The Room
I am alone in the Room. It has dirty old orange shag carpet on the floor and no furniture except a trash can. The windows are boarded up so you can only see treetops and sky at the top. On the other side of the Room are French doors, also all boarded up. A person standing on the other side of the French doors would not be able to tell that there is a Room beyond those doors. In the Room a light bulb hangs down from a cord, but the control switch to turn the light on or off is not in the Room.
Next to the Room is a bathroom, but the door is locked and I can only use it if the Man says so; otherwise, I have to use the trash can. Another door opens from the bathroom into the kitchen.
The Man comes into the Room. He is a tall man with a stern deep voice and glasses. When he talks he looks over his glasses and clears his throat.
The Man tells me to take off my jeans and my shirt. I don’t know if I’ll have to take off my underwear too, but it wouldn’t make much difference, since I already feel naked. He tells me that I will stay in the Room until I can face some hard facts about my life. Then he leaves the Room, and I hear him lock the door behind him.
I sit on the itchy shag carpet. I wonder how long he plans to keep me in here. I am so alone.
I sit by the place where the windows are boarded up. I can only see the tops of the trees. It seems to be a cloudy day.
There is a knock on the bathroom door. It’s Barbara, wanting to know if I would like some supper. I say yes. “Okay,” she says, “I will make sure we don’t forget you.” Then I hear Kevin tell Barb loudly, “Get away from that door. Remember that we don’t talk to people in the Room!
Supper must be ready, because I can hear Tom say, “Come and get it.” I know that if it’s Tom’s turn to cook, the menu will be hot dogs and mac and cheese. Tom unlocks the bathroom door between the Room and the kitchen and says, “Nancy, I’m putting your tray on the sink. Give me a minute to lock the door between the kitchen and the bathroom again and then you can come get your tray.”
I say, “Thanks, Tom.”
Tom says he is sorry I am in the Room and wonders, “What did you do to get put in there, Nancy?”
Kevin tells Tom sharply, Quit talking to Nancy. We will get in trouble if we get caught talking to her if the Man finds out.
After I eat, I put the tray back on the bathroom sink and shut the bathroom door. A few minutes later I hear someone, I presume it is Lynn, getting the tray from the bathroom and locking my door into the bathroom again. Lynn loves to do the dishes, so she makes sure they are well cleaned.
I sit on the ugly shag carpet, wondering when the Man will show up again or if maybe it will be Her instead.
I hear someone in the Man’s office. I think maybe He or She will open the door, give me back my jeans and shirt and tell me I can go to group, but that does not happen. I hear the Man saying sternly to the others, “You have ten minutes to get to the back room and be ready for group; you know you are not allowed to be late!”
I move closer to the bathroom door, hoping I can hear what is going on in group. I hear the Man clearing his throat and impatiently rapping his pen on the table.
Kevin tells him that everyone got there on time for once, and the Man says, “Maybe they are learning – finally!” He asks Kevin, “What happened around the house today?”
Kevin says, “Before I went to work at the motel, Tom and I went to Charlie’s for pie and coffee.”
The Man barks at Tom, “I’ve told you to stop that! You’re getting fat!”
Tom says, “I guess I forgot.”
“You will not be allowed to go with Kevin if you can’t remember,” He says.
I can’t concentrate on the rest of group; I’m too concerned about what might happen after group is over. I don’t know what to expect.
After group the Man walks into the Room, shuts the door behind him, and sits down on the dirty carpet next to the boarded up French doors. I sit on the other side of the Room in a corner, trying to hide my body as much as possible. I wonder why he won’t give me a robe or something, but he doesn’t, and I don’t dare to ask.
Peering over his glasses, the Man asks, “Do you know why you are in here?”
I say, “I found the memo you wrote about me to my small group from church, and I was very angry. You got angry that I had read it.”
He says, “Nancy, there are several things that you are going to have to face in order to get better.
