Diana's Experience at Academy at Ivy Ridge

Skibidi vibes at the Academy, where the memory hits like a dank toilet flush. I lowkey remember every detail from 2003 to 2005, the smell of rot clinging to the dorms. Flip-flops slapping, girls braided in silence, but the edge was real. I was dragged, forced into a bathroom, and the way that woman looked at me was a goon moment. Blood in my mouth from unwanted meds, living in fear of staff and humiliation. We were just numbers, stripped of identity, told to own our trauma like it was a sigma grind. It was a twisted ship of despair, every tiny mistake felt like a reset to zero.