Anonymous’ Clearview Girls Academy Testimony

Every child looks forward to their 16th birthday. Except I didn’t. A few weeks prior, I’d miscarried a baby, a child of sexual assault. I was no more than a child myself. Naturally, I was showing symptoms of depression and having panic attacks. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I was also experiencing hallucinations, though I didn’t know at the time. Everything was hopeless. I confided in my parents, hoping they’d support me. Instead, I was met with Catholic guilt and shaming.

A couple weeks later, I was on a car trip. My parents told me we were going to a residential therapy treatment center. Instead, I arrived in an institutional child abuse camp in Montana, where I’d spend the next two years of my life. There, I’d be forced to perform hours of labor. I would fall behind in my schoolwork and social skills, as the “house moms” tried to practically torture the autistic traits out of me. I’d sit in the Hot Seat and be humiliated by my peers. I had no friends in this place.

It was Valentines day that a “therapist” pulled me aside for a Reflections chat. It’d come to her attention that I was experiencing homosexual attraction. How they knew, I wasn’t sure. I felt dirty and sinful after having Bible quotes thrown at me. That night, I experienced my first seizure. The next day, when it was time for chores, I told my house mom I’d wet the bed, not knowing what had happened to me. As a ‘consequence’ I had to take a cold shower. Those sheets were never changed, only had a bucket poured over them. These seizures would continue all through my time there. I was shamed and humiliated. Late into 2022, I had a seizure outside doing chores. Near horses, this was incredibly dangerous. Staff simply told other girls to pour water over me so I’d “snap out of it”. It was only after leaving that a doctor diagnosed me with Functional Neurological Disorder, which caused seizures due to stress. The trauma of Clearview had CAUSED this.

The day of my 18th birthday, I went to a house mom and told her I needed a phone. She laughed in my face, saying I didn’t have phone privileges. This time, I stood up for myself. I said “I am 18 years old, holding me here against my will is kidnapping.” While staff insisted I wasn’t allowed to leave, the ‘therapist’ gave in and allowed me to make a phone call. I called someone I knew in Virginia who drove me out. I had none of my stuff. No jacket. No certificates or therapy assignments. I left in my pajamas. For about two weeks, I lived with this friend, but that didn’t work out because my former family had found me. I ended up on the streets in the midwest for almost all of December, all of January, and the first week of February. Another young homeless woman I know mentioned UnSilenced, which led me to where I am now.