My name is Amie Ashcraft. I have been trying to get involved with legal action against Provo Canyon School and I have been unsuccessful so far. It frightens me that not enough people are interested in what I or any other person who has experienced abuse in these places have to say. Here is my story, for all to see. I hope someone will read this and believe the awful truth.
:eek:
I was abused and was witness to the abuse of others while being held at the Provo Canyon School. Our human, civil, and Constitutional rights were violated, and we were abused physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I want my story to be heard in the hopes that this abuse will not be allowed to continue. 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, restraints, 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.
There were phone numbers posted up where I could supposedly call and report abuse, but when I asked if I could use the phone I was denied access to one. I was told that "no one will believe you anyway, that's why you're here. Everyone thinks you're crazy." When I asked to write a grievance, my therapist said that I could write one, but she would be sure to alert whomever it was sent to that I was a known pathalogical liar. I'm pretty sure each grievance I wrote just sat on her desk or was thrown away.
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.
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 Wooley, 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 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 point, 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, I was told that I needed them. I was not given a choice to take these medications, they were given to me 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." Sometimes the girls would scream in pain, and they were actually injured quite severely for no apparent reason. 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. 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 afraid that the state of Utah is involved in a massive cover up in order to protect Provo Canyon Schools and other WWASPS facilities. It is a documented fact that these programs give the goverment large amounts of money. I am on a mission to close PCS and other programs like it. I'd like to see the corporate fat cats who run them behind bars. Why should children be abused just so these monsters can have a summer house and a yacht? Please e-mail me at
[email protected] if you have something to say about this post. Victims of abuse, you know who you are. You and your families have all of my love and support.
