I was 14 when my tumultuous ride through the troubled teen industry started. I was legally kidnapped days after Christmas, December 27, 2006. Everything happened so fast, The light flashed on, I woke up to a male voice yelling “we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” This stranger grabbed me, from there my memory goes blank. I woke up in an airport, looking around I saw a sign, “Welcome to Georgia.” I was disoriented and confused. Handcuffing me with zip ties, they forced me into a car. Two hours passed and they stopped, got out and put a bandana over my eyes, saying the purpose was so I wouldn’t be able to find my way out. Out of where? I frantically questioned who they were, where they were taking me, only to be met with silence. Handcuffed, blindfolded, and hysterical, I was left at Second Nature Blue Ridge (2N), where I spent the next 90 days. Almost immediately I was strip searched for the first time in my life. These new strangers instructed me to undress, squat, cough, and spread my cheeks. I was terrified as they took me deeper into the woods. They left with a group of girls, all wearing the same clothes as me. There was no question, I was stepping into a very strange parallel universe. Every type of abuse happened in tandem with living outside, excessive hiking, crazy weather, poor hygiene, unqualified staff, malnutrition, and medical neglect. I spent 90 days living outside, in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
2N convinced my parents I would die if I didn’t go to long term placement. Several programs owned by Aspen Education Group were recommended-Aspen also owned 2N. I was brought to Island View RTC, a lockdown residential treatment center in Syracuse, Utah where I spent the next 17 months. For $16,000 a month, I was no longer my parent’s problem.
The motto – greatness not compliance, yet compliance was the only way out. The environment was tense and toxic, trust was scarce, fear was used as a means of control, abuse was rampant. The level system kept us in check, colored bracelets indicated what level we were on. Progress was difficult while it was easy to lose everything and be demoted back to the lowest level. Staff gave sprinkles of praise that resembled kindness when we “worked the program.” Encouraging us to point out each other’s flaws and wrongdoings, throwing others under the bus was a learned way to get ahead. All the while, we’d be bracing ourselves for the same mistreatment to come swinging right back around from our peers. Being expected to incessantly hold others accountable was similar to dogs being trained, on our toes at all times.
No doctors were ever present for strip searches, only staff. It consisted of getting naked, squatting, coughing, spreading your cheeks, twirling around with your arms out, shaking out your hair, your ears and inside of your mouth were checked; it was excessive and humiliating. Staff would get up close to inspect my naked body, noting each scar and mark, it was violating to say the least.
The most feared punishments involved silence and isolation. YZ was sitting in a plastic chair for 18/24/72 hours, following the group around in silence. Not allowed to communicate, interact, or participate. Groups were held in circles, anyone on punishment would be placed outside of the circle against the wall, to further ostracize and make an example out of them. You’d plead your case in front of a panel of upper levels, who decided if you could be taken off YZ, if you seemed sorry enough.
Individual Focus (IF) was more intense. Sitting at your desk all day, no speaking or interacting. They’d say; no verbal or non verbal communication, you couldn’t even look at anyone.
Restraints were traumatic and used in excess. Some staff even seemed excited to jump in and eagerly participate in the violence. Agitating kids they knew would react, staff felt justified in tackling them to the ground. It would go from 0-100 in seconds, sometimes getting a running start, which could result in rugburn or worse injury to the child being targeted. Once the kid was down, staff would do anything to keep them down. I saw staff body slam children, grab a child by the back of her head and thrash her face into the floor, I watched helplessly as my peers screamed out “I can’t breathe” with 2-5 staff wrestling them. If you didn’t see it, you’d hear it, as the child would almost always be screaming. The energy would shift when these violent encounters took place, we were totally powerless watching our peers get manhandled. There was no way to intervene without subjecting yourself to the same violence. Eventually it became part of the background, I learned to look away and tune it out, I was desensitized to it. The child getting restrained could be let go if they were calm for long enough, otherwise they were dragged to the time-out-room. A small isolation chamber that had 3 walls, a drain and a metal door that locked. Some were locked in there for hours, sometimes months of the same kids being put in time out. Some spent more time in isolation than out, they never stopped fighting. I was scared for them, sometimes scared of them, but also in awe of their tenacity and strength. The screams that came out of that room, make up the soundtracks to my most vivid night terrors.
