Blue Jay

To my parents, I'd been Toby. To my aunt and uncle, I was Toby Johnna. At Wilderness, I became nothing more than the girl with the bluejay tattoo.

It didn't matter to anyone that I was a good student at school, or wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. No one cared. I wasn't a drug user, or a prostitute, or even severely depressed. That didn't matter either, because out here I was just as bad as those things.

The Wilderness program isn't a therapy, it's a prison camp. My escorts weren't my angels, they were my kidnappers. The happy trees and squirrels that surrounded me didn't become my sanctuary. There's a reason why the scariest parts of horror movies are the suspenseful chase through the woods.

Because out here in the wilderness, no one can hear you scream.