![\"NYP](\"https:\/\/www.unsilenced.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/NYP-Westchester-Congregate-Care-400x400.jpg\" "\\"NYP")
<\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>Anonymous’ Testimony – NYP Westchester, Lake House Academy for Girls, UNI, & Unnamed NATSAP Program in Arizona<\/h1><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/span>2019 – 2020<\/h3><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>I have been a victim of institutional child abuse since age twelve. As a child, I suffered from severe anxiety and depression. I was bullied at school and struggled academically due to a learning disorder. My parents, heartbroken by my suffering, decided to get me help. They brought me to NYP Westchester, a mental health facility. They explained that the doctors there were going to help me get better so I could go to school and have friends.<\/p>\n
My first experience in the children\u2019s unit was a strip search. I was horrified when the nurses told me to strip off all my clothes. I had just begun puberty and was self-conscious of my developing body. The nurse told me that if I didn\u2019t strip myself, they\u2019d do it for me. I was frightened by her harsh tone. Sobbing, I took off my clothes. The two nurses inspected every inch of my nude body. I was completely modified. After this humiliating endeavor, I was escorted to my room. I was shocked when noticing the bars on my bedroom window. This place was beginning to feel like a prison. I cried all night, but no staff dared to comfort me.<\/p>\n
In the morning, a staff told me that I\u2019d lost points for becoming emotionally unstable. I immediately questioned his use of the word points. He explained to me how all the children were graded on their behavior every hour of the day. If you didn\u2019t make enough points, you wouldn\u2019t be allowed to go outside, play games during free time, wear your own clothes, or have personal items. I then asked how this system was supposed to be helpful. I lost another point for speaking without permission. I felt so lost.<\/p>\n
My first week was spent meeting doctors, taking sedatives, and watching a lot of cartoon networks. It was eternal hell. When my parents came to visit, I cried, wanting them to take me home. Once again, I lost points. Eventually, I was discharged. I wish I could say this was the end of my journey.<\/p>\n
A week after my first discharge, I was readmitted. During my second admission, I began to have outbursts. I was being drugged day and night. The drugs increased my anger. I was in constant emotional agony. After five weeks of extreme dysregulation, I was taken off of my medications. I recovered quickly and was soon after discharged. I began the school year at a special ed school.<\/p>\n
Despite all of the support available, I struggled to socialize and control my anxiety. Panic attacks took place daily. I became psychotic. My psychiatrist prescribed drug after drug. No one could recognize me anymore.<\/p>\n
My parents met with an educational consultant who provided \u201cthe best solution” – Lake House Academy for girls. After reviewing their website and meeting some staff from the program, I was completely on board with the plan.<\/p>\n
Upon arrival, my parents were instructed to leave. After a teary goodbye, I was on my own. My belongings were searched. I met my roommates, all of whom complained about my arrival. I began asking the staff for things I needed: water, food, medication, a phone call, a shower. They laughed in my face, declaring that those were all privileges. I was beaten on a regular basis. I went to bed every night fearing the morning.<\/p>\n
My therapist instructed me to lie to my family. I was not allowed to speak freely on phone calls or even in family therapy. I was not allowed to use the restroom unsupervised. If I resisted strip searches or moved without permission, I was brutally restrained. The staff would roll me onto my side and punch me continually until I was bleeding and hysterical. Therapy appointments consisted of gaslighting and victim-blaming from an unqualified therapist. I was accused of being a drug user despite the lack of medical evidence.<\/p>\n
After months of this torture, I attempted suicide. The next day, I was taken from the academy to a mental hospital in Ashville. I was finally safe. The hospital provided three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, running water, private toilets, open communication, and adequate medical care. My suffering had not been in vain\u2026 or at least I thought.<\/p>\n
Instead of bringing me home, my parents decided to send me to another facility: UNI. I was admitted to the adolescent Comprehensive Assessment Treatment (CAT) program. Upon arrival, the staff ordered the other kids to ostracize me. The staff verbally abused me. My new therapist was even worse than my last one. I could barely manage to keep up with the pain and terror they inflicted. I went into a period of selective mutism.<\/p>\n
