was a lonely, troubled teenager struggling with attention deficit disorder and depression. She had been sexually abused for years by a relative.
I woke up on a long downward slope with no idea where I was. A two-lane road stretched to the bottom of the hill, then up the other side. My two uncles and parents had picked me up from Four Winds, an adolescent psychiatric facility, after lunch. My parents were in one car, my uncles in another.My parents were scared of me, I’ve been told. They brought my uncles for muscle.A dirty farmhouse, siding missing and windows wrapped in plastic, hovered over a steep rise. I panicked.
They kicked me a duffel bag. “Put those on,” they said. Inside there were two sweatshirts, a couple of shirts, underwear, socks, two pairs of pants. I had arrived around 4:00 p.m.; by now it was time for dinner. The girls walked me to the second floor of the main building.The wait staff, also teens, brought out our dinners: two stuffed peppers, one red, one yellow. I stared at my plate. I was starving but nauseous from the fear. And I hate peppers.
When he was done, they went to the next adult, and the next. Each took a turn insulting and degrading me, even though they’d never met me.“You’re a slut, Lizzy,” a boy said. “You have a stinky vagina. It’s disgusting. I can smell it from here.”“You’re selfish, Lizzy,” a girl said sadly.“You’re a sinner, Lizzy,” another girl said. “You don’t deserve forgiveness. But if you follow the program and believe in the Family way, you won’t die.
So I made a searching and fearless moral inventory: I ran away with a group of boys to ride bikes. I hit my sister. I hated my mother. I skipped school. I didn’t talk to my therapist.I thought up a few more true things. I was kicked out of school. I had a bad attitude. I hit my mother. I screamed at my father. I smoked cigarettes a few times. I sipped a beer.