Gary Gosciak doesn't remember much of what happened one night last year after he took a few puffs of a synthetic marijuana cigarette in the bathroom at the New Jersey detention facility where he's been held for decades.
A fellow detainee warned him the homemade joint, a mix of tobacco and K2 smuggled into the unit, was powerful stuff.
"I remember feeling very dizzy, very light-headed," Gosciak said.
Other detainees found him curled up in a ball on the floor, shaking uncontrollably and screaming at the top of his lungs, he said.
"From what I'm told, I passed out in the bathroom and fell on the floor," he said, speaking by phone from inside the facility.
Gosciak said it was his third time overdosing on K2 -- a synthetic drug that mimics the main psychoactive ingredient of marijuana -- while held at the Special Treatment Unit for civilly committed sex offenders in Woodbridge.
He wants to be released from the facility in order to get what he says he can't get inside -- intensive substance abuse treatment to finally deal with his addiction issues.
Getting out of the Special Treatment Unit is no easy task. The unit holds more than 400 men who served prison time for sex crimes but were deemed too dangerous to release once their sentences ended. They are held in the little-known facility indefinitely under the state's Sexually Violent Predator Act, a law passed in the late 1990s.
Detainees are no longer considered prisoners and enjoy limited freedoms in the Special Treatment Unit. But, they're prohibited from leaving until a judge orders their discharge.
One attorney who represents civilly committed sex offenders believes 90% of the detainees in the facility have a substance abuse issue. But he said the facility doesn't provide the kind of help they need to conquer their addictions.
That sentiment is shared by multiple people NJ Advance Media interviewed as part of its ongoing investigation into the state's civil commitment program for sex offenders.
NJ Advance Media's investigative report, "Shadow prison," published in May, detailed numerous allegations of problems within New Jersey's Special Treatment Unit.
Advocates of civil commitment say the system is keeping the state safe from sex offenders who may commit more crimes if they are released. But, many detainees say they spend years, or even decades, in a convoluted system with an ineffective therapy program and no clearly-defined rules for getting out.
Other critics say the flaws with the civil commitment system also extend to New Jersey's complex system of judges and prosecutors who help decide whether sex offenders are held in the Special Treatment Unit and when they can be released.
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For detainees with addiction problems, being held indefinitely in the Special Treatment Unit is even more fraught.
Critics say detainees who could qualify for discharge after their sex offense treatment is completed should not be held longer in the unit because they have a substance abuse issue, especially when there are better treatment options for addiction elsewhere.
The state health and corrections departments jointly run the Special Treatment Unit, and have declined NJ Advance Media's requests to tour the unit or to speak to officials regarding treatment services.
But, the state Department of Health, which oversees treatment at the facility, says detainees get the help they need.
Those who are civilly committed are assessed for substance use when they come to the treatment unit and provided with individualized treatment based on their need, a state Department of Health spokesperson said. If detainees are diagnosed with an addiction problem, they are assigned treatment programs.
"If a resident is struggling, we offer more support in the form of more groups or check-ins with staff," the spokesperson said in a statement.
Self-help groups are also available to residents, along with education about other addiction topics, including gambling, food, sex, love and gaming, the spokesperson said.
Gosciak, the detainee who overdosed in the Special Treatment Unit on a synthetic marijuana cigarette last year, said his history of addiction and sexual offenses trace back to his childhood -- like many in the treatment unit.
He grew up in Gloucester City and moved at age 10 with his mother to Hawaii, where he struggled to make friends, was bullied and became a loner, he said.
By 13, he was drinking, he said. By 14, he admits he committed his first sex offense, then raped a child the following year.
Gosciak spent a few years in a youth correctional facility, followed by time in psychiatric hospitals.
He lost his mother to cancer and moved back to New Jersey at 18 to live with family. He became addicted and blew much of the $47,000 in inheritance money his mother left him on drugs, he said.
In 1992, at age 22, Gosciak raped a relative's daughter and was sentenced to prison, he said.
After completing his sentence, he was the 27th sex offender civilly committed under New Jersey's new Sexually Violent Predator Act after a judge ruled he was too dangerous to be released.
Though he was locked up, he said he was still able to get drugs inside the Special Treatment Unit.
His first overdose on K2 came during the pandemic in 2021. He was taken to the facility's medical unit and held for 48 hours as doctors and nurses monitored his vitals, Gosciak said.
