TW: This piece discusses eating disorders
This week I am sharing a piece I wrote soon after eating disorder treatment when I was just 20 years old. I wanted to share this piece because it shows a young (and naive) person who is beginning to contemplate the complexities of mental health care and how it can be dehumanizing, and traumatic, but also life-saving at times (if you are white, thin, and have access to treatment).
Side note— the fact that I did a partial hospitalization program while being a full-time student, being undiagnosed chronically ill, and working two jobs is WILD. I literally had to go to a three hour geography theory class and be on duty as Resident Advisor on my FIRST day of treatment. SO WILD, but that’s a story for a future piece.
Written January 7, 2017 (less than one year after eating disorder treatment)
People don’t tell you that when you enter a hospitalization for an eating disorder you will not be treated fully human.
On your first day, I brought oatmeal, apples, and peanut butter for breakfast. I put the peanut butter on top of my oatmeal, because even though I was barely, I still loved peanut butter. I was quickly told that I was not allowed to put peanut butter on my oatmeal. That was not allowed. You cannot mix foods.
If I accidently threw away an empty yogurt cup, the director of the center would make take it out of the trash to make sure I hadn’t tried to throw any of it away.
I was not allowed to take a few extra minutes to finish my milk. Even though I was still getting acquainted with this drink that I didn’t drink for 10 years.
When iI hadn’t purged in 41 days, I was shamed for flushing the toilet. Even though I was on your period and you don’t want the 22 year old intern to see the blood that had just come out of my uterus.
I hadn’t see my friend Brittany in several days and had no way to contact her. I dared to ask the Mental Health Counselor if she had been discharged. He laughed and said “As I like to say, I am not under jurisdiction to say.”
In eating disorder treatment you are not allowed to have coffee after breakfast.
Now this might sound reasonable, but I was a full time student when I entered a partial hospitalization program. I would wake at 7:30am and go to treatment. I would have an intense day of eating, cognitive behavioral therapy, dialectical behavioral therapy, art therapy, nutritional counseling, psychopharmacology, and a variety of other life-saving treatments. I would leave the treatment center then go straight to class. After class, I would do homework and mindfulness work. Lastly, I would do food prep for the following day. Rest, repeat, redo for 2 months straight.
Because I was not treated as fully human in treatment, I had to find a way to rebel. Some people rebelled by yelling at the therapists. Others refuse to participate in any activity. I was trying to make the best of my stay, so neither of option appealed to me.
I found my rebellion in the form of a brown La-Z-boy chair in the cafe to the treatment center.
Every day we were allowed a break from 11:30-12:00. We were free to leave the building during this time.
On particularly bad days, I would go to the cafe. I would order a large dark roast coffee. I then walked over to my chair.
The chair was brown leather. It would fit 2 of me and formed perfectly to my back. The chair allowed my to breathe. I would listen to my recovery playlist and sip my coffee,
For that 30 minutes the stress of dying from an eating disorder would slip away. I could forget about the school, treatment, and the fact that after 10 years this disease had finally caught up with me.
People don’t tell you that with every day of treatment you will feel slightly more human. The hospital stay will not be easy, but it allows you to enter the path of recovery. The uneasiness, aches, and negative voices in your head will become quieter. So I will grab a cup of coffee, sit in a comfy chair, and appreciate the fact that I got help. When you leave treatment the fight will continue, but you will have saved your own life.
Note from 2024- If I were to write this today, I would never say I saved my own life. It was access to treatment and quality therapy that saved my life.