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Dear Claire,
I know that you will never read this, but I need to let you know. There's so many things that I wish I could have said, could have made you understand. But it's too late now.
Asperger's isn't a mental disorder, and yet they acted like it was. My downfall came when one of the teachers called the scratches on my arms self-mutilation. Suddenly, having a skin condition was a criminal act. My parents had always encouraged me to be brave and speak out. This is America, right? I told the teacher to mind her own business and she called Child Protective Services.
I'd been going to an alternative medical practitioner for the skin condition; and for the other stuff, things like my not liking to make eye contact and the funny noises and movements I sometimes do, but now I had to see their doctors as well. Their doctors wanted to put me on psychotropic drugs. When my parents refused, CPS went to court and put me into a foster home.
The foster home made me take these drugs and I started having seizures on them. When I refused, they held me down and pushed the pills down my throat.
The first chance I got, I ran away, but when you're fifteen you make mistakes. I went back home again and the authorities found me. This time I was sent to the Rodenburke Center. There were two good things about the Rotten: no drugs and you, Claire.
Claire, I miss you so much. I doubt you ever noticed me or knew how I felt. Still, I couldn't help but watch you when I could, like at meal times in the cafeteria or when we passed each other in the hallway while going to classes. Did anyone ever tell you that you were beautiful? Did you know?
We never talked; you couldn't. All you could do was moan and bang your head on the wall, the desk or the floor. That was your way of letting us know how you felt.
And we all found out, eventually, didn't we?
They had you wired up, just like I was, and if you banged your head they'd shock you. If I mouthed off, they'd shock me. That's just the way it was there. Everyone got punished all the time, either shocks or food deprivation. And Claire, you would just take it, banging your head like the lack of food or shocks didn't affect you at all.
As for me, I lost it one day. I tore off the patches so damn quick that the guy with the shock controller didn't have a chance to stop me. Then I hit him again with a chair, and stole his keys. And I left you behind, Claire. I'm so sorry. If I live to be a hundred I'll never stop regretting that I didn't find a way to rescue you.
I was on the run again, but this time I didn't contact my parents. Funny, we are actually from the Ukraine; my parents came here for a better life. Some joke; they are drugging and torturing us here just like they did back in the bad old Soviet days. American psychiatrists have a medication for every emotion, and have created a disease out of every feeling. Nobody's safe from them. Especially people like us; we represent the big bucks to them.
You know, I don't think the Soviets ever did shock their children. That might just be an American innovation.
Finally, luck found me; there's a church on the outskirts of Boston that feeds the homeless, and they let me work in the kitchen and sleep in the basement. The irony is that with an IQ of 160 I should have been going to Harvard. Yeah, if not for the moronic teacher freaking out, I'd be there now with a scholarship.
In the afternoons after I've washed the dishes, I head for the public library. I do research, and then on their computer sometimes I Google the old Rotten.
That's how I found out. You were in pain the whole time, weren't you? That's why you kept banging your head and never smiled, because you were in pain but didn't have any words to tell them how much it hurt? The report said that you had gone from 130 to 90 lbs.
You couldn't tell anyone that something was wrong. You were too sick to stand up, and still they kept shocking you. The report says they shocked you sixty times that last day as you lay on the floor, your insides hemorrhaging until you died.
You'd think somebody would go to jail. You'd think they might close down the place. But they didn't. Life goes on and they send more of us there to be tortured.
The soup kitchen isn't too bad, all things considered. Still, what kind of life can I have now, especially with you gone?
Claire, I hope wherever you are that you're okay now. There's so much I want to tell you.
The Internet has lots of info, like how to make stuff that blows up from items you could buy anywhere. The kids were all safe in the dorms while I planted the charges at the school. I don't know if any of the guards or night watchmen died, but you know what? If they did, just maybe they deserved it because everyone knew what was going on, but no one cared to stop it.
It was awesome, and deafening; you should have seen the way old Rotten exploded and burned to the ground. It was better than any Fourth of July I've seen. And now maybe they will send the kids home, and not hurt them anymore.
But if they do rebuild, or make more places like that—I'll be there. I'll fix any new place just like I did the old one…because I will always love you.
Sincerely,
Your Admirer and Avenger, Stan
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