Emily B. Says:
February 1, 2016 at 5:52 am 

January 2015, I was brought to Midwest Academy. My doctor, knowing my frequent hospital visits and my trouble with psychosis and depression, recommended the home in hopes I would rebuild myself to be a happier and healthier person. When I came to Midwest,  I loved it. Miss. Layani, the directors wife, invited me to join her case load with only two other girls. She quickly became the mom I never had as mine was abusive and left. I fell in love with the program and the upper level girls. I did, of course,  notice things that were unusual. Like why no student outside of upper levels could look in the mysterious room that a heavy door protected that screams often came from. Or where kids went when they acted up or even why we were not allowed to talk to our families. I moved up quickly and within my first week and a half, became a level two. I felt great. That is until the day it all changed. One day, a thirteen year old girl was talking, which is against the rules. Two large men were brought in as a request of the staff. This girl, who could not have weighed over 100 pounds, was slammed against the table and picked up and taken out of the room into the mysterious room. I was shocked. That other girl was on miss. Layani’s caseload to. Where was Miss. Layani? I requested to see her. I told her when I saw her that day about what had happened. She didn’t look surprised. Instead she told me not to be like that girl and bad things wouldn’t happen. I felt trapped. I couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t call home. So I tried to get to a place where I could. I attempted to jump from the stairway railing that night. Instead of the hospital, I was restrained and dragged by the same men. I tried to fight them but my arm was twisted so hard by them I was afraid it was going to snap. I became really scared as we approached the mysterious door. I then saw inside rows of boxes, actual iscolation boxes with one way handles and 24 hour video streaming attached to a large computer over seeing all the boxes. Inside each box is nothing but concrete walls painted white. No bed, nothing but walls. I was thrown into a small, dark box where I was kept overnight. The next morning Miss. Layani came to see me. As she pulled me out, I saw the little thirteen year old girl on the computer screen inside a replica of my box.  Miss. Layani told me since I was so good, she would let me out without having to follow normal procedure. When I returned to the normal program, I was an outcast. As the weeks went on I stayed quiet until I decided upon my next move. I punched a girl for trying to take me to the box. I figured jail would give me a phonecall, as well as freedom from the academy. Yet, I was dragged back to the box. No one came to see me for weeks. So I asked the staff watching the computer how to get out. She told me I had to sit in a staff approved position for 24 hours, then write a 6,000 word essay on why I loved the academy. Then the clinical team would think about releasing me. I did that. Time after time I would go to the box for everything from talking to fighting all to be let out and put back at zero points every time. One day, I was escorted to a small room where I, for the first time in months, saw my dad. But something was wrong. He told me,  he was given five minutes to say a script that Miss. Layani had prepared. That was the only way he could see me. I wanted to see him more so I gave up fighting the program and became level two again. I was at level three points when I realized what a level three requirement was. In order to make it to level three and keep level three,  you have to make sure no one in the box escapes. You are responsible for restraining, and watching the person in the box. I wanted to vomit. The night I found out about it,  I attacked the girl who had watched my friend in the box. I was thrown back into the box but this time I was kept there for two months. After the months, they transfered me to the boys side boxes for better security. On my way, I pretended to be tired. My escorts, gripping both my arms,  were my age and around the same size. I attacked them and ran at the only door I could. I was immediately pinned down by a female staff when I fought back and got up. I was almost fully up when I was tazed in the neck and picked up and locked behind the box once again. I cried so hard. I’ll never forget that feeling. Like no one in the world can hear you. Days turned into weeks without seeing anyone. Just me and the four walls. I stopped eating, resulting in a fifteen pound weightloss. I weighed 124 before the weight was lost. I came out of the box in bones. I gave up. I did what I had to do but I had no energy,  no motivation, no feeling. My only drive to get up each day was another day closer to being eighteen and able to go to a homeless shelter and leave. I would cry every night. One night I grabbed whatever last bit of energy I had and tried to fight one of the girls. I lost. Every staff came over and restrained me. I was nothing but bones, but I was expressed as dangerous to everyone by the staff. The next morning, I was let out and escorted to the bathroom. I grabbed a bottle cap I found on the table on my way back and went back into the box. I thought, “This is it, I’m going to end this.” And made deep cuts on my arm. I was pinned back but they were to late. Blood was everywhere. They called the ambulance. Within an hour, I was brought to the hospital where the nightmare ended. I begged to go to an inpatient. The doctor prayed over me and sent me to Saint Luke’s 3 east youth inpatient. That night,  the nurses gave me a radio and for the first time in seven months, I could listen to music and talk to my dad. They gave me alot of hot chocolate and stayed up with me on the nights when I would get my voices. One nurse,  would even bring in movies and talk with me every day about how I was doing. I began to get my strength back. They took photographs of the bruises that went up and down my neck and arms. One day I was playing four square with the other kids admitted when I was brought down to a small room where to my horror, Miss. Layani was sitting. I backed out and asked a staff to come with me. They sent not one, but two amazing nurses to help me in dealing with this. Miss. Layani smiled and tried to hug me as of nothing had happened. After the talk I was presented with two options, go back to Midwest and have a fresh start, or take my chances and go to a different program that could potentially be worse. I told her I would never see her again. When the meeting finished, Miss. Layani requested to see me alone to say goodbye. As I walked in, she hugged me and cried. Then she told me,  “Listen to me. You do whatever the next program asks nomatter what your opinion is so you can go home and this can be over. I love you.” I never saw her again. A week later I was sent to Midwest Center for family and youth where I stayed for a month and a half before being released and sent home. Currently, the psychosis that Midwest’s doctor said would never go away, dissapered. I have no voices, no depression and I’m even graduating in a month from high school. And I have a job. I have friends, and I wake up each day excited. For a long time after the incedent, I dealt with nightmares and panic attacks about the box. But my best friend and I work through those everyday. I couldn’t be more thankful to the people involved in shutting down Midwest Acedemy. I would still be there if I had not cut. Now all of those kids are free.

Commented on Midwest Academy’s WWASP Program Page