I was overmedicated with a cocktail of serious medications for conditions I didn’t have. The choice was to take the meds or get pilled by the nurse.
Any inkling of sexuality was punished. Conversion therapy wasn’t advertised, but it was implemented. LGBTQ+ children were bullied, humiliated, and called degrading names by staff and other kids. Same sex sexually acting out was deemed a phase. I had to give a play by play to my parents and all of my peers, explaining exactly what happened between myself and another girl, describing every movement in detail. I was then punished with silence and isolation for 72hrs. The shame lasted so much longer.
Attack groups disguised as therapy, the most feared was Problem Solving Group (PSG). Throughout the week we’d report transgressions then hash them out in PSG. Tuesdays were doomsday, your struggles, traumas and insecurities were analyzed and thrown in your face until you submitted. Group would end with the majority broken down. We had to turn into monsters to get through these frenzies. I am deeply sorry to anyone I mistreated.
Parents were warned we would try to manipulate them, and say we were being abused. Parents were coached to ignore any cries for help, negativity was seen as manipulation. In reality the parents were being manipulated by the program. I encourage all parents to believe your children, especially if they say they are being abused.
Too many things that will stick with me forever. I found a friend on the ground, she had cut herself badly, blood was everywhere. She left, we never saw her again. We weren’t allowed to ask what happened, and we haven’t been able to find her. I hope she sees this.
Another girl and I walked in on our math teacher masturbating. He was instantly fired, we were told he was arrested, to not speak about it, or tell our parents. I’ve followed up with police in UT, no report was even made. Many of us have followed up with our parents, who were never told of this incident.
My therapist, who was the program director for many years, married one of his former patients in 2018. This helped bring to light his long, dark history of grooming his patients; as many of us realized we too experienced being groomed by him when we were children in his care.
I had visited home and I was on my way back to IV. The plane landed in Utah and I sat. I kept sitting, figuring someone would come retrieve me or I would just get up and go back like I was supposed to. I watched as the flight attendant counted everyone on the plane twice, missing me both times. The plane took off with me still on it, to San Francisco. I was willing to risk anything to be free and away from IV. I was lucky to only spend 48 hours on the street before I was taken in by a family that kept me safe. I am very grateful to them, I could have been met with a much different fate. I spent the next 18 days in Oakland. I wasn’t aware that anyone was even looking for me, the plan was to just disappear and start a new life, say goodbye to everything I loved to just not go back. I was a missing person in MO, UT, and CA. Someone recognized me and called it into a tip line. People showed up to get me, and they very clearly promised I would never be sent back to Utah. They said my Grandma was dying and I needed to come with them to say goodbye, I went back with them willingly. My grandma passed away right after I arrived, it was if she waited for me.
I was not surprised when I found myself back in Utah, my parents did not keep the promise. I saw several staff outside waiting as we pulled up, excited to get their hands on me. Berated, interrogated, told I was going to be kept there till 18. A notoriously evil staff member backhanded me during my strip search, while I was naked, saying “no crying.” They screamed about the chaos I caused and said I would be lucky if my family ever spoke to me again.
I spent the next 58 days on IF, isolated, not allowed to speak to or look at anyone. For the entire punishment they told me I had HIV. They were likely trying to punish me for being sexually active while in California. They made it seem the test was pending, and that it meant I probably had it. They allowed me to believe I had HIV, and I was terrified. I was assigned my own toilet, sink and shower; which I was required to clean anytime I used, my teammates were not to use the same facilities as me. I would hear staff say to my peers “who knows what she could have” but, all the tests came back negative conveniently right after I was taken off punishment. I was too young to know that STDs can’t transfer through showers or sinks, and no STD results take that long to get back. My therapist would come by and talk at me for 10 mins, leave, and said that counted as therapy. I was not allowed to speak to my family during this time, I was not allowed to write or receive mail. I had no way to communicate. The silence, mind games, hopelessness, and insurmountable grief drove me to madness. I cried more than I ever have before, especially about my grandma. I didn’t know how to process death, I was 15, I needed love and compassion, but I was on my own and had to figure it out. Staff and therapists were quick to say that she wouldn’t have died if I didn’t run away. I was blamed for her death so many times I believed it, that level of guilt has been difficult to shake.