The only times a spoke were on my five-minute calls with my parents. I regret not using that precious time begging my parents to take me home or explaining the horrific abuse they were sentencing me to endure. I didn\u2019t want to hurt them any further than I already had. I became preoccupied with the fantasy of going home to my loving family and adequate life. This fantasy calmed me beyond words.<\/p>\n
After UNI, I was transported to a NATSAP school in Arizona. At first, things were going relatively well. We were given countless responsibilities such as taking care of the horses, fixing the dorms, yard work, cooking, cleaning, and school. These tasks kept us occupied throughout the day. I was exhausted, but overall there wasn\u2019t much to complain about. Besides open communication, all of my basic needs were met. I had no idea that my new therapist was going to turn my life into hell.<\/p>\n
After a few weeks of getting adjusted, I started regular therapy. My therapist convinced me that I broke my family. She told me I was worthless. She forced me to believe I\u2019d never live an adequate life. My communication privileges were denied. She made me believe I didn\u2019t deserve to be loved. She broke me. After noticing several red flags, my parents pulled me from the program. I never truly understood the cruelty of my abusers. My low self-esteem tricked me into believing every word of their crushing lies.<\/p>\n
Over a year later, I have grown to understand my trauma. I have grown to understand and embrace myself. I speak out against the programs that imprisoned me for financial benefits. I no longer cower in fear at the thought of debunking their lies.<\/p>\n
2019 – 2020<\/h3><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>I have been a victim of institutional child abuse since age twelve. As a child, I suffered from severe anxiety and depression. I was bullied at school and struggled academically due to a learning disorder. My parents, heartbroken by my suffering, decided to get me help. They brought me to NYP Westchester, a mental health facility. They explained that the doctors there were going to help me get better so I could go to school and have friends.<\/p>\n
My first experience in the children\u2019s unit was a strip search. I was horrified when the nurses told me to strip off all my clothes. I had just begun puberty and was self-conscious of my developing body. The nurse told me that if I didn\u2019t strip myself, they\u2019d do it for me. I was frightened by her harsh tone. Sobbing, I took off my clothes. The two nurses inspected every inch of my nude body. I was completely modified. After this humiliating endeavor, I was escorted to my room. I was shocked when noticing the bars on my bedroom window. This place was beginning to feel like a prison. I cried all night, but no staff dared to comfort me.<\/p>\n
In the morning, a staff told me that I\u2019d lost points for becoming emotionally unstable. I immediately questioned his use of the word points. He explained to me how all the children were graded on their behavior every hour of the day. If you didn\u2019t make enough points, you wouldn\u2019t be allowed to go outside, play games during free time, wear your own clothes, or have personal items. I then asked how this system was supposed to be helpful. I lost another point for speaking without permission. I felt so lost.<\/p>\n
My first week was spent meeting doctors, taking sedatives, and watching a lot of cartoon networks. It was eternal hell. When my parents came to visit, I cried, wanting them to take me home. Once again, I lost points. Eventually, I was discharged. I wish I could say this was the end of my journey.<\/p>\n
A week after my first discharge, I was readmitted. During my second admission, I began to have outbursts. I was being drugged day and night. The drugs increased my anger. I was in constant emotional agony. After five weeks of extreme dysregulation, I was taken off of my medications. I recovered quickly and was soon after discharged. I began the school year at a special ed school.<\/p>\n
Despite all of the support available, I struggled to socialize and control my anxiety. Panic attacks took place daily. I became psychotic. My psychiatrist prescribed drug after drug. No one could recognize me anymore.<\/p>\n
My parents met with an educational consultant who provided \u201cthe best solution” – Lake House Academy for girls. After reviewing their website and meeting some staff from the program, I was completely on board with the plan.<\/p>\n
