This testimony was found on Yelp made by a father to one of girls, the facility had in their custody. All rights goes to the original author.
This place is not only a prison for the girls attending there, but more disturbingly believes they have the legal right to keep one parent from talking with their child at all, let alone visiting them. Oh they will try to point to confusing court documents submitted by the other parent, but when in doubt, or even when no doubt, their policy is the PAYING parent, the admitting parent controls ALL contact the young adult is allowed. So in cases of divorce that means if the mother admitted their daughter not only can the mother prevent the father from ANY contact with her, but also her paternal grand parents, aunts, uncles, etc... as well as the young lady's best friends. That means not only phone calls & visits, but also letters, cards and gifts! Impossible in America! you say! It has happened to my daughter. 100% contact from any past friends or paternal relatives blocked not by court orders, but by Uinta Academy personnel simply because mother wanted it that way. And it's been that way for over ONE YEAR now. Sadly, that's despite our daughter's attempt to reach out to her father & father's family over a year ago, so this is 100% about the paying parent's will, not the child's desire or needs. And if the young lady speaks up about her desires, her needs, her wants of ANY kind that doesn't fit within the institution's definition of healthy requests, they control all privileges, this is brain washing, mind control, behavioral reprogramming of the most insidious kind. If I had had the $'s we would have taken these abuses all the way to the Supreme Court if need be... it's only a matter of time before someone does. Thank God! Girls imprisoned in such an environment become hopeless and therefore the police record of reports for this "prison" reveals multiple suicide attempts and girls that run away. Don't take my word for how manipulative and controlling the absolute power is that this prison exercises over their "patients", the young ladies that went there say it better than I ever could,
"...i was sent to Uinta for 10 months for depression basically, and from first hand experience, i know the program worked for some girls, but i hated it and did exactly what i had to do to get out of there. i never really got in trouble because i just wanted to go home, but because of that i have had to totally compromise who i am, i lost all my creativity, fire, passion, and leadership spirit, i am now to shy and quiet and scared to even just go out and hang out wth friends, being forced to do everything we had to their made me less of a person and i will never forget that. please never send your kids here, they might benefit but i've seen heard and experienced my self and others horrible stories of how they will never be the same. i still have nightmares every night that girls from uinta are constantly in, and its horrifyingly haunting...".
"...i attended this place for 1 year and it sounds beautiful, it looks beautiful, but to be on the inside is a whole different world, the staff were mean and cruel and broke me down till i felt like a shell of a person, for the sake of your child please dont send them here, i would of been much happier in a rehab or honestly, jail!"
"...i went there. its awful. i tried to kill myself because it was so awful. been to 12 treatment centers. it was the worst. jeff simpson is a con artist. i ran away 2 times. the staff are mean and rude. people there do not care about the girls. just the money..."
Sources:
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Testimony from Mountain Park Academy in Missouri
We just learned that one of the men who were convicted of killing William Andrew Futrelle II in 1996 has died in prison. In cases where students have tried or succeeded in killing another student just to end up in prison instead people are often asking: Why? How can it be so gruesome to be at a boarding school that the only option seems to take another persons life? Mountain Park was no especially bad. It was just a normal religious boarding school as they still exist today. So it is just a matter of time before the next tragedy happens. Two men ended up in prison as result of the murder and one family never got their son back.
Should it not be the time where Missouri intervenes and demands oversight over religious boarding school so students are not restricted to their campus but can get weekend off from day one to spend in the community? Of course. We are speaking 2015. The murder happended decades ago and nothing has happen. Here is a testimony from a girl who attended the boarding school at the same time of the murder:
I don't remember much, having blocked a lot out and from the effects of the thorazine, but here's what i do remember:
I left for Mountain Park on August 25, 1995. My parents and I were driving from Florida, and it took us 2 days to get there. I knew that I was going to a boarding school, and I even knew that it was a "Christian" school. I had no problems with that, I was raised a Catholic (sort of) and I thought that God was alright. I was 13 when my parents decided to send me there. I wasn't an awful kid, but I was back talking, I failed science (a big deal for a 7th grader), and I was getting into shoplifting from the local stores. My best friend at the time, who I considered much wiser than I, had gone to a European boarding school, and typical of 7th grade, I wanted to out do her. So of course, when my parents broached the subject of a boarding school for me, I jumped at it. What did I know?? Anyways, we left home and made the trip to the Ozarks.