Before I was released back into the general population, I was the target of several groups. My peers aggressively told me how my running away affected them. I went on an accountability tour, begging every human at IV for forgiveness. They even brought me to the boys teams, to apologize to them too. I was a complete shell of a person, I knew if I even slightly stepped out of line I’d be thrown back into isolation. I had no choice but to become everything I resisted and hated during my first 8 months, to get through the last 8 months, I got with the program.
I thought I was free when I graduated. I wasn’t aware of what, and how much I carried out with me, but time has revealed all the wounds. It took years and years after leaving to fully free myself from the grips of Island View.
I lasted six months at a non abusive therapeutic boarding school set in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The teachers were kind and patient, but it was difficult to acclimate, difficult to know how to even be a child. I went home, got my GED, and found a vocational college. I completed an associates degree in Veterinary Technology. I started a dog walking, animal care business that took 9 years to build (+only 2 months for COVID to wipe out)
It was a blessing to find the WWASP survivors community, so many survivors helped me see I wasn’t alone, and helped me see that I didn’t deserve what I went through. This inspired me to create several online support communities for survivors of IV and Elevations over the years. These connections are the only positive thing that came out of IV. So many of the things I love about myself are bits and pieces of those who were right there with me through the darkness, proving themselves as family time and time again over the last 14 years. Island View had no idea that while breaking us, we would later unite through the trauma. Sadly, many have overdosed and committed suicide. They shouldn’t have been burdened with the pain they held. I can’t make sense of the deaths, but I can live my life to the fullest, and try to enjoy it because they don’t get to. Treatment should not leave a community of survivors, nobody should have this many dead friends.
*In 2014, a child was injured during a restraint at IV. The facility was forced to rebrand. It’s now named Elevations, but in the six years since rebranding, not much has changed other than the name. 20 of the current staff at Elevations worked at IV, children leaving Elevations in 2020 telling the same horror stories that myself and so many others have told from years prior. I used to think Elevations was the same as IV. It’s devastating to say, after speaking with recent graduates of Elevations, it’s so much worse.
In 2015 I posted on reddit, on the anniversary of my kidnapping. A reporter saw it, and spent the next 8 months digging deeper. The Huffington Post published a 36 page investigative piece, https://testkitchen.huffingtonpost.com/island-view/ I felt exposed and excited, but not much happened- nothing I was aware of, at least at that time. This movement has turned on a faucet of survivors reaching out sharing how that article has impacted them. That it helped them recognize the abuse they faced, helped their parents believe them, and helped them see that they aren’t alone in their pain. The world wasn’t ready to listen back then. I’m elated that has changed. I couldn’t be more grateful to that reporter, Breaking Code Silence, and Paris Hilton, for we are finally being believed, and I feel beyond heard.
I struggle with C-PTSD, nightmares, sleep is exhausting, trust is hard. Connecting my adult struggles with being institutionalized as a child has helped solidify that it wasn’t my fault, and I didn’t deserve what I was made to survive, none of us did. Recognizing my worth has been one of many steps in starting to heal. I love the person that I am today, I know what I deserve, and I can and will have a good life while still recognizing and addressing my pain. I am so determined to turn some of these scars into strengths, I feel obligated to do some good with all of this bad, anything else feels cowardly.
I am focused on healing, staying connected with those that matter, and continuing to hold my abusers accountable, while exposing them for what they are. I will make a great life for myself no matter what, despite the darkness. I look forward to the future.
I keep sharing my story in hopes it can help prevent other children going through the things myself and so many others were forced to survive.
I implore parents to listen to your children, ask what they need, believe them and always stand by them.
We will never stop fighting back.
My name is Emily Graeber,
I am #BreakingCodeSilence