First, you are going to have to accept that you were responsible for the fact that your father and your brother molested you.”
Wow!! I am shocked. Even though I did believe this for a long time, I know from past therapy that this is not true; it was NOT my fault. Sexual abuse is never the fault of the victim – that’s what I was told. Surely the Man knows this! Why is he saying this? But I know better than to argue with him, so I stay silent and feel the embarrassment and shame welling up inside.
Then, looking over the top of his glasses and sounding very firm, the Man tells me five things that I will need to face in my life:
1) I should never get married.
2) I should never have a child.
3) I will never be able to successfully hold down a job.
4) I will continue to burn out friends in church communities with my neediness.
5) I will continue to burn out professionals in the mental health system.
The Man says, “When you understand and come to believe and accept these things, then being here will not be a problem. You must come to realize that I am your last hope. “
He gets up off the floor and says that I will clearly need to stay here in the Room awhile.
He leaves to go get a pillow, which he lays on the carpet. I realize that I am not going to get a blanket or cover of any kind. The Man tells me that he will turn out the light now and really wants me to come to terms with these things he has outlined.
The Man leaves the Room, and the bare light bulb that is hanging down on a cord goes out. It is very dark in the Room. I feel exposed, ashamed and alone. I lean back against the wall. Tears roll down my face.
I hear the Man telling Barb to take her clothes off and give them to him, along with the radio. Then I hear him lock his office door. I know that she gets locked in that office every night without her clothes.
I can hear the Man walking around the house turning off lights. I hear him tell David that after he finishes his cigarette he should lock the back door and turn off the lights.
The Man leaves for the night. I am so alone.
* * * *
Wow! It has been a week already in the Room. It is really getting hot in here; the cooled air from the air conditioner doesn’t come into this space. The dirty orange carpet is so uncomfortable – itchy to sit on and sleep on.
I know it’s been a week because Barb keeps me updated through the bathroom door on what day it is and whose turn it is to cook that night. She says she knows from when she has been in the Room for long periods of time, it’s easy to forget. She doesn’t want me to forget. I think, That is so kind of her!
The same old thing is happening with the Man. He comes in every night after group and keeps on asking if I have decided that I am finally going to believe what he wants me to believe about myself. Sometimes I tell him that I don’t understand why he is telling me these things since no one else has told me these things. He tells me I just won’t accept the facts.
He has told me I need to write down the 5 “facts” every day to help me come to terms with them, and he checks every day to see if I have written them. One day I didn’t write them down. He asked me why, but I couldn’t tell him the truth – that Barb had wanted to keep me company, and we had talked off and on all day through the bathroom door. If I told him that, he would be very mad at Barb, and I did NOT want to get her in trouble, so I said I just didn’t feel like it. That cost me not being allowed to use the bathroom; I had to use the trash can instead.
It’s morning, and Barb knocks on the door and tells me she can’t talk to me anymore. David, who usually doesn’t talk much, had complained to the Man that Barb locked herself in the bathroom all day yesterday, and David couldn’t use the bathroom when he needed to go So now I had no one to talk to and I was really alone.
Another week is starting. I know that this week is the 4th of July. I hear the others gathering together in the living room, saying, “Okay, let’s go!” I am excited, thinking the Man will come in and let me go along to Athletic Park to watch the fireworks with the group, but he doesn’t. If I wasn’t locked up in this room, I could be going with my small group from church to watch the fireworks.
I don’t know when I am going to get out of here. The room is so dark because the Man didn’t leave the light on. I can hear the fireworks going off and can see bottle rockets above the treetops as I look through the partially boarded-up window. A very scary thought occurs to me: if the house would catch on fire from stray fireworks, there is no one in the house to let me out! How would I ever get out of here? I wonder if my church small group might see the Man and Her with the others in the park and wonder where I am? Do they ask about me? I start crying. I am feeling very depressed, sad, and helpless, but then determination kicks in, and I begin to think about finding a way to get out of here.
