – hissing and cursing – laughter and cries of horror. Being hailed as the “the son of ugly”, the laughter and mockery echoed in the pit, hanging up in the thick fog… sounding out in an evil way that led me to believe that I was trapped forever with Ugly – adopted into the family of darkness, an heir to the throne of death. I had become like Ugly, molded into his likeness… completed the metamorphose (training) to become Ugliness – I was he and he was me… So I thought.
When ever I was conscious I desperately clawed and thrashed about, attempting to break free from the cold heavy chains. I was in bondage to be tormented. Ugliness was beating me, terrorizing me, and getting me ready to be let lose into a small circular pit of blood. I was being trained for war, trained to devour and wreak mayhem. Like the evil men who beat their fighting dogs (Put Bulls) hoping to create the most nasty and vicious killer dog, trained up to be so filled with rage and hate they would fight to the death… even if it were their own death – it didn’t matter, we had been beaten down until we were drunk with the power to kill, steal, and destroy.
These memories give me chills and the heebee-geebees and I dislike them more than anyone will know. The training process with Ugly started innocently. In the beginning ugly wasn’t ugly at all. He seemed to be the only one who truly appreciated me, the only one that didn’t have unrealistic expectations of me, and never seemed to be let down or disappointed when I failed to measure up. But slowly, over time, ugly went from “safe” and “trusted” to “controlling” and “judgmental”. Ugly had slowly, without my notice, transformed into the Spirit of Performance. He was become mean, and angry when I didn’t meet the expectations of others. He began to whisper mean statements, like “are you stupid?”. “How could you be so dumb?” The name calling and ridicule came only when I had failed, but it was worse each time. Ugly hated it when I failed and it was as if he took it personally, as if he was the one that looked bad when I failed. He began to beat me.
I began to hate anything, anyone, and any place that would cause me to fail, look bad, or to bring upon me the wrath of Ugly. I stopped doing anything that could make me look stupid, and I used lies and deceit to cover up the fear I had of Ugly. When I would fail at school, or sports, or even a game of cards Ugly began to manifest within me. He was no longer just “inside my thoughts”. He began to go through me, out of my mouth, and assault anyone that made him look stupid. He began to take me over completely, as if I had no control, possessed by Ugly, convinced that everyone wad out to get “us”. I felt empathy and compassion for Ugly. I made excuses for him, justifying his hostility and rage. He was treated so unfairly, singled out, and while everyone else got away with things Ugly and I would be persecuted. Ugly and I understood each other. We were victims and we deserved better. We had every right to defend ourselves and to lash out against those that would find pure joy to see us fail. Committed to each other we began to look for others who were under the same kind of terror, assault, clamor and stupor. We would seek others, form a bond, protect ourselves from the righteous and eventually get enough backing from “like-minded victims” to start fighting back. Ugly and I became a dynamic duo. He would use my tongue and the strength and size of my body to literally kick some ass. We were drunk with vengeance and bitterness.
There was a moment on time way back then that I woke up from a stupor. As i was shaking off the wooziness I began to come to my senses. I was confused, dizzy, and unsure about everything that was flooding my eyes and ears. I was wondering in a thick fog, moving toward the light while realizing the loud clamor behind me was not friendly. I became frantic, confused, and began to panic. I couldn’t speak but wanted to scream out for help. I began to realize that I was trapped, oppressed at every turn, running fast but not getting amy where. There was evil all about, but the evil that was breathing upon the back of my neck seared my skin. The burning pain was so intense i passed out. When I woke up in a puddle of sweat I was relieved that it was just another one of those nightmares, the nightmare that haunted me, causing me to become fearful of falling asleep.
The best way to describe my nightmares is to use the term “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” I was never diagnosed with PTSD, mainly because I never shared my night terrors with anyone (except on particular college roommate who’s name is Mark). At that time I had no idea that the term PTSD even existed and it wasn’t fully known to me until years later. All I can say is that I was under assault (being chased by something I could not see) and I was in literal terror, running for my life, but not getting anywhere. I couldn’t see past my nose, and the stench was beyond imagination. I could hear and feel the breath of evil and knew that if I was caught I would be slaughtered.
Most of the time I could hear the hideous screams of others who were in deep agony, begging for death – hoping to end the attack. I never saw anyone else in my dreams but I could tell that the one torturing us all had no intentions of killing us… Not at least while he could continue to torture. If he killed us he would be doing us a favor.
Part 2 coming soon
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