Upon arrival, my parents were instructed to leave. After a teary goodbye, I was on my own. My belongings were searched. I met my roommates, all of whom complained about my arrival. I began asking the staff for things I needed: water, food, medication, a phone call, a shower. They laughed in my face, declaring that those were all privileges. I was beaten on a regular basis. I went to bed every night fearing the morning.<\/p>\n
My therapist instructed me to lie to my family. I was not allowed to speak freely on phone calls or even in family therapy. I was not allowed to use the restroom unsupervised. If I resisted strip searches or moved without permission, I was brutally restrained. The staff would roll me onto my side and punch me continually until I was bleeding and hysterical. Therapy appointments consisted of gaslighting and victim-blaming from an unqualified therapist. I was accused of being a drug user despite the lack of medical evidence.<\/p>\n
After months of this torture, I attempted suicide. The next day, I was taken from the academy to a mental hospital in Ashville. I was finally safe. The hospital provided three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, running water, private toilets, open communication, and adequate medical care. My suffering had not been in vain\u2026 or at least I thought.<\/p>\n
Instead of bringing me home, my parents decided to send me to another facility: UNI. I was admitted to the adolescent Comprehensive Assessment Treatment (CAT) program. Upon arrival, the staff ordered the other kids to ostracize me. The staff verbally abused me. My new therapist was even worse than my last one. I could barely manage to keep up with the pain and terror they inflicted. I went into a period of selective mutism.<\/p>\n
The only times a spoke were on my five-minute calls with my parents. I regret not using that precious time begging my parents to take me home or explaining the horrific abuse they were sentencing me to endure. I didn\u2019t want to hurt them any further than I already had. I became preoccupied with the fantasy of going home to my loving family and adequate life. This fantasy calmed me beyond words.<\/p>\n
After UNI, I was transported to a NATSAP school in Arizona. At first, things were going relatively well. We were given countless responsibilities such as taking care of the horses, fixing the dorms, yard work, cooking, cleaning, and school. These tasks kept us occupied throughout the day. I was exhausted, but overall there wasn\u2019t much to complain about. Besides open communication, all of my basic needs were met. I had no idea that my new therapist was going to turn my life into hell.<\/p>\n
After a few weeks of getting adjusted, I started regular therapy. My therapist convinced me that I broke my family. She told me I was worthless. She forced me to believe I\u2019d never live an adequate life. My communication privileges were denied. She made me believe I didn\u2019t deserve to be loved. She broke me. After noticing several red flags, my parents pulled me from the program. I never truly understood the cruelty of my abusers. My low self-esteem tricked me into believing every word of their crushing lies.<\/p>\n
Over a year later, I have grown to understand my trauma. I have grown to understand and embrace myself. I speak out against the programs that imprisoned me for financial benefits. I no longer cower in fear at the thought of debunking their lies.<\/p>\n
I have been a victim of institutional child abuse since age twelve. As a child, I suffered from severe anxiety and depression. I was bullied at school and struggled academically due to a learning disorder. My parents, heartbroken by my suffering, decided to get me help. They brought me to NYP Westchester, a mental health facility. They explained that the doctors there were going to help me get better so I could go to school and have friends.<\/p>\n
My first experience in the children\u2019s unit was a strip search. I was horrified when the nurses told me to strip off all my clothes. I had just begun puberty and was self-conscious of my developing body. The nurse told me that if I didn\u2019t strip myself, they\u2019d do it for me. I was frightened by her harsh tone. Sobbing, I took off my clothes. The two nurses inspected every inch of my nude body. I was completely modified. After this humiliating endeavor, I was escorted to my room. I was shocked when noticing the bars on my bedroom window. This place was beginning to feel like a prison. I cried all night, but no staff dared to comfort me.<\/p>\n
In the morning, a staff told me that I\u2019d lost points for becoming emotionally unstable. I immediately questioned his use of the word points. He explained to me how all the children were graded on their behavior every hour of the day. If you didn\u2019t make enough points, you wouldn\u2019t be allowed to go outside, play games during free time, wear your own clothes, or have personal items. I then asked how this system was supposed to be helpful. I lost another point for speaking without permission. I felt so lost.<\/p>\n