It’s now July 5, and I have survived the night. This evening after they pick up my tray from the bathroom sink, I realize that they have forgotten to lock the door between the bathroom and the kitchen. Hopefully, if I have bathroom privileges and that door into the kitchen stays unlocked, I will be able to get out that way after everyone is asleep. As I’m sitting I am wondering , “Does anyone from my small group –or anyone, period!– wonder where Nancy is??”
The Man comes in late afternoon and does his usual thing, asking if I am ready to accept his five “facts.” He is glad to see that I am writing them down on the legal pad like he wanted me to.. He gets up and leaves.
It is evening now, and so far everything is happening just as I hope it will. They forgot to lock the door between the bathroom and kitchen. I am just sitting here, waiting until I can make my escape. I hear the Man during group reminding the others that they are not to talk to me. They all know you do not talk to anyone in the Room or you will get in trouble. I hear Barbara say, “Yeah, I got my radio taken away from me, so don’t talk to Nancy.”
Group is over, and I can hear the Man do his routine of locking Barb in his office and telling David to lock the back door and make sure all lights are out. I hear him go out the front door.
Now I just wait. I hear David do his thing, and thank God he doesn’t check the kitchen door into the bathroom. It’s still unlocked.
I don’t know how long I am sitting here, waiting until I’m sure no one is up and all the lights are out. I have no idea what time it is. I open the bathroom door into the kitchen; here is my chance. As I go out of the Room, I realize that I am still dressed only in my underwear. I can’t go upstairs to get my clothes because I would surely wake up Kevin and I would get in even more trouble. I look at the clock on the stove. It is 2 a.m.
I decide that the only thing I can do is call Prairie View. I’ve been in and out of the hospital there a number of times, so they all know me. I quietly make my way to the telephone. Nurse Bob answers when I call, and I tell him what is happening to me – that I have been locked in the Room for weeks and managed to get out to make this call only because someone forgot to lock the door. I tell him I know that what is happening to me is not right!
Nurse Bob tells me that he thinks I need to go back into the Room so the Man won’t know I got out. He says he will alert my therapist Randy first thing in the morning, and then my therapist will be able to deal with this situation.
I do what Nurse Bob suggests and go back into that awful Room. I am a little less worried after talking to him and even a little excited, thinking that now surely someone will come to get all of us out of this horrible place. I imagine that Randy will get the police and they will get me out and will help Barbara, and everything is going to be fine.
At about 8 o’clock I hear slamming of the front door, and I hear the Man unlock his office and tell Barb angrily to get dressed and get out of his office. Then I hear him unlock the door of the Room. He comes in with my clothes, which he throws at me and snarls, “Get dressed. I am taking you out to Prairie View, where you are going to tell your therapist and your doctor that you are not going to be seeing them anymore. I will be providing the therapy from now on.” He says, “It was pretty stupid to call Prairie View last night. Did you really think they were going to believe you over me?”
I am very broken, very sad. I had been so hopeful, so confident that someone was going to take me seriously and provide a way out of here. Sitting on the shag carpet is getting more and more uncomfortable. It’s hot in the room and there is no air moving, which makes the carpet feel even more itchy on this hot July day. I have to do something to get out of here. I decide that I will have to “up the ante” and do something really desperate: I will hurt myself to the point that they will have to take me to get medical help at the Emergency Room, and then I can tell the nurse what is really happening in this hell-hole.
I decide to put tacks into my vagina as far up inside as I can. I know it will hurt and maybe do some permanent damage, but the Man has made me feel dirty and shameful about being the one responsible for being molested by my dad, my brother, and a neighbor. He has repeatedly told me I should never get married or have a child, so what does it matter if I damage that part of my body?