On August 28, 1995, we drove up to the school that would become my hell. I remember that I was wearing a black skirt, a wildly printed black silk shirt, and black heels. I remember thinking, "This won't be so bad. These people seem nice." When my parents came down to say goodbye, I hugged and kissed them, not knowing it would be the last time I would see them for four months.
No one was out right mean to me the first few days, and I think that was because I was too scared to hardly talk to anyone. I do remember after the first shower I took there I wanted to "scrunch" my hair, because it's naturally curly, and I was told that I wasn't allowed to do that. I thought it was strange, but I agreed.
I cried a lot my first couple of days, and in one of the first letters I wrote home, I said that the water spot on the page was real tears (it was) and I was crying them because I hated my parents for leaving me there. That was when I got labeled as a troublemaker and a crybaby. From that day on, everything changed. I was not longer the "girl they would have no trouble with". I became the child from hell that needed to be taught a lesson. If I was ever seen in public crying, I was ridiculed. If I ever wrote a letter home asking why I was there, I was ridiculed.
I remember the incident that cemented my humiliation and degradation. Before I left home for MP, I had my hair cut and I had bought a shampoo that doubled as a body wash. (I still remember that it smelled like bubble gum.) I got out of the shower one day after using it as both and the shower monitor noticed that the bag with my bar of soap in it was still dry. My OG looked as if she wanted to die because she had a "dirty" new student. I was taken to Mama's office where I tried to explain that I could use it as both, but they just laughed me off. I even tried to show them the bottle, but they would have none of it. Debbie said that if I wasn't going to wash myself that she would wash me. I told her that I did wash and she said I was lying, and I got my first swats. Ten, to be exact. Then to top it off, she took me to the showers in First Dorm and made me get back in where she proceeded to watch me as I showered again. She also said that I had bruises on me from the paddle and that was a good thing because maybe whenever I sat down I would remember that I would get punished for lying. Needless to say, they decided that I was not to be trusted anymore. That is also when I got the famed "soap-box necklace" and the baby chair. They told me that if I couldn't bathe like an adult, I needed to be reminded by the soap boxes around my neck and that I needed to sit on a chair to remind myself that I was a baby who couldn't wash. Talk about humiliation. I was forced to wear and carry those things for at least a month. I can't remember how many times I stood up in church and said that I got "saved" or that I "rededicated" my life to God. One night Sam even said to me, "Are you sure this is for real? Are you ready to get rid of the soap-boxes?" Even now, I cringe.
On the coveted day that I gained my "freedom" as a single girl, I swore to myself that I would stay out of trouble. I don't remember what I did to get in trouble again, but once again, I found myself in trouble. This time, though, they told me I had to write the word hateful 5000 times. I thought that then, I would be home free. Little did I know that my life, as I knew it even at MP, was about to change.
From that time on, no matter what I did, I got in trouble. I was on silence, I had a baby chair, you name it, they did it. I was on "silence" for months, not allowed to talk to anyone but staff.
I remember when Will Futrelle was killed. (For those who don't know, Will was part of a group that planned to take over the school. He changed his mind and the other boys didn't want him to tell, so they murdered him.) It hit home for me because I was from Boca Raton too. I didn't know him, but some of the other Florida girls did. I felt bad for them.
When Child Protective Services (CPS) came to the school to interview us, I was so nervous that I nearly forgot my name because I didn't want to say anything negative towards the school and get into more trouble than ususal. The second time they came, which was about 3 or 4 months later, I had my first interview with them and then I was called back for a second interview because one of the other girls (I know now she was trying to look our for me) had said that I was treated badly. I was so scared that they were going to take me out of the school that I just cried and begged to be let go. When they dismissed me I went crying back to the dorm where I was promptly told to quit crying because no one wanted to take me away. I wasn't important enough.
When my mother finally realized all that was going on, and to the extent that it was, she told the school that she was coming to get me. At the time, I had a perpetual writing assignment from Mama. I was to write 200 lines a day, for 7 consecutive days. If I missed a day, I had to start all over. This had been going on for probably 2 months, and I had been told I was not allowed to exercise with the others, or go swimming. I went from 136 lbs. up to 150 lbs. in 2 months. The day my mother took me out of that hell-hole would have been my 7th day of writing lines. Ironic, isn't it? I also was not told until she was an hour away that I was going home. I panicked. I didn't think I was ready to go home!! On August 18, 1997, my mother rescued me from the hell that was, and is, MP.
