Content Warning: This page mentions eating disorders and struggles in mental health. Reading discretion is advised.

9% of the U.S. population will experience an eating disorder, according to the National Eating Disorder Association. I am part of that 9%. I’ve had an eating disorder since I was 6 years old, but I only acknowledged it when I was 13. I was diagnosed with an eating disorder along with five other disorders when I was 15. 

In November of senior year, I was forced into a partial hospitalization program (PHP) after my treatment team believed I needed a higher level of care. I spent at least six hours every weekday at PHP, where I’d eat three meals and snacks every day. My vitals and weight were measured twice a week. If my blood pressure was unstable, I had to drink Gatorades and recheck my vitals. Sometimes I hid my Gatorades to avoid drinking them. 

My eating disorder became my whole life. I dropped out of three classes, barely saw my friends and slept late. Even though I slept in nearly every period, I don’t remember being asked if I was OK. I struggled in school and felt like nobody understood what I was going through. The Wellness Center was a nice resource for me because of the staff, especially site Wellness coordinator Lashonda Eagels. 

But I wasn’t getting better. Sometimes I wouldn’t drink my protein supplements or eat. Sometimes I flushed my food down the toilet and purged. 

After four months of PHP, I was moved to an even higher level of care – residential, or “res” – due to my unstable vitals and mental health. I lived in a residential house, monitored 24 hours a day for a month. In order to acquire “points” to gain more privileges and eventually get discharged, clients have to maintain stable vitals, complete meals, participate in therapy groups, follow the shower and sleep schedule and avoid getting redirected. 

There are general ground rules limiting family visitations, bedtime, phone usage, potential weapons, revealing clothes and more. Everyone starts at Level Zero with even stricter rules: you can’t go outside, flush the toilet without the staff, have alone time, call your family for more than 15 minutes or use the bathroom without counting aloud. As the levels progress, clients’ restrictions are loosened. 

When I first got admitted, there were three other clients. All were friendly and welcoming to me as I began to adjust. Res only allowed me to do schoolwork for three hours every weekday, making it hard to keep up with classes and maintain my grades. 

During my first week, the clients had a “sleepover” on the living room floor to celebrate one of the clients who got discharged from res. However, I later learned that they wanted to harm me, and I didn’t feel protected by staff after. This heightened my anxiety and homesickness. How could I focus on school? 

One staff member told me I only had to do school assignments given to me in person, which reassured me. My AP Psychology teacher Jennifer McGrath met with me weekly online. I had a home and hospital instruction (HHI) document where all teachers would write down my assignments. Despite this, some teachers didn’t excuse assignments not listed on the document, and I was later told that those assignments marked couldn’t be excused because they were technically “available” to me online.

It felt incredibly unfair and stressful. Why was my grade suffering because of miscommunication between the school and residential?

Sometimes, I communicated with my roommate by passing notes in a journal, which was against the rules. One day, a staff member took the journal without alerting us and called child protection services. My roommate’s family removed them from res shortly after. I knew it was the staff’s job to report safety concerns, but the way they handled the situation was horrible.

Soon after my roommate got discharged, sleepovers were banned, and new clients joined. My time with the new clients was good, but I missed my first two roommates. 

Every passing day, I felt more insane. I felt like a pet rather than a person, following every rule just to get discharged. Time froze, but the world kept on moving. I felt alone and kept thinking of my loved ones and the only people who will ever understand what I went through in res — my roommates. When I returned to school, nobody could understand what I experienced, and I was thrown back into classes despite missing a whole month worth of learning.

Occasionally, I miss res, specifically my housemates. I miss doing sock curls before bed and bingeing “Mako Mermaids.” I miss playing card games. I miss summoning ghosts in the living room and burning sage in the house due to the negative juju. I miss all the inside jokes I had with my third roommate and them comforting me during my shutdowns. I’m forever thankful for my housemates who helped me on my recovery journey and made res tolerable, even when I couldn’t trust the staff. 

I would say that PHP helped me more than res as I learned more therapy skills and liked the staff better. My performance at res was only better because I wanted to get out of there.

If I had to conclude my experience at res, I’d say it didn’t help me but it did teach me that systems specialized in mental health need to be reformed.

Eating disorder helplines: (855) 387-4378, (866) 375-2348, 988