“I will never forget January 13, 1999. In the middle of the night there was a knock on my bedroom door. My mom and dad were outside my bedroom door with two other people. They told me I needed to get up and get dressed because I was going somewhere.
The other people- a man and a woman – entered my room. The man asked me if I had weapons. I laughed a little- my weapon- a riding crop I slept with it next to my bed for years. He said we were “doing some traveling” and I must get dressed and ready to leave. I argued with him- and he was patient with me until it was really time to go. It was unavoidable. He said one way or another I was going. This statement was foreboding.
The woman accompanied me to the bathroom and I brushed my teeth, used the toilet, and got dressed. I wasn’t one to self harm, but the idea did cross my mind then. This seemed so crazy. So bizarre. Even now – looking back to that morning- I can see the sink, the mirror, looking at my legs, the feel of the sweater, the texture of my jeans.
The night before (January 12, 1999), I had come home from mock trial team and spread out all of my school work in the formal living room. It was close to the end of the semester and I had a ton of projects and papers I was working on and what felt like a million tests to prepare for. I had my Spanish group project that I was working on and my physics paper that I had to go over the edits for. The guy I was seeing and I had an argument- he thought I was hiding things from him (I was hiding my home situation, the severity of my eating disorder and some weird suspicions I had- for a while I suspected something- I had been having nightmares about being chased, unable to escape, cornered these proved to be prophetic).
We arrived at the airport and we waited for the flight. I made friends with the escorts- what was happening wasn’t their fault and it did get me away from my house. The woman told me that she was pregnant, clearly they knew I posed no threat. They let me wander in the airport without them. Soon boarding was called. I took my violin, bear, and book boarded the plane and sat by the window- numb.
I was hurting deeply. I was also so afraid to admit that I was scared and hurting. My parents hated me so much that they sent me across the country to get rid of me. It was absolute confirmation of everything that I had thought. Somewhere over -maybe Nebraska (?) breakfast was served: a cheese danish, orange juice, yogurt. I refused to eat.
Shortly, we landed in SLC. I was met by Danielle, Matt, and Mindy. We got into their car and drove south to Orem and the building that would be my hell for the next 9 months.
Upon arriving at the facility we entered through the regular door, said “hello” to the receptionist, then through huge double wooden doors. The sound that they made as they closed behind me I will never forget. Then on the elevator and up to Orientation.
Up on Orientation I met Allison, the Monday- Friday day staff on Orientation. She and a few other staff members had me go into the day room and strip searched me. This was unbelievably traumatic considering my personal history. I froze several times- reliving things that had happened. I had to, very consciously, listen to each instruction and follow it slowly and deliberately as I tried to stop from violently shaking. My ears roared and I was sweating as I counted my breath trying to focus on what they were saying.
My jeans, sweater, and shoes were confiscated. In return I was given purple sweats. The elastic was worn out- and even on a good day- they wouldn’t have stayed up, and they were about a mile too long. I got flip flops to wear. The other girls on Orientation came back from the cafeteria shortly and brought me another breakfast tray- which I was expected to eat- this one had biscuits and gravy, cheerios, and more orange juice.
Soon the orientation girls lined up and went to school and I was given a LARGE binder that listed the rules, worksheets to check my understanding. When I was done with the worksheets there was a test.
Later that day, I met the education person (Mary Neal) and found I had more than enough credits to graduate high school- by a HUGE amount, that the teachers couldn’t necessarily teach me, and they didn’t have books to teach me out of- but they would get them, and I could teach myself.
That same first day I also met my therapist. And then saw 4-5 very large men tackle a teenage girl, drag her into what I would learn was “Obs” for being non-compliant- meaning she did not immediately do what she was ordered to do. I saw girls forced to sit on “chairs” for hours.
I was numb and shocked at what I was observing the first day I was there- and it got worse. While I was reading the binder and rules- it struck me how arbitrary the rules were and how any enforcement would be arbitrary and capricious. I did learn to shut up and not push back until I understood more about how things worked.
Most of the group living staff was 2-3 years older than me and without a college education (I helped with homework). This was an area that they resented. What I saw and experienced during my 9 months there can not be explained in a simple document. The level and kinds of abuse I witnessed was abhorrent. Staff physically, sexually, and emotionally abused children who were entrusted to their care. While I was never physically assaulted, sent to obs, or sexually assaulted. I experienced verbal abuse at the hands of staff members. I experienced having my abuse history dismissed. I was medically neglected.
Girls there have no way to call for help there. We were isolated from the world. If we tried to tell our parents- we got in trouble. Bearing in mind the only time I could talk to my parents was with my therapist on the phone. Parents are warned that if their kids allege abuse- it is the kids manipulating and lying. We couldn’t call the police, we couldn’t call CPS- we were powerless.
It has been 21 years now since I was there. What happened there will remain with me forever. I still experience nightmares, flashbacks, hyper-vigilance, and I do not trust people.
Girls who suffer this abuse suffer even more- because the people who are supposed to care for them don’t. The doctor at the facility was laughably bad. The therapists dismiss the causal factors. They fail to treat the girls. This means- when and if- the girls do decide to seek treatment- trusting a therapist or doctor is damn near impossible.”
-Elizabeth Martin