When I first got home, I had to go to public school, because my parents were broke from MP and couldn't afford my church's school (HCA). What a culture shock. It was there that I learned about all I had missed in the last 2 years. I learned about OJ, the internet, Princess Di, and a multitude of other things, from an 11 year old, the only person I felt I could relate to. I was 15, and I was being taught by an 11 year old. By the end of my sophomore year, I was back in my shorts, my jeans, and trying to figure out who I was away from MP. Because I was bitter about MP, and because I had never really changed, I went right back to my "old" self. I transferred to HCA my junior year, and things started looking up. I made some friends and started to come around. However, I could not believe that I was not worthless and insignificant, as all at MP had told me.
Since I have left there, I have been diagnosed as bi-polar. This diagnosis only came after attempting suicide. With the help of some very good friends, I once again started the climb back up the self-esteem ladder. It has not been easy, and many of these memories I would have liked to have forgotten completely, but for the sake of other girls going through what I went through, I must tell my story. Now I am married, with a wonderful husband who loves and supports me, a beautiful baby boy, and a wonderful relationship with my mom which has become my lifeline. I am on meds now, to help balance my moods and control the depression. It helps, but it's still hard. For a long time, I blocked MP. I didn't want to remember the hell. Now, as the can of worms is opened around them, I realize that the person I was before, as far as my self confidence went; well, that person will return some day. For the rest of me, that's gone. I can't get my innocence back. I can't erase the permanent marks made both on my body and on my soul from this hell, but I can sure try to stop them from hurting someone else. I'm sorry if this is long-winded, but I wrote what I felt I needed to be said. My love and prayers go to all the other survivors out there. Let's stick together to end the hell we all lived.
Rebecca XXXX
student from 95-97
After the closure of this boarding school in 2004, the employees took jobs in similar schools all over Missouri working just the same as they did at Mountain Park.
Sources:
Should it not be the time where Missouri intervenes and demands oversight over religious boarding school so students are not restricted to their campus but can get weekend off from day one to spend in the community? Of course. We are speaking 2015. The murder happended decades ago and nothing has happen. Here is a testimony from a girl who attended the boarding school at the same time of the murder:
I don't remember much, having blocked a lot out and from the effects of the thorazine, but here's what i do remember:
I left for Mountain Park on August 25, 1995. My parents and I were driving from Florida, and it took us 2 days to get there. I knew that I was going to a boarding school, and I even knew that it was a "Christian" school. I had no problems with that, I was raised a Catholic (sort of) and I thought that God was alright. I was 13 when my parents decided to send me there. I wasn't an awful kid, but I was back talking, I failed science (a big deal for a 7th grader), and I was getting into shoplifting from the local stores. My best friend at the time, who I considered much wiser than I, had gone to a European boarding school, and typical of 7th grade, I wanted to out do her. So of course, when my parents broached the subject of a boarding school for me, I jumped at it. What did I know?? Anyways, we left home and made the trip to the Ozarks.
On August 28, 1995, we drove up to the school that would become my hell. I remember that I was wearing a black skirt, a wildly printed black silk shirt, and black heels. I remember thinking, "This won't be so bad. These people seem nice." When my parents came down to say goodbye, I hugged and kissed them, not knowing it would be the last time I would see them for four months.
No one was out right mean to me the first few days, and I think that was because I was too scared to hardly talk to anyone. I do remember after the first shower I took there I wanted to "scrunch" my hair, because it's naturally curly, and I was told that I wasn't allowed to do that. I thought it was strange, but I agreed.
I cried a lot my first couple of days, and in one of the first letters I wrote home, I said that the water spot on the page was real tears (it was) and I was crying them because I hated my parents for leaving me there. That was when I got labeled as a troublemaker and a crybaby. From that day on, everything changed. I was not longer the "girl they would have no trouble with". I became the child from hell that needed to be taught a lesson. If I was ever seen in public crying, I was ridiculed. If I ever wrote a letter home asking why I was there, I was ridiculed.