In the bathroom is an old shower stall that is used to store office supplies, and I know there are some of those bulletin board tacks in that assortment. Early the next morning when I am allowed to use the bathroom, I get those tacks and push 10 or so into my vaginal tract. The pain is excruciating. I’m tempted to stop, but I remind myself that desperate circumstances demand desperate measures. I start pounding on the boards across the French doors and screaming for Kevin to call the Man and Her to tell them that I have hurt myself very badly and will need medical help. They arrive at the house about half an hour later. The Man stands behind Her, watching while She tries to assess whether She might be able to remove the tacks herself. I feel so violated and embarrassed with Him looking on. She soon decides that she cannot safely remove the tacks herself. The Man tells Her to take me to Bethel Clinic, not to the ER. (I wonder if he thinks we would likely have a longer wait at the clinic, which would be just what I deserve.) He throws me my clothes, the same clothes I’ve been wearing every time he has thrown them to me.
As we are driving to the clinic, neither one of us says a word. I’m sure She is furious that I have disrupted her day and made this clinic visit necessary. When we get there, She checks me in and we wait in silence. Having managed to dissociate somewhat from the severe pain in my genital area, I am focused on how I will tell the nurse what prompted this extreme and bizarre episode of self-harm.
After awhile a nurse practitioner takes us into an examination room. I am so hoping to be able to go in by myself so I can explain why I was desperate enough to act out in this way, but it is clear that I am not going to get that chance. When the nurse has removed the tacks and cleaned me up, she asks me in a kind voice, “Honey, Why did you do that to yourself?” Before I can even take a breath or open my mouth, the wife touches the nurse’s wrist and says gently, “She is one of ours.” Apparently that is all the explanation needed. This nurse clearly knows the wife and understands who “ours” are – the poor unfortunate mentally ill folk who do “crazy” things. The nurse nods empathically and walks out of the room. The episode is over.
She tells me to clean up as the nurse is leaving the room. I know she is angry with me but I don’t care; I am in pain, but even more than that, I am good and angry. As we walk out to the car, I am wondering if I could just run away at this very moment. But where could I run to? If I would run to Prairie View, they would send me back. The church would do the same! So where can I go? Nowhere.
When we get in the car, Linda says, I hope you never do that again!
(There! Now I’ve told you her name. Her name is Linda. But I’m not ready to name the Man. Her name is Linda. )
Linda takes me back to the house. Barbara is at the door asking, “What happened? What happened?? “ Linda tells her to shut up and go watch TV.
Linda takes me through the office, through the little hallway with closets, and tells me to take off ALL of my clothes– everything! Then she puts me back in the Room. I don’t know what time it is – maybe around noon? Barbara tells me through the door that I have missed lunch. “ Okay, I say, thanks for telling me.”
Linda tells Barb to leave me alone and go watch TV. I hear Linda lock the door behind her.
There is no way I’m going to sit on that itchy carpet with no clothes on – no ******* way! I just stand. Against the wall. I notice that the wallpaper is starting to peel off the wall. I think, “I could pull all this wallpaper down. That would give me something to do, and maybe I could collect enough to cover myself a bit when He comes in.”
I check the bathroom door, and sure enough, it is locked and the trash can is sitting right there. That’s when I tell myself there is no way in hell that I am going to use that trash can! I start to cry – deep down, gut-wrenching sobs. What am I going to do? I can’t call Prairie View. They didn’t listen to me last time. My church knows what’s going on here; I’m sure they know. They MUST know! And they’re not going to do anything. When I do something really desperate to try to get the attention of staff at the ER, I don’t even get a chance to tell the nurse why I did what I did. All Linda has to say is that I am “one of theirs.” I am NOT “one of theirs!”
Standing there, I am encouraged to realize that I am starting to feel some fight stirring in me. What am I going to do with that fighting urge?
Kaufman (I am now ready to name the Evil) comes in. I tell him that because I have no clothes on, I want a robe. He taunts me, “It sure didn’t matter when your dad came around whether you had a robe or not.”