"They locked me in a room for observation butt-naked, no blanket, no clothes," except for a tear-resistant, anti-suicide smock given to patients, he said. "Basically, they just let you sleep it off."
Detainees caught with drugs face loss of privileges as punishment, according to Gosciak. In his case, he lost his job at the facility -- he was working in the kitchen at the time -- for 30 days, he said.
Gosciak is in a substance abuse treatment group at the facility. He and other detainees meet once a week for 90 minutes with a therapist to talk about their drug histories and issues related to drug abuse and mental health.
In reality, the sessions tend to be conversations about how each detainee is doing and any struggles they're experiencing, Gosciak said.
Detainees also get training on substance abuse education and are encouraged to participate in Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous groups with fellow residents.
None of it is actual treatment, Gosciak alleges.
If given the chance for release, he said he'd ideally like to enter an inpatient treatment program for substance abuse, but he feels an intensive outpatient program could also help. That would be in addition to continuing sex offender counseling sessions, he said.
Now 55, qualifying for release remains a challenge for Gosciak. He's been told he still needs to work on his attitude and patience, in addition to his substance abuse.
"I've learned a lot about the harm that I caused," he said of his sex crimes. "One of the problems with sex offenders is that we kind of manipulate or convince ourselves that we're not harming our victims, and, in reality, we are. We're doing a lot of harm."
Counselors have told him they're now more concerned about his potential crimes surrounding drugs if he gets out, Gosciak said.
"I've actually had therapists tell me here that they're not worried about me committing another sexual offense," he said. "They're more worried about the drug-related crimes, like sticking somebody up for money to buy drugs."
A small number of detainees in the unit with opioid or alcohol addition receive medication assisted treatment, according to the Department of Health spokesperson. State officials declined to release the exact number for "data privacy reasons."
Gosciak said a friend who was released from the Special Treatment Unit on a conditional discharge is a role model for what he hopes to achieve.
Mike, who asked that his last name not be used, was hooked on alcohol and drugs since age 12 and was later sent to prison as a sex offender, he said. Now in his 60s, he's working to rebuild his life.
He was sent back to the Special Treatment Unit twice after his initial release after urine screenings revealed he consumed alcohol. He was forbidden to drink alcohol as a condition of his release.
But, Mike said he felt it was a waste of time to go back into the unit when he could have been sent by the court to a treatment program in his community.
He said he didn't feel he could truly open up to counselors at the Special Treatment Unit, because that would just mean a longer stay.
"There was an old saying that used to run around there that the more you say, the longer you stay. And to some extent, that's true," Mike said. "Now, of course, that was dealing with the sexual aspect of things, but that applies across the board."
He was sentenced to 30 years in prison on the mid-1980s for crimes including aggravated criminal sexual contact, kidnapping, robbery and burglary. He was civilly committed in the early 2000s after he finished his criminal sentence.
He took sex offender treatment seriously, he said, but remained dubious about the substance abuse help he received.
"I was very hesitant about actually being honest with them as far as addiction or how deep it was," Mike said. "They have total control over you getting out. They offer what they think is treatment, but treatment relies on being open, honest and willing. If you can't be open and honest, then you're not going to have any meaningful effect from treatment that you are offered."
Those providing substance abuse support at the treatment unit while he was there had no lived experience and couldn't relate to the struggles of an addict, he said.
"You can go to school for cooking and read books for cooking, but unless you've actually cooked, it means nothing to you. That's largely what happens with their substance abuse program," he said.
For Mike, the turning point came during the pandemic, when he was sent back to the treatment unit for his second alcohol violation and was allowed to run a self-help group for fellow alcoholics.
"The only way I got real with my treatment today was during COVID. It was myself and a couple other guys that were real. It had nothing to do with the groups they were offering and anything else," he said.
The material he was reading from the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program hit home.
"The first step is admitting you're powerless over your addiction. The second step is believing that a power greater than yourself, which I call God, can restore you to sanity," Mike said. "That's what got me to the point that I am today."
With that boost, he earned his release for a third time. After he was released last year, he found an outpatient treatment program -- Greater Essex Counseling Services based in Newark and Union City -- and has remained violation free.
Mike praised the help he received from counselors at Greater Essex, many of whom were recovering addicts who understood his struggles.
Those who have been incarcerated account for the largest percentage of the patient population at Greater Essex, said Katy Linton, who co-owns the counseling service with Chris Vadas.
