ne night when I was 15, I was woken by two large men I didn’t know. It was May 1989 and I was at home in Connecticut. I sensed we were alone in the house; our dog didn’t run in and, although my bedroom was between my sister’s and my parents’, everything was quiet. I was terrified but half-asleep. The men told me to get dressed and said I was going with them. I thought I was being abducted but they handed me a note in my dad’s handwriting. It said: “We love you. This is for the best.” I was not a bad kid; I had a boyfriend and smoked some pot. But I did have a tumultuous relationship with my parents. I followed the men’s instructions, then tried to run when we got out of the house, but they handcuffed me. We headed to the airport and on to a private jet. Strangely, I bonded with the men. On the flight, they fed me and said I was going to want to eat, which confused me. We landed in Utah and they handed me over to two other people. That’s when I cried. I was driven to a trailer in the desert, strip-searched and given a military poncho, blankets and food rations, including a can of chicken soup. Then I was driven farther into the desert in darkness. Advertisement We pulled up to a bonfire. I got out and 15 kids gathered around me. It was horrifying: they were smelly and bony, their hair was matted, their clothes ragged. Some counsellors introduced me. I was chewing gum and one of the kids asked for it from my mouth. Another asked for my soup; I went to give it and a girl stopped me, saying I’d need it. I was calm on the outside but having an anxiety attack internally. I didn’t understand what was happening. We didn’t have tents – everyone slept under their poncho and blankets. But I didn’t sleep. When the sun came up, there was nothing around for miles. I was told I was on an extreme wilderness programme for kids whose parents thought they were a problem. I’d be there for 63 days if I cooperated; it could be longer if I didn’t. We spent our days hiking with our packs, hauling rocks, running out of water, crying. There was no toilet paper; we used our T-shirts or sage brush, or nothing. I had only three pairs of underwear and never enough water to wash. Our group became protective over each other; we’d steal food from the counsellors and share it. There were a lot of kids from famous and well-off families. Their parents had basically paid to get rid of them. The counsellors made us out to be worse than we were. One of them continually called me a liar. When I said I was too unwell to hike, they ignored me until I collapsed. On the way to hospital, we stopped at a superstore to buy clean clothes. I couldn’t understand why people stared and moved away from me. But when I looked in the mirror, I thought: “Who is that?” I was treated for a week for a kidney infection, then returned to the desert. Experience: my brother framed me for murder Read more We wrote back and forth to our parents. My parents sent letters making demands about my behaviour. Eventually I wrote, “I love you, I miss you.” Really I was thinking, “I hate you, how could you abandon me?” After 86 days, I joined the eight-mile run back to our waiting parents. I was wearing the same sneakers I’d left home in; they had carried me about 700 miles. I saw shiny cars and waving parents. Next thing, my dad was hugging me. I had to be nice otherwise I’d be sent back. They sent me to a boarding school after that. Would I change what happened? No. It’s seldom in life that you have an opportunity to find out what you’re made of. I discovered that no matter what I was put through, I could be resilient, and I met some amazing people. Would I wish it on anyone else? Absolutely not. It damaged my ability to trust. I sleep with a hammer by my bed. I still hide food – just in case. My father has since died; I’m still working on my relationship with my mother. They later told me they spent $16,000 on the programme. It was a big, expensive mistake. • As told to Candice Pires