Mr. Trebach:

My experience with KIDS of Bergen County began in March of 1986 and ended when I was nearly eighteen in 1988. I came from an extremely abusive, religious family and was raised by my mother, step-father, and grandmother. My grandmother had been my protector for years and when she was forced to leave our home, I ran away myself, for the seventh time. The significance of these events is what led my parents and hundreds like them to become desperate enough to seek out a facility like KIDS. In retrospect, what I saw from most everyone involved was a quiet desperation for their family's pain to be healed. And even my own physically abusive parents wanted that.

After living with relatives for six months, struggling with depression and thoughts of suicide, I was hospitalized twice. The last time, I was transferred directly from St. Luke's in New York City to the KIDS program in Hackensack, NJ. I never had time to comprehend what was happening and only knew that my family had found a "home" for me, finally. I went through the intake process like so many others for hours, answering questions. Ultimately, the KIDS staff realized they had a problem. I had no drug history. No alcohol history. No violent history. No sexual history, either. Neither of my parents could confirm any criminal activity---simply, that I refused to stay at home. They didn't tell KIDS why. By the end of the day, the KIDS program decided without any clinician present, that I must be anorexic. I was five-eight, fifteen years old and weighed approximately 129 lbs.! I am well aware that anorexia and food disorders like it are diseases of the mind, not just the physical body. But it was clear that this diagnosis was invented and never medically supported.

I was a good kid. I was used to being punished and ordered around. KIDS had very little trouble with me. I got used to being in strange cars on dark roads at one a.m. going to strange homes with stranger people in them. I met good people and some really not nice ones. I learned how to keep my mouth shut and never volunteer information unless it was somehow advantageous to my being promoted. I saw families terribly divided and relationships ripped to shreds, allegiances questioned and children treated like POWs. I wrote in notebooks called "Moral Inventories" until my fingers ached, tears smudged my writing or an oldcomer shouted at me to do better, write faster, take bigger risks with explaining how my life became so out of control that I deserved a place like KIDS.

In four months, I earned the Second Phase of the program and was out the door less than a week, later. I lived in shelters, with relatives, in apartment hallways and eventually, KIDS caught up with me in a little youth shelter in Spanish Harlem. They and my parents held us all there hostage for almost an entire day until I finally relinquished hope and returned with them to KIDS. Another five months passed and I again, made it to Second Phase. This time, I jumped from my parents' van and ran blindly through the dark in the middle of a snowfall with my step-father chasing me. Each escape became more dramatic and more dangerous because in KIDS, even as an oldcomer you were just as much a prisoner as the kids you took home. Every window in my parents' home had locks, including several deadbolts on the front door, an alarm system above my bedroom door and child safety locks on the vehicles. That December night, I slept under a car until daylight, was nearly sexually assaulted by a neighbor the next morning and somehow managed to contact a relative who hid me out as long as they dared. Ten days later, I was out of luck, resources, hideouts and I was suicidal. A friend of the family turned me in to KIDS.

I spent the following year severely diminished in spirit and mind. I realized the only way I would get out was to honestly put up an effort to be one of them. It was almost a year before I was allowed to return as an oldcomer. And this time, I did not run. I stayed. And waited. It was a long shot, but I was counting on the fact that they might trust me more, and watch me less if I did something original---like, actually stay in their program. It worked. By March of 1988, I had been set back several times, but their punishments were less severe and they felt the biggest difference was that I really acted as if I now belonged to them. They sent me home to Third Phase and in the most nerve-wracking week of my Program life, I went to school and never came back.

The first couple of years were rough. My parents screamed bloody murder and wanted my head on a platter. Fortunately, being eighteen gave me much more freedom to stay anonymously at shelters and youth facilities that could help me. I went to work, a year later received my GED and when life in the city no longer suited me, I decided to volunteer full-time in various organizations like Habitat for Humanity across the United States. I worked as a flight attendant, became a mother, joined the Air Force at 29 and in 1998, I wrote a book about my experiences at KIDS and found an agent who worked hard on attempting to sell it. She was just as shocked as I was. Everyone seemed to love how it was written, but when questioned specifically on the areas concerning the KIDS program, felt it was simply, "too depressing" or "too raw" to market, efficiently. I have put KIDS out my mind for several years, now. Despite its cruelty, the experience only made me work harder to prove my worth as a person. I hope that everyone affected by these institutions will eventually know they've done everything they could have to see them brought to justice and more importantly, have some peace of their own.

Christian Young

Dear Ms. Young:

Thank you for this letter.

This is far from the worst case I have heard, as bad as it is. It is sad to think that anyone could be subjected to such abuse in this country, even sadder to think that many leading members of this society will say, Kid, you got what you deserved!

I would hope that anyone who can help Ms. Young achieve her goals will get in touch with her directly, with a copy of any pertinent messages to me.

Do not give up. Keep trying to get your book published and keep telling your story in every form of media.

Best wishes,