My Mountain Park story

I was not a bad kid, really. I got good grades in school. I had friends. But like any kid, I thought my parents were crazy, so if they told me no, the more I said yes. I ran away in the fall of 1993, got pregnant, and stayed gone with no contact to my family for almost a year. When my parents found me, 2000 miles away from home, they picked me up, handcuffed me and drove me to Mountain Park, about 8 hours. They lied to me about where we were going. They said, we will take you home, and if you are good, we will go to Magic Mountain. I was 13. We stopped at about 2 AM. I was told it was a bed and breakfast of some friends of theirs from church. I walked in, and with the pictures of the Wills on the wall, and the pink carpet, I believed it. Even when I walked into the front dining hall, and saw Mr. and Mrs. Wills standing there with Michelle, Rebecca and Jill, I thought that the girls were their daughters. I even analyzed them. Rebecca was the favorite, the good girl. Michelle was the slutty, disobedient one, and Jill was the one who could never live up to what the parents wanted.

My mom said, “we have brought you here to get you back to God.” I just stared at her. I could have killed her right then. Get back to God? I never was with God. With that, they left me with these strangers, who lead me down a long hallway to some showers. I had to undress in front of them, clean myself, give them my clothes, and put a lice lotion on. “A lot of girls here had diseases, and crabs, and we don’t want you spreading your diseases.” Fair enough, I thought. This must be one of those 1-week rehab homes. No sweat. I don’t need rehab, and I can run away in the morning. I am a human, I have rights. They can not hold me against my will. That was the story at every other shelter I had been in before. I always could run away, because I was no criminal. Rebecca informed me that she was to be my orientation guide, and she would see me in the morning. I was put on a top bunk and told to go to sleep.

In the morning, I met my actual orientation guide, Nina. She told me she had been there 8 months. “It goes by so fast, and the Lord has saved my life.” Yada yada yada. I talked to more girls, and the same story. 6 months to two years. Boy was I in for it. But I can still run away, because I have rights. Nope. I tried to run away that night, but I was caught, and beaten 10 times with a wooden paddle. All the girls laughed at me as I was beaten. They listened through the glass. No one would explain to me what was going on. All I wanted to know was what was happening. It was such an empty and alone feeling. But I was not allowed to cry. I tried to play dead, but I was beaten for that as well. They told me I cheated in my PACEs, and I was beaten. I did not know how to cheat, as I had only been there for about 2 weeks. I learned the game, and I played it. I played it the best I could, because I had too strong of a will to be kept there until I was 18.

They kept me on orientation for 7 months. I went through a lot of guides, but Nina was always there, ruining my life. She was always yelling at me, and telling me how bad I was, and how much better she was. She drug me around, some times physically. I had several other orientation guides, junior workers mostly. But Nina was always there too. To her I was “hateful” and I was her project, to mold a little Nina. Did not work. I remember when one girl, who is now or last I remember a worker, got there, and she threw a fit. I remember all the girls would laugh at the girls who threw a fit. And the girls would laugh at the little girls with their baby chairs. The “losers.” The innocent little girls who just got sent away. But they were the popular girls, who would kiss the butts of the workers just to get privileges. Not that I blame them.

Everyone had to do what they did to make it tolerable. But a lot of people hurt me, besides the staff. Everyone laughed at me. No one cared that it was killing me to be there. Every day a part of me died being locked up in that brick building. Having to be put on the diet. I was a size 6, and I was put on the diet. Rachel Gerhardt (owners’ granddaughter) was bigger than me! I remember having to go through the stupid ridiculous drama of Bo Gerhardt (owners’ grandson) and Melissa. Bo and Julie. God what a waste of my teenage years, listening to Rachel talking about herself all the time I remember all of the Washington girls. There were so many people who I still love dearly. There are people who I will always hate for being so mean to me. But we were all in it together. Trying to play the game to keep from getting paddled, being put back on orientation, lines, etc. How terrible that we grew up in fear, instead of like normal kids.

I remember Mountain Park would always try to say that they were giving us a chance to be real kids. None of the real kids I knew grew up living in fear of being put in a cool group. Just by talking to the “wrong” person. But you know what? I would rather have had it said about me that I was in a cool group, and I did not back down, then for it to be said that I was fake. It was never said about me that I was a fantastic Christian testimony. I believe in God. But not Mountain Park’s god.

I live my life daily for my family. I don’t think God intends for us to spend our lives in church with a bunch of backstabbers who are nice on Sunday and just like everyone else every other day. I choose to enjoy God’s world, going on road trips and looking at all of the beauty. Riding our dirtbikes and experiencing all that is given to us. I have nightmares a lot that I have been sent back and can’t get out. But I am out, and I am free, and no on will ever take that away from me again. Every day I look at my husband and my son, and I listen to my music. My music has been such an amazing source of comfort for me. Almost like Mountain Park forced me to be part of something, but that something was not real. But my music and my family are real.

I had my first visit at banquet in May 1995. My mom came out and fixed girls’ dresses, helped out around doing everything. I only got to leave to go to the dentist. I was a flight risk. My second visit was the same thing, except it was for Christmas. My parents came out, but I still was not at home. My third visit we went to Disney World. It was my first overnight away from Mountain Park. The “administration” at the school suggested that I not be allowed out until I turned eighteen. Fortunately, my parents made up their own mind. On my fourth visit, I finally got to go home. I was there for two weeks. During that time, my mom and dad decided that they wanted me home and told me I would be coming home in December. I was so happy! We found a church and a school for me to go to, and I was sent back to do one more half-year.

I informed one of the teachers, against my mother’s warning, that my parents told me I would be going home in December. I told her in confidence, because I was feeling very confused. This hell had been my home for two years, and I was not sure how to adjust. She told the rest of the staff. On a visit to the Washington support group, Mr. Wills stood up in front of the Washington parents and said something to the effect of, “You parents are not supposed to tell your children when they are coming home. One of you has broken the rules and we do not appreciate it.” My mother then advised Mountain Park that she would be bringing me home in two weeks. She did.

When I was told I was coming home, I did not cry. I was ecstatic. I finished my goals for the day, and asked one of the workers, Mary, if I could go and get a book, as I did not want to proceed any more in my PACEs because I knew I would be starting school elsewhere. She said no, and for me to go do my schoolwork. I told her I did not want to because I was going home. She told me that she was surprised because I did not seem upset to be leaving. That was part of their brainwashing also. They told you that you should be sad to leave there. You should beg your parents not to bring you home! Fat chance! I counted the minutes until my mom got there to pick me up. Honestly, I thank God with every year that I get older because it is one more year that I was not there.

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