On 2004-05-23 03:08:00, Anonymous wrote:
"I was a so-called "student" at Provo Canyon School. My human, civil, and Constitutional rights were violated, and I was abused physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. So were my friends at the "school". Here is my story as I remember it to the best of my ability.
When I was 16, I was sent to Provo, Utah from a crisis center in Texas that recommended long term residential treatment for me. I had been the victim of rape, and consequently developed eating disorders, depression, suicidal tendencies, and a serious drug habit in response to the emotional turmoil I was in. I was running away from home often, but I was not in any sort of legal trouble. I had actually managed to do well in school despite being placed in numerous crisis treatment facilities for teens. Although I recieved professional care, my condition had not improved and my parents were terrified. When they contacted Provo Canyon they were told that if they wanted me to survive past age 16, I needed to be in a maximum lockdown facility that could give me the therapeutic support I needed in a secure environment. I suppose 500 pound magnetic locks are as secure as it gets. In late November 1999, I was put on a plane headed for Provo, Utah, to the Orem Campus. This facility happened to be only for girls, except that there was a small unit for prepubescent boys on the first floor. To my dismay upon my arrival, this place was nothing like the brochure! I was not even allowed to say good-bye to my mother who had come with me on the plane. She was not allowed to stay with me during the admittance process. I assume that the facility considered me to be high-risk and dangerous to their program from the beginning, since I had tried to run from the airport as I was being brought in. I assumed that this was the reason I was never allowed to communicate with my family without supervision.
My phone calls were closely monitored, and even the slightest mention of wanting to go home warranted the call being cut short. When my parents asked why I was not allowed to continue the phone call, they were told that "problem teens often beg to return home because they want their families to feel sorry for them, and they don't want to be helped." My letters to my family and friends were read in case they included "escape plans," and any attempts to reveal to my parents what was really going on, or express my desire to return home were severely punished. During the long tedious hours at the school I had written in a journal many poems dealing with being raped, and these were read publicly and then tossed into a trashcan for being "inappropriate." I was punished for writing them. I began another journal, this time written entirely in French. This journal was taken to a teacher who could read the language, and was also deemed "inappropriate." It was confiscated as well.
Needless to say, I was proving to be a lot more difficult to brainwash than most girls because I refused to follow the rules which seemed cruel and over the top to me. The majority of the staff were prone to treating me with even more disdain and contempt than usual, and I was constantly verbally abused and humiliated in front of the other girls, sometimes by the other girls with staff's permission. I was always being put in isolation, called "Observation," for being defiant. Sometimes physical force or a dose of Haldol or Thorazine was used. "Observation" was a room with concrete walls and a cold concrete floor. On several occasions I was put in this room in the dead of winter wearing nothing but a T-shirt and pants, and left there for hours, or sometimes over 24 hours.
As another punishment, I was made to sleep on a broken metal cot in a brightly lit hallway for months on end on the "Investment Unit." I was also put on a special diet for my eating disorders, which included punishment unless I finished all of my food. I was closely watched as I used the toilet or showered, and ridiculed by staff members who were annoyed that they had to watch me so closely. My reading materials were confiscated on a regular basis. My privileges to attend meals and go to school were taken away on the "Investment" unit, sometimes for months on end. On Sundays, anyone who did not attend church had to sit in a room quietly and do homework or stare at the walls. I attended the Mormon services once, and decided that I would rather stare at a wall than participate in the service. I was not allowed to speak of or write about my religion of choice (I was a practicing Wiccan at the time). When I drew images related to it I was publicly ridiculed and punished, and the event was used against me in my treatment.
There were numbers posted up around the facility that you could supposedly call if you wanted to report abuse. When I asked to use the phone, I was denied access to one and punished for trying to report abuse. The staff ridiculed me and told me "no one will believe you anyway. That's why you're here. Everyone thinks you're crazy". When I asked to write a grievance report, I was allowed to do so, but was punished for reasons I am unsure of. My therapist told me that she would put a word in to whomever the grievance was going to that I was a known pathological liar. I believe the grievance stayed on her desk and never reached the proper authorities at all.
I was forced to clean rooms of the facility daily, and if the standards (which were impossibly high) were not met, there was strict punishment in order. My therapeutic needs were not being met at all, in fact I felt as if I was regressing and struggling with issues that were not being addressed, even when I requested therapy or suggested that I was struggling with these issues. My therapist, Jennifer Woolley, who seemed to be completely inept, was not even aware of my post traumatic stress disorder, and actually asked me what PTSD was. Once a month I would attend "treatment plan meetings" where I would be put into a room with many hateful adults (psychiatrists, therapists, and staff members), most of which had no direct dealings with me whatsoever. They would character assassinate me and berate me until I was in tears. They told me that since I was not improving, they didn't know when I would be going home, but it wouldn't be soon. I wonder why I wasn't improving?