I remember the incident that cemented my humiliation and degradation. Before I left home for MP, I had my hair cut and I had bought a shampoo that doubled as a body wash. (I still remember that it smelled like bubble gum.) I got out of the shower one day after using it as both and the shower monitor noticed that the bag with my bar of soap in it was still dry. My OG looked as if she wanted to die because she had a "dirty" new student. I was taken to Mama's office where I tried to explain that I could use it as both, but they just laughed me off. I even tried to show them the bottle, but they would have none of it. Debbie said that if I wasn't going to wash myself that she would wash me. I told her that I did wash and she said I was lying, and I got my first swats. Ten, to be exact. Then to top it off, she took me to the showers in First Dorm and made me get back in where she proceeded to watch me as I showered again. She also said that I had bruises on me from the paddle and that was a good thing because maybe whenever I sat down I would remember that I would get punished for lying. Needless to say, they decided that I was not to be trusted anymore. That is also when I got the famed "soap-box necklace" and the baby chair. They told me that if I couldn't bathe like an adult, I needed to be reminded by the soap boxes around my neck and that I needed to sit on a chair to remind myself that I was a baby who couldn't wash. Talk about humiliation. I was forced to wear and carry those things for at least a month. I can't remember how many times I stood up in church and said that I got "saved" or that I "rededicated" my life to God. One night Sam even said to me, "Are you sure this is for real? Are you ready to get rid of the soap-boxes?" Even now, I cringe.
On the coveted day that I gained my "freedom" as a single girl, I swore to myself that I would stay out of trouble. I don't remember what I did to get in trouble again, but once again, I found myself in trouble. This time, though, they told me I had to write the word hateful 5000 times. I thought that then, I would be home free. Little did I know that my life, as I knew it even at MP, was about to change.
From that time on, no matter what I did, I got in trouble. I was on silence, I had a baby chair, you name it, they did it. I was on "silence" for months, not allowed to talk to anyone but staff.
I remember when Will Futrelle was killed. (For those who don't know, Will was part of a group that planned to take over the school. He changed his mind and the other boys didn't want him to tell, so they murdered him.) It hit home for me because I was from Boca Raton too. I didn't know him, but some of the other Florida girls did. I felt bad for them.
When Child Protective Services (CPS) came to the school to interview us, I was so nervous that I nearly forgot my name because I didn't want to say anything negative towards the school and get into more trouble than ususal. The second time they came, which was about 3 or 4 months later, I had my first interview with them and then I was called back for a second interview because one of the other girls (I know now she was trying to look our for me) had said that I was treated badly. I was so scared that they were going to take me out of the school that I just cried and begged to be let go. When they dismissed me I went crying back to the dorm where I was promptly told to quit crying because no one wanted to take me away. I wasn't important enough.
When my mother finally realized all that was going on, and to the extent that it was, she told the school that she was coming to get me. At the time, I had a perpetual writing assignment from Mama. I was to write 200 lines a day, for 7 consecutive days. If I missed a day, I had to start all over. This had been going on for probably 2 months, and I had been told I was not allowed to exercise with the others, or go swimming. I went from 136 lbs. up to 150 lbs. in 2 months. The day my mother took me out of that hell-hole would have been my 7th day of writing lines. Ironic, isn't it? I also was not told until she was an hour away that I was going home. I panicked. I didn't think I was ready to go home!! On August 18, 1997, my mother rescued me from the hell that was, and is, MP.
When I first got home, I had to go to public school, because my parents were broke from MP and couldn't afford my church's school (HCA). What a culture shock. It was there that I learned about all I had missed in the last 2 years. I learned about OJ, the internet, Princess Di, and a multitude of other things, from an 11 year old, the only person I felt I could relate to. I was 15, and I was being taught by an 11 year old. By the end of my sophomore year, I was back in my shorts, my jeans, and trying to figure out who I was away from MP. Because I was bitter about MP, and because I had never really changed, I went right back to my "old" self. I transferred to HCA my junior year, and things started looking up. I made some friends and started to come around. However, I could not believe that I was not worthless and insignificant, as all at MP had told me.
