I Am In An Abusive Relationship With 15 Boys

They call themselves my sons, my brothers, and my nephews.

They are my clients.

If you look up my job, it will simply say it is a school. In reality, it is a sexual treatment facility for kids as young as 12 and as old as 20. When they turn 21 they are either sent home, to an adult facility, a shelter, or to jail.

But while they are in my facility, I am responsible for them. I get them to the doctor. I make sure they shower. I teach them life skills like cleaning and cooking. They see licensed therapists for their sexual behaviors and mental distortions.

Our objective is to help them heal from years of mental and physical abuse and to decide if they are a risk to themselves or society before releasing them.

And they are difficult children. They yell, scream, fight. They call me names and dream about attacking or raping me. But then they ask for hugs and beg me to adopt them. They write letters in apology. They make speeches about how much I mean to them, about how helpful I’ve been to them.

I know they are abusive. They don’t know anything better — or if they do, negative behaviour is so ingrained in them that it is more than uncomfortable to act any other way. The sad truth is we cannot fix all these years of abuse unless they want to be fixed and most of them don’t. Most of them don’t see any reason to change. They’ve been living this way for 15 years, so why should they?

Don’t get me wrong. There are cases where the youth grows up to be a functioning member of society. There are kids who I plan to stay in touch with long after they’ve gone. I pray for them daily and I am so proud of them for completing their treatment and leaving.

But there is a negative to every positive. I come into work day in and day out. I enter a world full of chaos as the youth fight one another and staff. The resist every directive and order. They only care about themselves — or they don’t care about anything at all.

I suddenly realized how people could stay in abusive relationships. For a long time I felt like I couldn’t leave my job. These kids need me. Most of their families have abandoned them. Some of their families have been their abusers. They need someone who would be there for them. No matter what. Someone who would deal with their bullshit, throw it back at them, and then hug them because it’s okay to be a little crazy sometimes. These kids have seen more of the bad things in life than I probably ever will. They need someone good to see everyday.

But after a few years, it begins to wear. The feeling of being unappreciated takes its toll. I began to feel trapped. My anxiety would spike a day before my weekend ended, dreading returning to that place, to the never ending negativity. It seemed like no matter what I did for these kids, they wouldn’t get better. They still yell, fight, swear. They walk out of school, run away from their dwellings, and cut their arms and legs.

I realized I can’t save them. They have to save themselves.

A boy is hanging from a cliff. Everything he needs to scale this mountainside is strapped to his belt and yet he looks up at me, eyes pleading for me to pull him up. But I know if I do, he’ll try to drag me down with him and I cannot accept that anymore. He must use the tools I’ve given him.

My boys don’t know that I have gone part time. I will only be working a few days a week so they will certainly notice eventually. They have developmental delays but they have my schedule memorized.

I don’t know how to tell them that I will fade to the background and one day they will find they don’t need me at all.

And one day I won’t feel so trapped.

Bit by bit…I will be free.