At Provo Canyon School one of the many punishments used involved being made to sit in a chair for most of the day to "serve off points" which were given as punishment. In order to use the restroom or get a drink of water, I would have to wait with my hand in the air until a staff member decided to call on me. Sometimes I would be waiting for hours. "Serving off points" would last all evening (with no free time) on a school night, or all day on a weekend. No recreational reading was allowed, only homework. If I ran out of homework, I was to face the wall or sit quietly without moving, or my "points" would be lost for the hour. At one time, I had thousands of points to serve off. Some staff members who disliked me would take away my points for no reason at all. Sometimes as a punishment I was made to face a wall, sitting perfectly still, and was left waiting for hours until an overworked and sadistic staff member felt like letting me move.
As for my psychiatric treatment, Robert Crist happened to be my "psychiatrist" (I use the term loosely), and although I pleaded with him to take me off of the medications I was on, he proceeded to prescribe more. I remember being given up to seven medications at once. One medication he described as being used specifically for schizophrenia. I have never in my life been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Even though I claimed that the medicines made me physically ill and I could no longer concentrate or think clearly. Some of the side effects made me lethargic, confused, drool a lot, walk and behave strangely, and caused very disturbing nightmares. I was told that I needed them. I was not given a choice to take these medications, they were given to me by force and my mouth was checked, or I was given punishment or more time in "Observation" for refusing the medications.
I was also witness to the abuse of other children. I watched in horror as many seriously disturbed and mentally fragile girls were taken down forcefully by five or more adult staff members (this was called a "dial 9") and given injections because they were "out of control." Not once did any of these girls do anything so severe as to deserve this brutal treatment. One of my own experiences particularly stands out in my memory. I was suffering a post-traumatic stress disorder flashback which had reduced me to cowering in a hallway sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. Instead of being treated with compassion and concern, I was injected with a large amount of either Haldol or Thorazine (both of which I had been inappropriately given before in similar situations, none of which involved me being a threat to others or myself) and left in "Observation" for several hours as I cried for help. The staff members involved in this situation were strangers, members of the night staff who were untrained and unaware of my condition.
The policies and punishments at Provo Canyon School were often quite sadistic and unnecessary. I witnessed girls who had been at Provo for years finally learn to complete each mundane task they were given perfectly and reach "Advanced Unit Status." Then, for something as simple as not making a bed properly, they would be dropped down to the punishment unit (which I was always living on) and told that although they were scheduled to leave in a few weeks, they would in fact be staying for much longer since they had broken the rules. Then their parents were contacted and told that the girls had "relapsed" and could not return home just yet. Their failures were publicly announced and they were humiliated in front of the entire school.
During my six month stay at PCS after months of fighting against the system, I realized that in order to leave this place, I was going to have to stop rebelling and pretend to toe the line. I made it to a Unit where I was allowed outside privileges. After I was told that even though I was now following the strict order of the school, I was still going to be staying for another six months, I decided that I was going to run. Sometime in late May 2000, after months of not breathing one bit of fresh air (my outdoor privileges were restricted as a punishment from the beginning), I was finally allowed to go outside. The staff was not paying attention to me as I walked around the property, scoping it all out. I found a flimsy plastic fence on one side of the property, and in seconds I had dug a hole and crawled underneath it until was on the other side of it, tumbling down a cliff into a muddy ravine. From there I made it to the highway. I had hitched a ride and I was halfway to Las Vegas on a truck before anyone noticed I was gone.
It was hours and hours before my parents were contacted. Provo Canyon provided no explanation or apology to them, and also gave the police an inaccurate physical description for me. I did not return home to my family for three more months after I escaped, because I was sure that they would only send me back to Provo. The school had informed me that if I ever escaped, they would bring me back, strip search me and place me in "Observation." They told me that they would press charges and send me to jail.
Upon returning home, I learned that my personal belongings had been carelessly thrown in a box and shipped to my grieving mother (who thought I might be dead) without any warning or condolences. Provo had refused to compensate my family for my escape. To make matters worse they also tried to bill my parents for the month in which I disappeared. Of course, my parents were nothing but relieved that I came home to them alive, and furious when I told them as many details about my treatment at the school as I was able to without breaking down. They attempted to prosecute, but no one was interested in the case. They tried to contact the authorities, but nothing came of it.
