Kyra’s Testimony – Second Nature Wilderness and Eva Carlston Academy

Four days after New Year 2014, winter of my freshman year of high school, my parents made decision to send me to a wilderness therapy program in Utah based on the recommendation of my psychiatrist and education consultants. I’d been struggling for years with trauma, behavioral and relationship difficulties – both internally and interpersonally – and over time I found myself in several situations that had put my life at risk. I had been told I could go “willingly,” or they would hire people to take.

Ultimately, my parents flew me from Ohio to Salt Lake City, where two transporters from the program met me and quickly swept me away from my parents. I was 14 years old when I was sent to the first program, and I wouldn’t return home until I was 16. When I first arrived in the field Second Nature, it was nighttime and freezing cold outside. I’d never been to Utah or anywhere that far west, or seen mountains before. After a humiliating squat-and-cough strip search at base camp during which I was laughed at by some more strangers and the removal of all personal items, I was driven two hours into the desert by strangers.

When I arrived at my first site, I had to use the bathroom, and was told to go behind a tarp only a couple of feet away from a staff that I’d just met. Before being allowed to speak to any of the ten or so other people at the site with me, we walked a few minutes through the snow in the dark to where I would sleep within inches of them. My shoes were taken from me, and I was wrapped tightly in a plastic tarp while the staff laid on the end to restrict my movement. This was called “burrito-position.” (This happened on several occasions; and the staff were co-ed). The next morning when I struggled through our hike through the snowy mountains due to my asthma, I was ridiculed by the staff and had to stop several times before I was allowed my inhaler.

Throughout my time at Second Nature, I witnessed and experienced several different kinds of neglect and abuse. We were forced to perform timed “pack drills” where we were made to unpack and repack our backpacks over and over while being shouted at until it was to the staff’s liking. Our food was extremely restricted, and used as punishment and rewards. I often ate a cold tortilla with a string cheese for lunch. If we didn’t comply, we weren’t allowed to cook our food on the fire, which meant dehydrated beans and rice. The group I was in specifically was not allowed peanut butter because our therapist had said it made the kids “fat.” If we complied and “busted” enough fires, the therapist offered to bring us a salad (fresh vegetables were not common.)

There was a time when I became so severely dehydrated and constipated that I lost feeling in my hands and feet, and had to beg to be taken to the clinic several hours away. I was sent back out to the field the same day with prune juice. Occasionally, a group member would refuse to continue hiking due to exhaustion, and we were forced to carry them and their 50 lb pack the rest of the way.

In group therapy sessions, we would be berated and teased by staff with little to no mental health training. Outside of group sessions, this beratement continued. Even in individual therapy, I was berated by my therapist often, questioned about a sexual assault I’d experienced, and told that my suicide attempts had been attention-seeking. At one point, I complained of discomfort in my private areas, and without being informed I was forced into my first ever pelvic exam as a sexual assault survivor at 14 years old. They staff and doctor mocked my cries of pain and I was sent back out to the field.

Hygiene was extremely minimal. We had “billy-baths” where we would occasionally scrub ourselves with a bandana and a can of water in the snow. I watched a group member run off into the night after dinner time out of fear. One of my peers was taken off of her psychiatric medication cold-turkey and began hallucinating and acting confused, and the staff brushed it off and told us not to worry. My peers were forced to hike even when they were very ill. Isolation from the group was often used as punishment, including as punishment for self-harm. After 3 months of close to zero contact with my family, I was denied the traditional graduation ceremony – where your family is allowed to join from home – because I had relapsed in self-harm.

On April 3rd 2014, two days before my 15th birthday, my parents transported me from Duschesne to Salt Lake City. I didn’t know yet, but I’d spend the next 16 and a half months at Eva Carlston Academy. Here, I experienced and witnessed frequent attack therapy, gaslighting, and verbal abuse including insults and belittling. All contact with the outside world was controlled and monitored at all times.

Our physical appearance was controlled down to the length of our fingernails and hair. We were denied proper medical care – I had to beg for my inhaler when I needed it and I once had a several week long menstrual period before a visit to the doctor was even considered. Medication and medical issues were severely mishandled. I remember a time where three kids in the house were ill for several weeks before being taken to a doctor, and it turned out to be pneumonia.

Group therapy included things like the “hot seat,” which included everyone humiliating and berating/”ganging-up” on one person. Our days were measured on a point-card, determining if we earned our “privileges” for the next day, and if you didn’t earn them, you were forced to isolate and do worksheets all day. These worksheets could be anything the staff decided. I remember writing an assignment about how my sexual assault wasn’t really as bad as I say it is, and I was given points for this. The “privileges” included speaking to peers, having a phone call with your parents/family, and even eating at night with the rest of the house. Sometimes we’d even be forced to rate one another. Sometimes, it would be weeks before we’d speak to one another.

Our food quantity was strictly enforced, and we’d be punished for not completing a meal or taking too much. We had very limited portion sizes and were not allowed food outside of allotted times. If the program deemed that we were a threat to ourselves, we’d be forced to sleep in the hallway on a hard, plastic cot with the lights on.

We were forced to do manual labor like weeding, sweeping the streets, scrubbing the floors on our hands and knees, scrubbing the driveway on our hands and knees, deep cleaning our therapists offices and deep cleaning the cars used to transport us. We were the personal cooks, janitors, gardeners, and maids of the program. Every letter we wrote was read and checked off by staff, and would be corrected if they didn’t approve of what we wrote.

Our phone calls were monitored by staff as well, and the phone was locked in the staff bathroom when not in use for a scheduled call, so there was no way for us to grab it quickly in case an emergency. We were threatened with consequences if we tried to tell our parents anything, or if we “complained” in any way. We were taught and told over and over to “just say okay.” I had to perform every day to survive – even a voice tone could “earn” a consequence.

I remember making up code words with one of my friends to tell each other we cared about each other.

One of my worst memories is of my friend being restrained by a much larger staff member – I remember hearing her screaming and knowing that something wasn’t right.

My friend took her life on May 1, 2020.

She had posted on Facebook about her PTSD and trauma from Eva Carlston before her passing, and I have been trying to share what I experienced there ever since.