Greater Essex's substance abuse treatment includes individual and group counseling sessions, medication assisted therapy and various support services, including dental and podiatry care. Family counseling also helps offenders reconnect with their loved ones.
"We treat the client all the way around," Vadas said. "If that client's suffering with an opioid or alcohol addiction, there are also other ancillary services that we help the client with to prevent relapse. It's the peer recovery side of the business ... helping them with IDs, helping them with insurance, helping them with job placement."
While some treatment programs don't take sex offenders, Greater Essex doesn't turn anyone away, Linton said.
"We don't discriminate against any type of person that wants to come here for treatment," she said. "Whatever you need, whatever you've done, wherever you've been, come on in and we'll work with you."
That's the kind of help Ronald J. Barber, a detainee in the Special Treatment Unit, believes he should have received.
Barber grew up in Trenton and was originally incarcerated at 11 for aggravated sexual assault. He spent years in various juvenile detention facilities before he was committed to the Special Treatment Unit around 2001 when he turned 20, he said.
He was discharged in 2020, but was returned to the unit after testing positive for smoking marijuana, he said. He was discharged again, then placed back in the treatment unit in 2022 after testing positive for fentanyl, which Barber denied using.
He remains in the Special Treatment Unit and alleged its substance abuse services aren't a treatment program.
He should have been sent to intensive outpatient treatment instead of being sent back into the sex offenders unit, he said.
"They could have done that and I would have abided by that," Barber said. "You didn't have to shut me down and bring me back here to start me all over."
Neither drugs nor alcohol had any role in Barber's sex offense history and he wasn't recommitted for a new sex crime, according to his attorney, public defender Colin Most.
"What I've consistently argued to the court is that his drug issues have nothing to do with his being committed," Most said. "And I've adamantly argued against his recommitment."
While substance abuse treatment services are offered, it's far from the Special Treatment Unit's primary focus, Most said.
Retired Superior Court Judge Bradford Bury presided over sex offender civil commitment hearings for two years. He handled cases in which the state tried to recommit discharged detainees who violated the terms of their release by committing infractions, such as drinking alcohol or testing positive for drugs.
Even though the violation didn't involve a new sex crime, they were pulled back into the Special Treatment Unit, Bury said. Most lost their jobs and housing on the outside and any progress they had made in rejoining society.
"It's so incredibly catastrophic. And now all of that good gain is lost," the former judge said.
Getting out again can be very difficult, said Bury.
"They're like the proverbial hamster on the wheel," he said. "It's so hard to get off. You beat those people down. You destroy their hope. You destroy their motivation to continue to do the right thing."
New Jersey's case law does not say every single violation of a condition of discharge should send a detainee back to the Special Treatment Unit, Bury says. But, that's what frequently happens.
"It's ignoring what the person often needs, which is drug or alcohol treatment," Bury said. "And the kind of intensive help they need for their addictions isn't provided at the STU."
The former judge argues detainees should continue their addiction treatment while on discharge, especially because they still receive mandated outpatient sex offender counseling while under parole supervision.
Bury has criticized the state Attorney General's office and Special Treatment Unit administration for allegedly blocking release of some detainees who he believes could be successfully discharged to the community with continued monitoring and supervision.
Gosciak's attorney, Public Defender Patrick Madden, said some other detainees have made the same argument Gosciak is making. They say they need intensive substance abuse treatment on the outside, complete with regular urine screenings, addiction support meetings multiple times a week, intensive supervision and a guarantee that they are heading back to the Special Treatment Unit if they screw up.
Some have had success with that argument and others have remained detained, he said.
The problem many face is when their substance abuse is a roadblock to release, because a judge might decide they aren't comfortable with releasing a detainee until they've dealt with their addiction, according to Madden.
At the same time, detainees don't have access to the tools to conquer that addiction.
"I've got a substance abuse problem, but I can never convince you that I've got it resolved because I don't have enough access to therapy to figure it out," Madden said.
For those who are discharged, most inpatient substance abuse programs won't take sex offenders from the Special Treatment Unit, Madden said. Some of the programs have concerns about the safety of other patients and program operators may be uncomfortable with having parole officers coming by to check up on discharged detainees.
Many think it's hard to get hooked on drugs while locked up. Some detainees say that's not true.
Access to illicit substances in the Special Treatment Unit is shocking, Madden said.
"The drugs get in and they have a captive audience," he said. "I would probably say 90% of the residents at the STU have a substance abuse problem."