My suspicion is that Provo Canyon School keeps their "students" there for long periods of time in order to extract as much money as possible from their families. My family was paying them 6,000 dollars a month. They robbed my family, and consequently my parents did not have the financial means of pursuing any other legal action at the time. This is all in my past now, but I am haunted by the fact that as I type, thousands of children are sitting in Provo or some other program scared and alone, wondering what they ever did to deserve the abuse they are suffering through. They are being brainwashed to believe that it is for their own good, and that they are being punished for something. Some of them may die as a result from severe abuse. Their families are being mislead into believing these places are therapeutic, when in fact they are correctional facilities designed to coerce them into submission by breaking their spirits. This angers me to no end, and something has to be done.
I am now 21 years old with a daughter of my own, and I feel it is definitely time for this school to be shut down before any more teens are harmed -- mind, body or spirit. These children are hurting, like I was, and they need compassion, warmth, and kindness. Not harassment and "behavior modification." I have been trying to contact as many people and agencies as possible in order to do what I can to shut the school down. I am on a mission to close Provo Canyon School, WWASPS facilities, and any program like it. I want to put the corporate fat cats who profit from abusing children behind bars. Why should children suffer so these monsters can have a summer house and a yacht? :flame: Victims, you know who you are, and you and your families have all my love and support. I would love to hear from people who've read this post and have something to say. E-mail me at [email protected]. "
I have e-mailed you and I am able to relate to much of what you say above. Here is a bit of a interesting fact though, staff get paid $9 an hour for the shit they do, however the recepionist who sits and answers phones, reads books, watches movies, and talks to friends all damn day long, gets paid more than staff, wee bit backward I think. Many things have changed there, in little ways. Like since you and the other girl escaped no one is allowed near or on the play ground anymore. We have very strict guidelines of where we are allowed to go outside. You run and you have like literally 20 staff chasing after you and they just dog pile on you, like one or two couldn't take a person down, jeez, you get carried into the building like a 2x4 thrown into ob's strip searched and given pinks and yellows, and then you get to stay in ob's for a couple of days. Staff still love to put you on a chair staring at a wall and leave you for hours on end, hell I had a staff do that to me because I wouldn't eat the damn peas in my salad!! I have never eatten peas in my life, they grotesque me. I was put into ob's for not eatting them. I was told to eat them or sit on my chair, so I sat on my chair in complete chair structure not making a sound being totally respectful, except for not eatting the peas that is, then the unit was lined up early and sent downstairs to physical, then I had like 5 staff come towards me and I slowly stood up and turned around and told them, 'you do not have to tackle me or carry me to ob's i am quite capable of walking myself, however, if you touch me in any way what so ever right now as i am not in any danger nor yourselves I will notify the authorities through my mother.' They let me walk to ob's, but they left me in there for quite a long time, I think I pissed them off a wee bit. O-well never said I was perfect. I remember treatment team quite well. That was the time when you got to sit in the middle of a large group of adults, I remember always going in there with my muscles so damn tense I thought they wre gonna go into spasms. I was already to be tackled in there, I trusted no one in there and had no reason to trust anyone in there. They used treatment team as a good time to beat up on you verablly, I have seen so many kids come out of there and have to go up stairs to take a chair because they could not control they're sobs, some of relief from it being over and some from the pain of what people in there said to them and about them. i myself always sat stoned. I ama stone butch, and not much can get ot me that I let show. I was always humiliated by staff in front of others to try adn get me to show emotion, it always angered them that I never showed any emotion besides anger, because I would not let them make me cry or feel sorry or anything, and I never showed them if I was happy, you showed that emotion and they were sure to strip it from you. Just like if you were to make a friend there they would put you on different units or something else to pull you apart. Life was never easy there and I suspect it is not any easier today from what I have heard from those in there. I just got a letter the other day from a girl that is still in there, I haven't heard anything from her for almost 2 years, so I was stunned to hear from her. She is on my old therapist caseload, and part of me thinks she is lonely and just needs a friend, but hte other part of me thinks staff set her up to it to see if I would tell her any information about the retaliation that could help them, course I wouldn't. I'm always careful about what I say with things like that, I don't want to get her into trouble, so i told her it's probably best for her not to write me anymore for her own safety and sanity. And you know what, a year and 5 months down the road, I'm free in a physical sense, but at night and sometimes during the day when I see things or hear something, I am drawn back to what I had to go through, and i know that it will at least take 5 month for every month I was there to heal, and I was there for 26 months, so I got a lot of time laid out ahead of me, but I know that if I could make it through the constant shit that i went through there without killing myself, than I know that others can too, you just gotta push through the pain and keep on moving until help arrives.
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