I attended Hephzibah House from July-December in 1992. Disgruntled has done an amazing job detailing the horrific treatment that we all went through. So, there is not really much more I need to add. I am here for her. I hate talking about this. Oh hell, my hands are even shaking as I type this response. I will say this. The most horrific aspect of HH, for me, was the mental aspect.
Last March, after nearly 25 years, I finally decided it was time to get some help, as in therapy. I had never tried before. My mom tried to get me to speak to a Christian counselor right after, but I could not talk about it. I never talked about it. I did not ever tell my husband about it. I was told that therapy would help, but it would get worse, before it got better. They werent kidding. I started having night terrors every single night. I would wake up terrified, unable to go back to sleep. I would stay awake until time to go to work, and then come home to do it all over again. And every night, no matter how hard I tried not to, I would still visit HH in my dreams. I knew the smells in the dream, the scratchy texture of the urine soaked sheets under my fingers, but most of all I knew the suffocation of fear.
My first therapy attempt did not end well. I just wanted to sleep. I am fortunate that the second attempt was more successful. I had to take three months off from work to achieve that success, but it was a success. My therapist told me once that Hephzibah House raped our minds over and over again. That is exactly what it felt like. You arrived, a normal teenage girl, and by the time you left, there was nothing left of who you were. They took everything.