I crumple to the floor and start crying again. He says, “Oh good. I’m glad to see you’re finally facing reality.”
In tears I rage at him, “What do you want from me? “
He tells me that I am going to stay in the Room until I can face what he wants me to face.
I say, “No, I’m not. You wanna kill me. I’m dead. I’m not gonna do anything.
“You wanna be right, and you’re right. You broke me. I’m done. I’m here. “
He just gets up off the floor, storms out of the room, and slams the door behind him.
I wonder, “Now what? Does this mean I will finally get out and can go up to my bedroom?”
No, it doesn’t mean that. It means surviving there for another 3 or 4 days – until it’s the end of July.
Then he comes in, throws my clothes at me, and says, “Get up and get ready. You’re going to go to Colorado and you’re not coming back until you can be compliant – until you can allow me to help you. If you won’t do that, you’re not coming back at all. You’re not coming back here; you’re not coming back to the church. I’m giving you a month with your mom and dad to figure out what comes next. If you’re going to come back, you’re going to be compliant. If not, you’re not coming back, not here and not to your church. They’ve already agreed with me. You will be done in Kansas.”
I am crying again, and I tell him, “You can’t do that! You can’t speak for my church!”
He gets on the phone and calls the church. Pastor Steve answers. I listen while they have a pleasant conversation back and forth, and then he hands the phone to me.
Steve says, “ I hear that you are going back home to Colorado to think things through. I think that would be a good idea. The church will pray you make the right decision.”
I am crying harder. I know in the eyes of the church what the “right decision” would be. I leave the room, walk upstairs to my bedroom, and pack my suitcase. I wonder if I will ever see my things again, if I will ever be able to get the rest of my belongings out of this room.
As I go down the stairs, Kevin says, “It’s not so hard to do; you just follow the rules.”
Barb says, “Now I’m going to get put in the Room if you’re not in there. Thanks a lot!””
I walk outside, not knowing who would be coming to get me. Linda comes to take me to the bus stop; I get my ticket. It seems like it has all been well planned out.
Linda says, “Don’t try getting off the bus. Your mom is expecting you. We will talk later.”
I feel sort of numb. Everything seems kind of hazy and I know I won’t remember much of this bus ride. Part of me feels so glad to be out of that hell-hole and on my way home. But home has not been a healthy place for me either. My parents live in a new house now, up in the mountains. I will focus on looking forward to that.
As the bus rolls along, my mind replays everything that has happened in the past few days/weeks, and my thoughts go back to my church. Why are they saying this to me? Why are they sending me away? I want to understand.
It’s a long ride home. I wish the nun who sat beside me on my trip to Wichita at the beginning of this painful saga was sitting beside me now.
But now, I’m going home.
This piece is a chapter in a book I am continuing to write.
This piece is one that I have written about before and yet not this detailed with the dialogue I remembered.
It is a true story, It happened in a house in Newton Kansas. It was a house called “The Kaufman House Residential Treatment Center.”
For 20 years this man and his wife abused people with severe and persistent mental Illness. People knew and nothing happened.
After 20 years they were finally held accountable and was put in federal prison.
A native of Colorado, Nancy Jensen is a wife, mother, grandmother, public speaker, and author of The Girl Who Cried ‘Wolf’: A Memoir, about her lived mental health experience. Working closely with the federal agency Protection and Advocacy for Individuals with Mental Illness (PAIMI), Nancy testified at a congressional hearing in Washington, DC in 2014, successfully promoting increased investigation of abuse or neglect in mental health facilities, and emphasizing the implementation of laws to prevent future abuse and neglect. Nancy was honored for her advocacy efforts by receiving the U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s Voice Award, presented to her by actress Mariel Hemingway in a ceremony in Los Angeles. A certified peer specialist and peer trainer, Nancy utilizes her lived experiences to compassionately advocate for and help improve the lives of individuals with mental illness.
Madwomen in the Attic 
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