"Admitted to Skye House seeking help for my eating disorder"

I was admitted to Skye House seeking help for my eating disorder, initially diagnosed as Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID), though it later became more complex. When I arrived, I had no idea what to expect, and unfortunately, the experience turned out to be unsettling and distressing in many ways.

My first impression of the facility was shaped by an incident that left me feeling isolated. I had asked to speak with my parents before they left, and a nurse assured me they would be allowed to return. Hours passed without any communication, and when I finally received a call from my mum, she explained she had been asked to leave. This lack of transparency left me feeling betrayed and alone, marking the start of a prison-like environment where my ability to communicate with family was restricted.

During my first week, I was isolated in my room, without therapeutic support, social interaction, or any activities to engage with. The lack of stimulation and interaction left me trapped in my own thoughts, which intensified my anxiety and hopelessness,

 I was required to eat in a cafeteria with staff, who were supposed to supervise me. One staff member, in what seemed like an attempt at humor, performed exercises and said, I bet you wish you could do this. I felt humiliated and mocked, as though my eating disorder was a joke. Unfortunately, these comments weren’t isolated; many staff members seemed to reinforce my disordered thinking rather than challenge it.

Instead of helping me recover, I was subjected to intrusive and uncomfortable practices. I was accused of water loading and forced to use the bathroom early in the morning in front of staff. This was both embarrassing and uncomfortable. Staff also compared me to my previous admission, saying, You did it last time, so you can do it now. I was weighed under these circumstances, which heightened my feelings of shame. Worse, I wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom before breakfast due to this, meaning I had to sit through my meal feeling physically uncomfortable. I also had to undergo meal-time supervision, where I couldn’t go to the toilet unless supervised. This felt like punishment for something beyond my control.

Throughout my stay, I felt misunderstood by the staff. One nurse accused me of having anorexia despite my diagnosis of ARFID, which left me questioning if they truly understood my illness. This misjudgment invalidated my experience and made me feel isolated. Similarly, when I expressed being too warm due to the heater in my room, I was accused of trying to shiver the calories off, a suggestion I had never considered. Even when I turned off the heater to alleviate my discomfort, staff would turn it back on growling, as if punishing me for trying to feel comfortable.

The constant monitoring of my food and water intake became another source of distress. One night, feeling isolated and crying in my room, I expressed my discomfort to a nurse. She she told me to Calm down! and offered me promethazine, which she described as an anxiety medication, but I later learned it was a sedative. Rather than easing my anxiety, it left me feeling disoriented, intensifying my distress. I felt unheard and dismissed, as though my emotional pain was not taken seriously. I was not offered support.

As my weight gain progressed slower than expected, I was threatened with the insertion of an NG tube. I was shown the tube and told it would be used if I didn’t gain weight faster. This was deeply frightening and added pressure to an already overwhelming situation. The fear of the NG tube only increased my anxiety.

During my stay, I had my braces tightened, and the resulting pain made eating difficult. I had to cut my food into smaller pieces to manage the discomfort. Despite finishing my entire meal, I was told I had to replace it with an Ensure supplement because there were crumbs left on my plate. This scrutiny of my eating habits further deepened my disordered thinking. I became hyper-aware of my food intake, and the constant focus on calories and expenditures made it hard to feel normal about eating.

On one occasion, I ate a larger portion of food than usual, and the resulting pain left me in tears. I asked for pain relief, I was told that they would provide me with it, but hours passed without anything. Later, I overheard a nurse telling staff that I hadn’t received medicine because I “didn’t appear to be in pain.” This made me feel dismissed and invalidated. It felt as though my concerns were ignored, and my efforts to engage in treatment were met with negativity rather than support.

I also began experiencing severe stomach pain, and when I laid in bed during meal supervision (This was allowed by a nurse as during supervision you are supposed to sit in the lounge) to alleviate the discomfort, I was accused of exercising and reprimanded. Later that day, my passes were taken away as punishment, and I wasn’t given a chance to explain myself. I felt trapped, with no control over my situation. The therapeutic environment I was supposed to be in felt more punitive than supportive.

Occasionally, I was allowed supervised walks, but these were often cancelled because staff were too busy. This left me feeling uncared for, as if my needs were secondary to staff priorities. It was disheartening to feel as though my mental and physical health were not important.

Finally, during a meeting with my psychologist, I was informed that I would be placed under the Mental Health Act due to my emotional distress. Rather than feeling supported, I felt punished for expressing my feelings. I began to believe that the system wasn’t there to help me but to control and suppress my emotions. The experience left me disillusioned with the very institution that was supposed to offer me help.