Since I have left there, I have been diagnosed as bi-polar. This diagnosis only came after attempting suicide. With the help of some very good friends, I once again started the climb back up the self-esteem ladder. It has not been easy, and many of these memories I would have liked to have forgotten completely, but for the sake of other girls going through what I went through, I must tell my story. Now I am married, with a wonderful husband who loves and supports me, a beautiful baby boy, and a wonderful relationship with my mom which has become my lifeline. I am on meds now, to help balance my moods and control the depression. It helps, but it's still hard. For a long time, I blocked MP. I didn't want to remember the hell. Now, as the can of worms is opened around them, I realize that the person I was before, as far as my self confidence went; well, that person will return some day. For the rest of me, that's gone. I can't get my innocence back. I can't erase the permanent marks made both on my body and on my soul from this hell, but I can sure try to stop them from hurting someone else. I'm sorry if this is long-winded, but I wrote what I felt I needed to be said. My love and prayers go to all the other survivors out there. Let's stick together to end the hell we all lived.
Rebecca XXXX
student from 95-97
After the closure of this boarding school in 2004, the employees took jobs in similar schools all over Missouri working just the same as they did at Mountain Park.
Sources:
- stories from a "gulag" school (The original testimony on a message board)
- Man convicted as a teen of murder at Missouri boarding school dies (The Missouri Net)
- Factsheet about the school (Fornits Wiki)
Sunday, August 9, 2015
A sister about her siblings stay at Project PATCH
This testimony was found in a comment to an article in the magezine Craked. All rights goes the original author.
I know the name of the facility/cult. They go by Project PATCH. I know this because my sister suffered the abuse at that very facility. It is run by a Seventh Day Adventist group, and among the ranks are child abusers, including one man who was convicted of kidnapping and raping a kid there (one my sis made friends with at the time). His name was Ryan something, it's Google-able.
They stripped her of her clothing and gave her a sheet when she tried to run away. They made her work until her hands bled. She was chastised for weeping. The leader frequently had little girls sit on his lap and stared down the chests of the young teenage girls. Luckily, my mother figured out something was very wrong and pulled her out, but they fought. They fought to silence her, too. She has full blown PTSD and cries frequently. She thinks about it daily. The other torture victims she befriended included five girls, all of whom ended up in some form of prostitution and addicted to drugs.
My sister dissolved into tears reading this. I confess that I cried, too, but I also had some happy tears in there, because it's confirmation that we weren't crazy. My mother sometimes cries herself to sleep over the guilt of trying to do the right thing, and instead having inadvertently caused the daughter she loves so much so much pain and anguish. We've all been through therapy. And despite having a convicted child kidnapper and rapist on board, and being sued for everything they are worth, they still operate. It brings me to tears from time to time. The pain is so visible in my sibling's eyes. It kills me.
TL;DR---The place in the story is called Project PATCH, and my sister was a prisoner there for some months. Every allegation is true, if not somehow played down. A staff member raped a kid there and yet the place still stands.
Sources:
I know the name of the facility/cult. They go by Project PATCH. I know this because my sister suffered the abuse at that very facility. It is run by a Seventh Day Adventist group, and among the ranks are child abusers, including one man who was convicted of kidnapping and raping a kid there (one my sis made friends with at the time). His name was Ryan something, it's Google-able.
They stripped her of her clothing and gave her a sheet when she tried to run away. They made her work until her hands bled. She was chastised for weeping. The leader frequently had little girls sit on his lap and stared down the chests of the young teenage girls. Luckily, my mother figured out something was very wrong and pulled her out, but they fought. They fought to silence her, too. She has full blown PTSD and cries frequently. She thinks about it daily. The other torture victims she befriended included five girls, all of whom ended up in some form of prostitution and addicted to drugs.
My sister dissolved into tears reading this. I confess that I cried, too, but I also had some happy tears in there, because it's confirmation that we weren't crazy. My mother sometimes cries herself to sleep over the guilt of trying to do the right thing, and instead having inadvertently caused the daughter she loves so much so much pain and anguish. We've all been through therapy. And despite having a convicted child kidnapper and rapist on board, and being sued for everything they are worth, they still operate. It brings me to tears from time to time. The pain is so visible in my sibling's eyes. It kills me.
TL;DR---The place in the story is called Project PATCH, and my sister was a prisoner there for some months. Every allegation is true, if not somehow played down. A staff member raped a kid there and yet the place still stands.
Sources:
- The article with the comment
- Factsheet of the program (Fornits Wiki)
- Any info on Project PATCH or Cove Creek? (Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora )
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