My first week was spent meeting doctors, taking sedatives, and watching a lot of cartoon networks. It was eternal hell. When my parents came to visit, I cried, wanting them to take me home. Once again, I lost points. Eventually, I was discharged. I wish I could say this was the end of my journey.<\/p>\n
A week after my first discharge, I was readmitted. During my second admission, I began to have outbursts. I was being drugged day and night. The drugs increased my anger. I was in constant emotional agony. After five weeks of extreme dysregulation, I was taken off of my medications. I recovered quickly and was soon after discharged. I began the school year at a special ed school.<\/p>\n
Despite all of the support available, I struggled to socialize and control my anxiety. Panic attacks took place daily. I became psychotic. My psychiatrist prescribed drug after drug. No one could recognize me anymore.<\/p>\n
My parents met with an educational consultant who provided \u201cthe best solution” – Lake House Academy for girls. After reviewing their website and meeting some staff from the program, I was completely on board with the plan.<\/p>\n
Upon arrival, my parents were instructed to leave. After a teary goodbye, I was on my own. My belongings were searched. I met my roommates, all of whom complained about my arrival. I began asking the staff for things I needed: water, food, medication, a phone call, a shower. They laughed in my face, declaring that those were all privileges. I was beaten on a regular basis. I went to bed every night fearing the morning.<\/p>\n
My therapist instructed me to lie to my family. I was not allowed to speak freely on phone calls or even in family therapy. I was not allowed to use the restroom unsupervised. If I resisted strip searches or moved without permission, I was brutally restrained. The staff would roll me onto my side and punch me continually until I was bleeding and hysterical. Therapy appointments consisted of gaslighting and victim-blaming from an unqualified therapist. I was accused of being a drug user despite the lack of medical evidence.<\/p>\n
After months of this torture, I attempted suicide. The next day, I was taken from the academy to a mental hospital in Ashville. I was finally safe. The hospital provided three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, running water, private toilets, open communication, and adequate medical care. My suffering had not been in vain\u2026 or at least I thought.<\/p>\n
Instead of bringing me home, my parents decided to send me to another facility: UNI. I was admitted to the adolescent Comprehensive Assessment Treatment (CAT) program. Upon arrival, the staff ordered the other kids to ostracize me. The staff verbally abused me. My new therapist was even worse than my last one. I could barely manage to keep up with the pain and terror they inflicted. I went into a period of selective mutism.<\/p>\n
The only times a spoke were on my five-minute calls with my parents. I regret not using that precious time begging my parents to take me home or explaining the horrific abuse they were sentencing me to endure. I didn\u2019t want to hurt them any further than I already had. I became preoccupied with the fantasy of going home to my loving family and adequate life. This fantasy calmed me beyond words.<\/p>\n
After UNI, I was transported to a NATSAP school in Arizona. At first, things were going relatively well. We were given countless responsibilities such as taking care of the horses, fixing the dorms, yard work, cooking, cleaning, and school. These tasks kept us occupied throughout the day. I was exhausted, but overall there wasn\u2019t much to complain about. Besides open communication, all of my basic needs were met. I had no idea that my new therapist was going to turn my life into hell.<\/p>\n
After a few weeks of getting adjusted, I started regular therapy. My therapist convinced me that I broke my family. She told me I was worthless. She forced me to believe I\u2019d never live an adequate life. My communication privileges were denied. She made me believe I didn\u2019t deserve to be loved. She broke me. After noticing several red flags, my parents pulled me from the program. I never truly understood the cruelty of my abusers. My low self-esteem tricked me into believing every word of their crushing lies.<\/p>\n
Over a year later, I have grown to understand my trauma. I have grown to understand and embrace myself. I speak out against the programs that imprisoned me for financial benefits. I no longer cower in fear at the thought of debunking their lies.<\/p>\n