Madden had clients with family members who tried to smuggle in drugs, in one case hiding cocaine in a box of sugar.
He recalled a client whose family took a box of Rice-a-Roni and replaced some of the contents with heroin. Officers detected the ruse.
Madden also described documented incidents of officers smuggling items, including cartons of cigarettes, into the facility.
K2, the drug Gosciak used, is any easy substance to smuggle because, as a liquid, it can be sprayed on a plain sheet of paper. The substance dries and can be undetectable to the eyes of staff checking mail coming into a facility, according to law enforcement officials.
Gosciak bought the K2 he smoked from another detainee, he said. The cost depends on how much of a sheet of the treated paper you want.
"One strip will be like $25. If you want a whole sheet, it's like $300," he said.
Just how powerful the K2 is depends on any added ingredients.
"Sometimes it comes in and it's mixed with fentanyl," Gosciak said. "So, if it's mixed with that stuff, it's like 10 times as strong or a hundred times as strong, and we don't know it until we smoke it."
Experts warn K2 and similar products can cause elevated heart rate, tremors, seizures and hallucinations. Synthetic cannabinoids laced with other substances have been tied to overdoses and deaths, according to federal officials.
State PBA Local 105 President Bill Sullivan, whose officers are responsible for security at the treatment unit, partially attributes the drug issues to detainees' access to disposable income.
Inmates in state prisons make $1 to $7 a day while incarcerated. Civilly committed sex offenders in the treatment unit, though, are paid minimum wage of $15.13 an hour for time worked at jobs in the facility and for hours they participate in sex offender treatment, according to a Department of Corrections spokesman.
"They're getting paid minimum wage every day to just be incarcerated," Sullivan said. "So they have a lot more money to spend."
Detainees can also make big bucks selling contraband or renting out a smuggled-in cell phone.
"You make a thousand dollars a day per cell phone, selling it to other people to use throughout the day," Sullivan said.
Because civilly committed detainees in the Special Treatment Unit have more rights than prisoners, they are able to have more items in their possession. That includes getting packages mailed to them.
That creates smuggling opportunities, Sullivan said.
The large number of civilian employees working at the Special Treatment Unit, many in low-wage jobs, also creates the possibility of contraband finding its way inside the unit, he added.
K2 smuggling is a big problem in state prisons, according to Sullivan.
"They just found a whole lot at New Jersey State Prison that came in a food package," he said. "They're just getting really crafty with the way they're bringing it in."
In many cases, the K2 is sprayed on phony legal documents made to look like they came from a legitimate lawyer, Sullivan said. Because officers are prohibited from studying legal documents without probable cause, it's a clever tactic. But, officers are now cross-checking lawyer names to try and head off the fakes.
The state recently purchased technology to scan documents coming into detention facilities in an effort to crack down on the drug-infused paper, according to Sullivan.
Madden, the public defender handling civil commitment cases, argues the Special Treatment Unit should appoint a program coordinator dedicated to substance abuse treatment.
The coordinator could hire staff specializing in substance abuse counseling to monitor the care provided to detainees and alert the administration to new drugs making the rounds in the facility, he suggested.
Bury, the retired judge who presided over sex offender civil commitment cases, said detainees could be helped by a transitional step in the form of a state-operated halfway house of sorts that helps detainees acclimate to the outside world. They could start jobs and begin their post-commitment lives while still in a secure setting, he said.
The facility would be staffed around the clock with therapeutic and medical staff, as well as security, Bury said. It could provide both ongoing sex offender treatment, as well as drug and alcohol addiction treatment, he suggested, adding that he first heard about the idea for such a facility from another judge who presided over civil commitment cases for many years.
Finding support, including drug and alcohol addiction treatment, can be difficult for someone labeled a sex offender, Bury said. He recalled many cases of detainees who remained stuck in the treatment unit because they couldn't find long-term, in-patient drug treatment on the outside that would take sex offenders.
For those who do find help, there is a possibility for a better life, said Mike, the former Special Treatment Unit detainee who was released. He remains under parole monitoring and still attends regular AA meetings several times a week, along with weekly sex offender counseling sessions, he said.
He lives in North Jersey, has a full-time job and a partner who has stuck by his side for a decade.
He doesn't want to screw up, he said.
"My life today is rewarding, and I'm proud of it," he said. "I have a lady that's a part of my life. She's sitting here right next to me, and we've been together for 10 years and I'm not willing to jeopardize that for anything."