I excelled in grade school, maintaining grades and extra curricular activities. I was talented when it came to science, and so-so at math (or that’s what I thought…) I was in the top of the class-but not the top 5. I was #7 in my high school, if I recall correctly.
Everything said I should have done great in TAMS. Academic skills and social adaptability. Creative but focused. It was huge-and I was accepted the first time though the process. Not wait-listed like so many of my TAMS friends, who, ironically, have been pretty successful overall.
Momma helped make the decision of course, we all wanted to do what was best-staying at small town high school was becoming increasingly difficult for me to bear, and I was starting to get in trouble out of boredom, mostly. I was starting down a wrong path, and a big change was needed.
So off I went to TAMS-first, the interview, then preview weekend and starting school soon after. University. At age 16. Who’da thunk it? The group interview was stressful, but after rocking the math test, I knew I’d rock the interview. Guess I did.
Thinking about the beginnings of that journey… doing great on the SAT in 7th grade-well being invited to test at all really, was one of the first steps. Somehow, I managed to top the grades of my competitors in school. Somehow, it was embarrassing to do better than that particular set of peers, but I was proud of that moment.
I was, for many years, bitter about my experiences at TAMS. While I can’t say that I see the positive impact that hell has had on my life, I at least can grant the idea that it would have been bad, either way. Being a teenager is hard work. And of course, I chose the hard way around. I have a tendency to do that, you know.
The part of it all that I am most angry about follows me until now-inadequate medical care, in the form of and evil therapist and resident psychiatrists. the main therapist… well, I’m sure isn’t pure evil, just mostly. An hour at a time, two to three times per week, we would meet for a session. Her uncomfortably cramped office, with degrees and awards sprinkled on the walls attested to the fact that she was “skilled” and “educated” in her field. Didn’t mean she was good at it, or equipped to handle the complex needs of myself and my peers. Self doubt shrouded me during these times, being goaded into non-productive and non-therapeutic analysis of my life up to that point, and coping with the intense stress of TAMS.
This woman made the call that shaped my first year into a continuously accelerating downward spiral. Somehow, for my second semester I was placed with a roommate who had made a strong attempt at suicide-in the dorm-the year before. She laid in vomit, near unconsciousness for 4 days before her then roommate sought help. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, she was invited to return the next semester. (Whereas I had a “disciplinary snafu” aka a boy in my room-and just about was kicked out for it). On with the story…
After acclimating to each other a bit, the good behavior started to wear off. She was cutting, I knew. After a particularly yummy lunch in which everyone had overeaten, we happened to meet back at the room at the same time. She mentioned feeling sick, and I made the joke-go barf it up. Total. Joke. Who in there right mind is bulimic? Well, clearly I should have known she wasn’t in her right mind.
Long story short, I finally was scared enough by the situation-feeling there would be another suicide attempt shortly-that I alerted Dr. Fleming about it. After meetings with us, and phone calls to parents, it was determined that because the roommate has “promised” not to continue the self destructive behaviors, that she would not only remain at school but in my room.
Needless to say, the behaviors continued, albeit with a bit more discretion on her part. She cut with razors. Shaving razors, to be exact. And though she was rail thin-too thin already, she continued to disappear after mealtimes. Gee. They really set me up for success.
Blah blah, there are a dozen more stories of wretchedness I went through that year-getting “voted” out of my friend group, sexually harassed by another student to the point that I punched him at prom for touching me, one too many times. Normal teenage stuff, you know?
There was also time to write, create, and play. Freedom to wander to Jack in the Crack or the Chinese joint at will. The libraries I had access to were great. And who can complain about T1 access-a dedicated line for the dorm. It shut off from 2am to 6am, but who cared? Bath tubs of ramen (including seasoning) and belly dancers catching on fire. I was even in a few of those crazy performances myself. One line in a play-in a bathrobe. A circle dance with old roots that we had in the talent show-to a Beach Boy’s song.
Dancing was the best part of it all. I had swing classes weekly, if not twice a week, plus a ballroom dancing class, and ballet for two semesters. But, regardless of all this, the pervasive depression in the second year helped me fail Calc 2, so I didn’t really graduate. They let me “walk the stage” which I thought was enough then. It wasn’t, I wanted that sheet of paper. A nearly perfect GED doesn’t nix that.
I think the part that “gets me” about my experience with TAMS is that I know I wasn’t the only one, in my year, or in the history of the school or future, that was put into very bad situations as a result of… the atmosphere of the program. But they have an effective PR campaign, conveniently silencing the dissent among the ranks of alumni.
Letters have been written, I had meetings with multiple staff members, and still there was/is a strong denial that their system was a big part of the problem. Letters, of course, went unanswered by Dr. Sinclair and others.
Conveniently TAMS doesn’t have any statistics on the site about, oh, what proportion of students go on to “successful careers” and how many crash and burn-not even finishing a baccalaureate degree. And I don’t even think statistics on how many of us needed mental health care badly enough to seek help. Nevermind the ones that didn’t get the help they needed-or even a nurturing environment.
I did it though, finished my bachelor’s degree. A Bachelor’s of Fine Art degree, with a focus on acrylic painting, in 2006, 4 years after the TAMS program. I ended up taking about 2 years off, a few semesters of College Light at this or that school, and a full break for a year. I had sufficiently recovered from the experience to finish my degree, but it sure didn’t save me time (or money) on school.
I can hope I am wrong, that my story is a fluke, and that TAMS was a positive influence on most of the other students. It is just not true. The staff works to isolate students with problems, so we think we’re alone in our dissent. Effective but dishonest in the worst way.
Are you a past or present TAMSter, or looking for information on the program to help made a decision? Leave your thoughts in comments or on the contact form to send a note to me personally.
Crazy Pain 